+++In Memoriam: Update+++

[Marshal Rohr]

Baltica

OD-Day - Six Sidereal Years

A

mon and his sister sat at the family table, books spread out as they finished up their studies before their mother would let them join the others at the markets. His sister was four years his younger, with the golden hair that ran in the women of his family. She was a happy child, and followed her brother everywhere. The other boys would tease him for it, but he enjoyed her company and it kept her from running around with the sub-levelers in her schola. He looked up from Kyril Sinderman’s ‘Why We Fight’ to rustle her hair, which made her giggle.

‘Amon,’ his mother said sternly from the quarter’s kitchen. ‘Don’t distract your sister.’ He saw her smile as she turned back to preparing dinner, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a loving mother, but above all studies came first in their house. His mother was adamant that her children would not live the lives she and her husband had been forced into. His parents had met thirty years before, when the treaty with military rulers of the Baltican Hives had expired. The sub-levelers wanted no part in Unity, and the noble families had allowed them to hold to their religion in secret in the name of keeping the peace. When the Emperor’s agents had discovered there was active religious practice in the underhive, retribution had been swift. First, off world regiments of the Imperial Army enacted marital law, but when the insurgency turned to terrorism the Emperor unleashed his greatest warriors, the Legiones Astartes, to root out the deepest sects. Amon’s father had been only a little older than Amon was now, fighting alongside his older brother and his friends. When the legionaries came, only Amon’s father had survived the firefight.

Amon went back to reading, engrossed by Sinderman’s rhetorical exercises on why the Imperium had the right to violently assimilate the human cultures they found among the stars. He dreamed of becoming a great diplomat, moving amongst the stars, bringing illumination to the ignorant remnants of Old Night. He was born a freeman, as the non-indentured citizenry of Baltica were called, and any occupation was open to him and his siblings. He studied hard and trained every day, memorizing treatises and exercising to pass the rigorous physical examinations required for the subaltern positions that would be the beginning of what he was sure would be a meteoric rise to his own Embassy Ship. When the knock at the door came he had lost track of time, deep in the fantasy of meeting the long lost remnants of human civilization out in the stars. The polite rapping at the door brought him back reality, rising to his feet to greet the visitor.

‘Mother, it’s Tribune Gotfried,’ his older brother called from the atrium. Amon’s brother was sixteen, and had just finalized his enlistment into the Imperial Army. His parent’s response had been cold, they felt it unnecessary for him to sign away his youth for the promise of farmland in Ultramar. They hadn’t said it when he had defiantly told them of his choice, but Amon had seen the hurt in their eyes. His father worked twelve hour shifts from early morning to afternoon in payment so that his children might live free to choose their own fate. Amon’s father had pretended he understood why his brother wanted to go, saying that at his brother’s age he had thought he was invincible. The brutality of his father’s upbringing had been left unsaid, but Amon’s brother had the decency to look ashamed. His mother acted like nothing had happened, but Amon had found her crying in the kitchen the day after. Amon walked with his sister into the Atrium. Tribune Gotfried was a close friend of their father’s, both having been raised on the same level of the hive. Gotfried had been lucky, his gang hadn’t faced the Astartes, instead surrendering after what had happened to Amon’s father’s crew. His visits were always pleasant, he often brought sweets for the little ones, and their father and Gotfried were known to keep everyone laughing with raunchy jokes after a few cups of miner’s shine, much to their mother’s embarrassment.

‘Good afternoon, Tribune,’ Amon and his sister said together, nodding their heads politely.

‘Hello, children,’ he said. He didn’t offer them treats, instead his face held a sad smile. He broke his eyes away from Amon quickly, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. Amon and his sister shared an uneasy glance, and their older brother noticed it but said nothing. ‘Erik, I have something for you,’ he said absently as he handed Amon’s brother an envelope sealed with the grey wax of the Imperial Army. ‘I wanted to bring it myself,’ he said, still distracted.

‘Hello, Marcus,’ Amon’s mother said to the Tribune as she came into the room. ‘Has Acksel invited you to dinner?’ she asked warmly.

‘No,’ he replied and looked to the floor. ‘I have brought someone who needs to speak with you. Is Acksel here?’ he asked, nodding his head toward Amon’s father’s study.

‘He is getting cleaned up for dinner. He only arrived home an hour ago.’ She said.

‘I see. Ana, could I trouble you to sit? My… colleague,’ he said waving a hand absently to the door, ‘has something important to discuss with you.’ A frown crossed his mother’s face in an instant before hiding it beneath a polite smile.

‘Of course, Marcus,’ she said, disappearing down the hallway.

She returned with Amon’s father in tow, a big man whose arms were covered in the sleeve tattoos of a sub-level ganger. He had left that life behind him with Amon’s mother, accepting a full pardon when Unification became the alternative to inevitable death. Amon’s father had a reputation on their level, a mixture of respect and fear. Some treated him as if he was a hero of legend, others whispered that he was cursed. His pardon had come with a price, one that would force him into lifelong hardship, but save his family from execution. He would be forgiven for his rebellion and allowed to move from the underhives with his wife in exchange for laying down his arms and a lifetime of servitude in the weapons manufactories repurposed by the Unity Council. He had accepted, the Tribune securing him a position as floor overseer within a few years and after a decade they could afford to qualify for a Reproduction License, not once but three times.

His father smiled when he saw the Tribune, grasping his elbow in the traditional greeting of the sub-level guerillas.

‘Marcus, Ana tells me you have bad news’ his father asked with the warm smile that could hide so many emotions. The Tribune shuffled uncomfortably, never making eye contact.

‘Allow me to introduce Adept Zorasta,’ the Tribune said pressing the signal beacon on his ubiquitous dataslate. The door to their quarters slid open and a tall woman with patrician features and the conceited smile of a woman who deigns to speak to her lessers. ‘She is here to speak with you about Amon’s recent physical.’

‘Why?’ Erik asked, all propriety forgotten.

His parent’s were silent. They knew nothing good could bring an Adept of the Administratum and a Level Tribune to a family’s home, inquiring about their children. Stories had been passed from student to student at Amon’s schola. Whispers of children taken from their homes and never seen again. Some said they were being executed to keep the people of Baltica in line. Others said the Emperor would eat their souls and tea out their eyes. The worst of the stories were that the children would be cut open and filled with evil to fight in the legions. Amon wondered if he was to be cut open or have his soul eaten, the thought causing him to catch a laugh in his throat, lest his father think he was being disrespectful.

‘Quiet, Erik,’ Amon’s father said. ‘You must be mistaken, Marcus,’ he said to the Tribune. ‘No one our family has ever been chosen.’ The way he said chosen made Amon’s skin crawl. He suddenly felt very uneasy in the presence of the Adept. The way she looked at him with her greedy eyes made him feel like a porcine flank on display in the carniceria market. She sucked in her breath like an iterator about to deliver a speech, spreading her hands wide in mock graciousness. She looked at Amon’s parents down the bridge of her nose, her glaringly obvious juvenant enhanced lips curling into a false smile.
‘Citizens,’ the woman said in the artificial courteousness that can only come from someone who is intensely enjoying keeping people in suspense. ‘I have come to inform you that young Amon is Legiones Astartes Compatible,’ she paused as if expecting a reply, frowning slightly when Amon’s parent made no reaction. ‘The Emperor, blessings upon his name, has seen fit to accept all compatible males from the Baltican Hives into his glorious legions, so that we may continue in our mission of unifying the stars under the banner of Mankind.’ The woman paused again, as if she expected the family to throw themselves at her feet and cling to her robe weeping tears of joy. She was utterly unprepared for their response.

Amon’s mother began to sob. His father cursed loudly and threw the antique wooden tabac stick case that had decorated the setting table against the wall. His father stood up and walked over to the window facing the central access tunnel and slammed the flat of his palm against the thick glass, cursing again. The adept recoiled and grasped at the chain around her neck from which her large bronze badge of office hung. She looked helplessly at the Tribune, waving her hands in the inane astonishment of a dim-witted Spire Dweller who’s tannic was too mild. Her face was contorted in confusion, as if the family had misunderstood her. When Marcus offered nothing more than a blank stare, she frowned and clapped her hands obnoxiously.

‘Now, now, citizens. What kind of response is that to such happy news? You should be honored,’ she said admonishingly. The way she said happy made Amon feel as it were anything but.
‘No! The Crusade it over!’ Amon’s mother said through sobs. ‘They said so on the Unity broadcasts! It’s over. The Warmaster has gone to conquer the last holdouts. Primarch Guilliman has conquered the frontier! The Emperor has returned to Terra to begin his new project,’ she cried. Amon sat silently, dumbfounded. His brother just stared at him blankly, barely hiding his seething jealousy. His little sister had hung herself around his neck, confused by what was happening around her. She cried tears of innocent ignorance, their warmth soaking into the collar of his blouse.

‘Father, why do they want Amon,’ he sister asked, her soft voice breaking.

‘Little dear,’ the woman said in a manufactured tone. ‘Your brother is to become a Legionary.’ The woman’s eyes darted to the door as it slid open.

In the shock of the revelation, no one except Amon and the Tribune noticed the two Unity Enforcers enter the room, moving to stand silently behind the Adept.

‘Now really, Zorasta! Is this necessary?’ the Tribune said indignantly, his choler roused.

‘Yes, Tribune,’ she said, contempt dripping from every word. ‘We have ninety-six more families to inform in the next five days, and that is just in the Mid-Levels,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Now, citizens,’ she said emphasizing their rank as the pardoned, but not free, workers of the Imperium, ‘You will have ten minutes to say your goodbyes and collect young Amon a travel bag,’ she said. ‘At the end of ten minutes, the Enforcers will bring him to me with or without the winter clothes he will need on his way to the Urals,’ she said in the bossy authoritarian voice of a grammar schola bully. She turned and pinched Amon’s cheek condescendingly, like drunken relative on Founding Day. ‘Won’t you make the most adorable little legionary,’ her tone reverting to its poisonous sweetness. before turning and walking to the door. She turned one last time and looked Amon’s mother in the eye. ‘Pack quickly,’ she said with a malicious wink before striding through the door with the Enforcers in tow.

As soon as she was gone Amon’s mother sped down the hallway to collect his belongings. His father came and knelt in front of him, the Tribune vastly more interested in something on the had’s floor. His father looked him directly in the eye, and let out a breath slowly.

‘Son,’ he said solemnly. ‘Your mother and I love you very much. Never forget that.’

‘What’s going on, father? Where is Amon going?’ his sister asked again, pulling herself into her brother's lap. His father looked at her with eyes glistening.

‘Come here, sweetling,’ he said, pulling her into his arms. ‘I need you to be strong and let me speak to your brother. Can you do that, please?’ he asked gently.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said dejectedly. His father looked back at him, his eye’s taking the hard look of a man who has seen the worst of the world. He put his hand behind Amon’s shoulder, fixing him with an intense stare.

‘Amon, I have known a legionary, personally, in my lifetime. He was a discharged veteran of the IX Legion. He oversaw the shipyards of the Lemuryan Plate when I worked there, before you were born,’ he said quickly. Amon had never heard his father speak of the early years of his servitude. Erik had tried to broach the subject once, when Amon was younger than his sister was now, but he father told his brother never to ask of it again. He had told him focus on the life he gave his children so that Erik would never experience what wasn’t spoken of firsthand. ‘He once told me that the Astartes exemplify the best and worst of humankind. All the good a man can do in his life is a fraction of what a legionary can. When he said this, I could see it in him that this was true. What he left unsaid was that all the evil a man can do, will pale in comparison to what one of the legion could inflict upon another.’
‘But what about the rebellion, father?’ Amon asked. ‘Wasn’t it the legions that killed Uncle Tomas and Grandfather Lukas?’ His father looked at the two flickering holopicts of his father and brother that hung over the family’s mantle. The aching sadness Amon saw in his face frightened him to his core.
‘That is my point, Amon. There are good men in the legions, and there are bad. You must be a good man, you must not become the monsters that killed your uncle and grandfather. I still see their burning white eyes in my dreams, Amon. I still see the winged skulls and strips of flesh they covered themselves in,’ he said. Tears flowed freely down his father’s face now, and his little sister began to whimper again.

‘I don’t want…,’ Amon tried to say, but his father quieted him with a shake of his head.
‘You will make the world a better place. I know it. You will build a bright and happy future. You will meet the Warmaster and the Warrior-King. You will see new worlds, bright with life. A bright, happy future, Amon. That will be the legacy of the Legions, not the nightmares.’ He smiled now and kissed his son’s forehead. ‘I am so proud of you. I will never stop being proud of you.’ His father stood to his feet and offered Amon his hand.

‘No, father! Don’t let him go,’ his sister cried, ‘Please don’t.’

Amon rustled her hair one last time. The world around him began to swim, he remembered accepting the travel pack from his mother. Her sorrowful goodbye lost in the encroaching haze of memories long forgotten.

‘Amon!’ his sister screamed, the sound of it distorted as if over a great distance.

He walked to the door, his footsteps pounding into his mind like the bursting of artillery. He was suddenly aware that he was dreaming, and knew he must wake. He pushed his way through the levels of consciousness, reaching a hand out towards the door, swimming through the heavy water of his memories. Consciousness evaded him, his remembrance dragging him downward like a weight around his ankles. He pushed himself upwards, in his dream moving towards the door of the apartment. His hand reached out like a drowning man hopelessly pulling for the surface of the water.
‘Please!’ His sister screamed. He pushed downward on the latch, feeling the release as the door slid open, the sound of battle beyond the doorway slowly gaining volume.

‘Amon!’

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQXVzg2PiZw

Location Unknown

OD-Day + Unknown

His eyes snapped open to see Vygo’s uncovered face. His friend was pounding on his helm as he was roused out of unconsciousness. His senses were overloaded by the cacophony of a firefight. Vygo pressed a bolter in his hands and violently pointed to the sky. Combat stims flooded into his system and the swirling memories of his life before becoming a legionary were violently forced into the recesses of his mind. He rolled to his knees, rifle at the ready, scanning for targets.

What remained of Fourth Squad was using the back of a midnight dark Rhino as cover. Sergeant Athanaric, sword in hand, was cutting into the traitors who rushed at their position, his blade tearing entrails from bodies and cutting cleanly through limbs. Elias was firing controlled bursts at an enemy Amon couldn’t see around the vehicle while Konstantin grappled with a Night Lord, raining blows on the traitor’s winged helmet. The sky above them was filled with the smoky contrails of Lightning fighters and Storm Eagles, the massive forms of Thunderhawks swooping alongside Fire Raptors that poured heavy cannon fire into the enemy around them. The golden hulls of the gunships were scarred by carbon scoring and stitched with craters from anti-aircraft fire. Vygo slapped him on the back and pointed to a Fire Raptor unleashing its autocannon into a pack of Night Lords ineffectually firing at the heavy assault ship. Kai ran up behind him, slapping him on the back as he passed, the glowing plasma pistol in his hand spitting death into the chest of a traitor.

‘It’s the Watch!’ Vygo screamed over an incoming artillery barrage that overturned the burning Rhino behind them. ‘They ambushed the column. We fought our way free. The Watch is here to extract us.’

‘Where are we?’ Amon screamed over the din.

‘Somewhere behind the traitors front lines. They must have taken Karnali,’ Vygo said, his voice straining to be heard in the whirlwind of concussions and bass drum of small arms. Sergeant Athanaric came and crouched down next to the pair, his pistol firing until empty.

‘Amon, kill the bastards!’ Athanric yelled as he stood to cut the head from a Night Lord that leapt at them from the top of the personnel carrier. Behind them, a Storm Eagle came down five meters above their head; it’s fusion cannons leaving white afterburns across Amon’s vision. Before the ramp had fully descended, ten hulking Cataphractii jumped down, their massive armor shaking the ground as if another artillery barrage had landed amongst them. Their twin-barreled bolters began to spit death into the traitors swarming towards the loyalist position, the massive gauntlets of their armor crushing the life the fools who came within reach.

‘Unto Death, brothers!’ their sergeant called through the vox as he cut a Night Lord in two. The Storm Eagle fired its full complement of missiles into the traitor position, providing a brief respite from the rotor cannon fire and clearing the way for two more Storm Eagles to unleash their deadly passengers into the heart of the enemy. The Cataphractii formed a ring around the survivors of Fourth Squad giving them enough time to collect their dead and the survivors from the other Imperial Fists units the Night Lords had captured. The Storm Eagle took off, the job done, lascannons burning through an oncoming Night Lord Sicaran platoon. The energy weapons ignited the ammunition within, sending jets of flame dozens of feet into the air amidst pillars of oily smoke.

‘Enemy reinforcements incoming,’ the Cataphractii commander called again, his thickly accented voice lending an almost jovial tone to what would otherwise be dire news. Amon could here the veterans laughing into the vox network as they went about their bloody business. The revelry was short lived, Amon looked upwards to see dozens of legionaries aloft on the burning contrails of heavy jump packs flying to intercept the circling gunships. He saw two traitors catch the wing of a Fire Raptor, attaching armor piercing explosives and letting go as the engine burst, trailing fire from its ruined engine. The Fire Raptor went into an uncontrollable tailspin; the pilot grimly resolved to put it down amongst the traitor’s ranks. Amon didn’t see it crash, but instead watched the falling legionaries land heavily into the ground a dozen footsteps from their position. The rest of their squad landed behind them, pistols spitting fire into the veterans. The Cataphractii couldn’t risk turning to face the new threat, the traitor’s vertical envelopment having the desired effect of splitting the loyalists attention between the threat from without and within. Kai tried to fire again, but his pistol became emergency venting of the weapon’s built up heat. He threw the pistol to the ground as Amon came up beside him, covering him while he search for another weapon. One of the Night Lord’s went down, its helmet bursting from the impact of multiple rounds. Amon drew a bead on another target, firing a burst that was cut short by the clicking of an empty chamber. He tossed the bolter to the ground and sprinted to where Vygo crouched behind the overturned Rhino, diving to the ground as small arms fire threw up bursts of earth behind him. Vygo handed him the bolter of a Night Lord, rudimentary kill markings haphazardly scratched into the foregrip. He took two magazines from the pouch next to his friend and mag locked them to his thigh.

‘We’ve got the get back to Athanaric,’ Vygo said, gesticulating in the direction of Fourth Squad’s position. Elias and Abdesalam were dragging Kai’s legless body behind them while Athanaric covered their withdrawal with a recovered fusion rifle. The Night Lords resumed their attack tearing into the loyalist survivors, lightning sheathed claws and chainblades slicing off limbs and rending through armor. They used their jump packs like a bird of prey, circling their victims as they fired deadly accurate bursts from the pistols, only to dive in at the last moment and end a life with the slash of a talon or the sweep of a blade. The traitors surrounding them had been reinforced as well, heavy cannon and the ruby beams of volkite weaponry incinerating the Cataphractii into charred chunks of meat and armor. Black hulled fighters dived in amongst the golden armored gunships of the Imperial Fists, scything through the Fire Raptors providing air support. The Cataphractii commander signaled for his men for pull back, the circle surrounding the survivors shrinking.

‘Hold fast, Grenadiers,’ the commander said over the vox. ‘We’re on our way out.’ The hulking commander activated a homing device on his belt and within seconds the massive batteries miles away on the palace walls began to fire. Artillery shells the size of armored personnel carriers impacted only a hundred yards from where the Watch and the survivors of the Karnali Redoubt fought viciously against the Night Lords. Walls of earth flashed outwards from the impact zone, knocking loyalist and traitor alike to the ground. Only the Cataphractii were spared from the massive shockwaves of ordnance. They wasted little time, crushing skulls and stabbing into the prone Night Lords. Amon fired at another as a traitor boosted his jump turbine directly at him. The legionary bowled into Amon at full speed, knocking them both to the ground. Amon fired his bolter point blank into the legionary’s chest, but a deft swipe from the traitor’s claw sheared cleanly through the weapon. The legionary boosted away and Amon stood to his feet drawing his pistol. The Night Lord swooped down again, but Amon was able to dodge the killing blow, firing off a burst that clipped the traitor’s pack, sending him spinning wildly. Angered, the Night Lord flew at him again, aiming a vicious kick at Amon’s head with the makeshift talons fastened to his ceramite boots. The blow caught him under the chin, pain bursting behind his eyes. Amon spun with the force of the kick, dropping his pistol into the muck beneath his feet. He snatched up his gladius in a reverse grip, crouching down in a defensive fighting stance. The Night Lord hovered in front of him before cutting his engines and landing with a laugh. He pulled his talons up and waved Amon forward with his left hand, inviting him to attack. Amon timed a cut from the knife with the Night Lord’s parry and landed a fist into the weak soft armor of his neck. The traitor spun into a vicious overhand swipe that sheered through the point from Amon’s gladius.

He blocked another two blows with a forearm, catching the traitors fist in the harmless palm of the oversized gauntlet. The next blow came from his off hand and he felt the hot agony of the claw cutting under his left shoulder. Amon lunged with the knife slashing into the Night Lord’s soft armor at the groin. The traitor screamed in rage and pulled back from the duel.

‘Enough!’ the Night Lord yelled. ‘Come at me, fool.’ Amon lunged again, feigning to the left and feeling to blade sink deep into the gap between the traitor’s armor plated abdomen. The Night Lord brought his right arm down, fixing Amon in place before slashing his open claw across Amon’s face. Amon had turned his head quickly enough to avoid having his skull shorn off, but the blades bit deep into the bone beneath. Amon felt his jaw go slack as tendons were severed and his cheekbone split. The traitor let go and pushed Amon to the ground. As the shock of the blow wore off, Amon could feel a much more dangerous wound than that which had ruined his face. The artery in his neck gushed hot vitae into the underlayer of his armor and he could feel the blood welling up within his suit. Amon fell onto his back, his hands holding his neck wound closed with all his strength, blood running freely over his gauntlets.
The Night Lord paced around him like a jungle predator, opening and closing his talons as he prepared for the killing strike. Amon closed his eyes, and resigned himself to his fate. Instead of death, he opened his eyes to a bright blade sticking from the traitor’s chest, blood sizzling under the energies of the power field. The Cataphractii commander pulled his blade free and let the body fall to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. A white armored Hospitallar came to Amon’s side, followed closely by Vygo. The pair grabbed his pack and began to frantically pull him towards the line of Storm Eagles that had touched down for extraction. The Fire Raptors above were unleashing their full arsenals in the traitor’s ranks, in a futile attempt to slow their advance while the Imperial Fists loaded into the drop ships. As they approached the ramp, Amon saw Sergeant Athanaric and the Cataphractii commander still at the perimeter of the loyalist position while the Cataphractii fell back in good order. The commander slapped Athanaric on the back, and began to trot back towards the gunships as fast as his massive armor would allow.

A dozen Imperial Fists joined Athanaric, each with a combat blade or chainsword, all ammunition expended. Amon saw the unit markings of I Airborne and the Watch, mixed amongst the familiar wreathed symbol of III Grenadier. Sergeant Athanaric looked at Amon, bringing his sword’s cross guard to his forehead in the traditional legion salute, before turning and leading the men staying behind into the thick dust. He watched them until they faded into the swirling haze, knowing they gave their lives so that the rest might live. Amon’s vision swam, feeling himself sinking into unconciousness. He was aware of Vygo’s hands pressed hard into his neck a team of medical techs assisting the Hospitallar in lifting him onto the triage gurney. He saw the Hospitallar’s forearm length hyperdermic needle extend from his Narthecium, and watched in paralytic suspense as it inserted into his wound. Amon suddenly felt the flood of painkillers and coagulants enter his blood stream, soothing the throbbing of his ruined artery and thickening his blood. The medics worked rapidly, applying biogel and gauze to the wound, trying to staunch the bloodflow. By the time the Hospitallar lightly tapped his fist into Amon’s chest signaling he would survive, he felt the gunship rock with lift off, the hammering of anti-aircraft fire echoing throughout the gunship’s hold. Amon relaxed and tried to look around. Another Hospitallar was earnestly applying pressure a gushing wound on Kai’s chest, his armor cut off and discarded. Elias and Hakon stood silently, Constantin was holding a flask that contained the milky substance that acted as a coagulant for the legionary’s superhuman physiology with a empty stare. He heard the high pitched whine of a flatline coming from the Hospitallar’s surgical gauntlet, and sending the medicae into a frantic rush to keep the legionaries hearts beating by compressing his chest rhythmically.

‘You’re going to make it,’ Vygo said, rustling Amon’s hair with a relieved smile. Amon tried to smile too as he felt himself slipping back into the ocean of memories he had only just escaped. As he slid deeper beneath the surface he heard his sister’s laughter again.

Legion Heraldry Profile

VII Legion - Specialist Unit [Grenadier]

Image Ref: Legionary 0714-898350 - Amon

Summary:

Amon bears the standard heraldic coloration of a new Legionary, though by the time of pict capture, his armor was well worn through combat and exposure to corrosive chemical weapons by XIV Legion personnel. The Mark III armor makes used of additional heavy plating over the standard Mark II chassis, and it has become common practice to only paint the Legion colors onto the ablative plating, leaving the bare ceramite coloration underneath. It is something of a joke in the other legions that the renowned discipline of the VII Legion can be directly attributed to how long it takes to clean and polish the golden plates. On Amon's right shoulder he bears a personalized version of the III Grenadier unit icon [seen Below], the use of the Gothic Numerals for 'three' in place of the skull is common for Grenadiers who have yet to successfully complete a full campaign, but in practice this varies from legionary to legionary. He also bears the ubiquitous Tactical Arrow designator, and the numeral 'four' indicating his place in Tactical Squad Athanaric of III Grenadier's second platoon. Amon's vambrace is marked with the stylized 'three' as well, a tradition practiced so another legionary may see to which unit the warrior belongs when offering the Legion Salute.

The blood spatter is attributed to his wounds fighting against the Night Lords XV Company, during a aerial rescue mission mounted by the Storm-Battalion's veteran and pathfinder units.

Reference Pict Alpha

III Grenadier Unit Icon

[Kobrakei]

Perfect.

[Tyrannicide]

Entertaining way of spending the afternoon, man. Great fiction, even better paint job. Amon looks fantastic, as I said yesterday. 

 

Can't wait to see the rest of 4th Squad painted. :)

[Marshal Rohr]

Thanks, guys :D

[No Foes Remain]

Pure awesomeness doesn't even cover it. Abso-bloody-lutely brilliant work.

[Kol Saresk]

The Night Lords XV, that sounds familiar.

 

And well done! Everything is well-painted and well-written. And the Night Lords, even in death do you do them justice.

[Marshal Rohr]

They won! Only a handful died :P

[Kol Saresk]

Looked like more than a few with all the hand crushing and slicing in half. ;)

 

Still, fantastic job.

[Marshal Rohr]

Thanks, man. Glad you liked it. I've been posing breachers all day for the next squad and assembled two smaller side projects. I can;t wait to [REDACTED BY UNITY COUNCIL]. Its going to be awesome. 

[GhostMalone]

Good job guys ;)

 

So many fists to decorate on the XVIIth companies bases :D

[Marshal Rohr]

Ref: Retribution at Gandaki

Ref: Angel's Lamentation

[GhostMalone]

And I'm sold ;)

[Tyrannicide]

And the IX make their first appearance. Splendid.

[depthcharge12]

That breacher with the gladius is sick

[Marshal Rohr]

All credit goes to Darth on that one, its modeled after one of his Ultra's from his Calth log. 

[Nomus Sardauk]

And the IX make their first appearance. Splendid.

Indeed, Angels and Fists defending the walls palace walls together, all we need now is a detachment of the Great Khan's Scars and all three of Terra's Astartes guardians will be present. :)

[Dosjetka]

And the IX make their first appearance. Splendid.

Indeed, Angels and Fists defending the walls palace walls together, all we need now is a detachment of the Great Khan's Scars and all three of Terra's Astartes guardians will be present.

Rolling with logical deduction, I'm pretty sure that Darth Potato will be giving them an appearance sometime soon ;)

[Nomus Sardauk]

And the IX make their first appearance. Splendid.

Indeed, Angels and Fists defending the walls palace walls together, all we need now is a detachment of the Great Khan's Scars and all three of Terra's Astartes guardians will be present.

Rolling with logical deduction, I'm pretty sure that Darth Potato will be giving them an appearance sometime soon

http://global3.memecdn.com/soon_o_185937.jpg

[Dosjetka]

Haha, excellent :lol:

[Marshal Rohr]

Ref: Grenadier Sergeant Athanaric, IV Squad, II Platoon, III Grenadier

[Dhwalagiri Counter-Offensive]

[Tyrannicide]

Great use of that Sword Brethren blade. The layered armor effect is really starting to gain some traction. Looks awesome, dude.

And the IX make their first appearance. Splendid.

Indeed, Angels and Fists defending the walls palace walls together, all we need now is a detachment of the Great Khan's Scars and all three of Terra's Astartes guardians will be present.

Rolling with logical deduction, I'm pretty sure that Darth Potato will be giving them an appearance sometime soon

Sadly, no. The VII Legion has my heart, gentlemen.

[Marshal Rohr]

[Kol Saresk]

And the IX make their first appearance. Splendid.

Indeed, Angels and Fists defending the walls palace walls together, all we need now is a detachment of the Great Khan's Scars and all three of Terra's Astartes guardians will be present.

Rolling with logical deduction, I'm pretty sure that Darth Potato will be giving them an appearance sometime soon

Voting Noctus.

[Marshal Rohr]

The army I'm shooting for is two primary and allied detachment using the age of darkness force organization. Blood angels will be the air assault component of the army list, and won't be expanded on until the Signus book is released. In the end the whole project will encompass 3 force organization charts for both sides of the conflict. I'm waiting to see the rules for the other traitor legions before I pick my secondary legion, but the primary traitor army will be Sons of Horus.

[Kol Saresk]

*cough*Word Bearers*cough*