Daemonic Pact II

[Chaeron]

I am sorry, I don't believe I will have my mini done by midnight tonight. Real world has got in the way

• Daemonic Pact ends on September 25th at 14:00 GMT (18:00 ETZ, 19:00 CTZ, 20:00 MTZ, 21:00 PTZ)

[sunspear]

oh.. .so i guess I am really late. again, sorry I wish I coulf have met the deadline

[Chaeron]

Only a few days - finish it anyway when you can :)

[Uprising]

The poll will probably be going up on Thursday, just busy with school atm. 

[sunspear]

I will do that! thanks

[Midnightmare]

Some great work on here guys, minis and fluff. We'll done all :)

[oldschoolsavant]

Ah, was wondering about the voting part. I'll keep an eye out over the weekend.

[Uprising]

Voting will start Saturday, that when forte can do the poll. 

[Brother Argent]

So I suppose I should get better photos up by then, yes?

[Uprising]

Completions

The Aspiring Champions(completions):

Dark Apostle:

Power of the Warp

"Knowledge is power, but power is nothing without purpose. You may hold in your hand the power to remake all things, but if you do not know what you would change, you hold nothing at all"

Akem Manah, Chief Sorcerer of the Word Bearers 30^th Host; Diabolist Extremist and the Destroyer of All.

(For those who are interested, the inspiration for this name is of Ancient Middle Eastern Origin and comes from the Zoroastrian religion/philosophy. It translates to “manah (meaning mind) made evil” and symbolises “evil mind/purpose/thinking/or intention”. Furthermore, manah could be taken as the energy used to cast sorcery commonly used in fantasy RPG’s – often spelt mana. Either way, it represents the nature of the Word Bearers and Chaos Sorcerers)

Lightning split the sky, each fork red as blood, heightening the deep orange glow of a city ablaze. Screams still echoed from the dark streets; the screams of women, children and those left who would fight to defend them. A particularly shrill scream disturbed Akem Manah from his incantations, a smirk forming on his lips. He had missed the sounds of terror, the screams of the ‘innocent’; drowned out in the steady patter of Bolter fire and the war cries of the 13^th Host as the raging Warp Storm engulfed the dying world.
“There are no innocents in this Long War”, he thought to himself, “even those who come to accept the truth by force are guilty of their own weakness, their shortcomings of faith; all others are condemned by their ignorance”. Banishing such base pleasures from his mind, Akem Manah returns his thoughts to the ritual at hand; hymnal chants drawing his attention to the centre of the room.

“Faith binds us, Hate fuels us, Vengeance drives us, Truth guides us…”

A congregation of Cultists had formed a circle before the defiled alter of the shrine of the Aquila, chanting in unison. In the centre, the star of Chaos had been painted in blood across the tile stone floor. Candles littered the room, and a continuous faint glow cast light on the gleaming blood of daemonic sigils that despoiled every surface of the building. Shadows leapt from the unnatural darkness that consumed the threshold, impenetrable by the flickering light of the candles as the storm swept through the collapsed roof of the shrine; not every shape cast with an identifiable owner.

“Faith binds us, Hate fuels us, Vengeance drives us, Truth guides us…”

Emerging from the shadows, the Sorcerer began to pace the room, every heavy boot fall of his ornate, rune engraved power armour echoing throughout the sanctum. Releasing the book from its chains at his side, Akem Manah began to read:
"Faith is the soul of any army; be it vested in primitive religion or enlightened truth. It makes even the least soldier mighty, the craven is remade worthy and through its balm any hardship may be endured. Faith ennobles all of the worlds the soldier undertakes be they so base or vile, and imports to them the golden spark of transcendent purpose."

“Faith binds us, Hate fuels us, Vengeance drives us, Truth guides us…”

The flickering candlelight illuminated his shaven head; it was gaunt, aged, his skin pale even by comparison to his fellow chosen of Lorgar. The Sorcerers black, soulless eyes revealed a man who had seen the horrors of the Warp and yet there was no fear; he rejoiced in its power, venerated it. It was his to control and his faith protected him. The shadows followed him from the darkness, roiling in the candlelight, the runes on his armour appearing to shift and reform as he continued to read from the Book of Lorgar:

"From the fires of Betrayal unto the blood of revenge we bring the name of Lorgar, the Bearer of the Word, the favoured Son of Chaos, all praise be given to him. From those that would not heed we offer praise to those who do, that they might turn their gaze our way and gift us with the Boon of Pain, to turn the Galaxy red with blood, and feed the hunger of the Gods."

“Faith binds us, Hate fuels us, Vengeance drives us, Truth guides us…” The ceaseless chanting continued as Akem Manah strode towards the circle only to fall deathly silent as he passed through them. The Sorcerer took his place in the eye of the circle, where all eight points of the Chaos star met; the shadows that stalked him falling away as he crossed the threshold. Circling the group the shadows weaved in and out of the Cultists as they became like statures surrounding the hulking, crimson clad figure in the centre.

Returning the book to its bindings at his side, Akem Manah prepared to utter the final words of the ritual, words he knew all too well now from countless summoning’s. Raising his arms towards the blood red sky he spoke, his voice booming, echoing through the ruined Shrine as though he had the very weight of the gods behind it.
“Lords of the Warp! Fathers of entropy, bloodshed, lust and change, I call upon thee! Grant us a portion of thy godliness, that we might reforge this day in your name!”

The ground beyond the congregation began to tremble and crack, leaving a perfect circle in the centre of the Shrine. One by one the candles began to flicker and fade away, their existence snuffed out in a moment and with every failing flame a ‘statue’ fell lifeless to the floor. With every sacrifice swelling their number, the speed at which the shadows danced intensified; entwining together, blending in and out of the growing darkness. A faint, eerie glow appeared from beneath the Sorcerers feet, emanating from the star of chaos that had begun to radiate green. Unbound from whatever had previously held them back, the shadows darted towards the glowing sigil, basking in its radiating glow.

His arms still raised triumphantly, the Sorcerer made one last proclamation to the heavens:
“This once proud world, a bastion of deceit and ignorance, has been brought to its knees in your names! The blood of its people spilt in sacrifice! We have shown them their faith is weak, misplaced. Come now! Heed my call! Send forth your legions to cleanse this world of their filth!” A smile crossed the Sorcerers face once again, “Show them the true power of the Warp!”

The glowing sigil burnt brighter than ever, penetrating even the pall of darkness that engulfed it as the shadows faded away. Then everything went black, plunging the Sorcerer into darkness. It was quite in the Shrine as the dust settled about Akem Manah, he had succeeded. Outside, the sky was riven by flashes of light and the crackle of energy as Daemons began to tear through the fabric of reality itself. The city’s fountains began to spurt blood as what remained of its vegetation withered ad died. Strangely seductive songs called out from the shadows, luring those unable to resist into the waiting jaws of nameless horrors within as the city itself began to warp and change. Doors appeared and disappeared, some never to be seen again, those who travelled though lost forever in an ever changing maze.

Above the shrine, the beat of leathery wings caught the Sorcerers attention as a bullish roar split the nights sky.
“BLOOD!!! For the Blood God!”

Inq Quidam:

Background:

Lord Inquisitor Dariel Quidam, I hope that this message reaches you with neither delay or interception. If it were a less sensitive matter I would have it sent by astropathic relay, but I fear the Guild of Astropaths on Footfall may have been compromised. I do not yet believe that my actions have brought the attention of our foes, but we must still take exceptional caution with this matter.

As instructed I have been investigating he claims of activity in of the traitor Astartes known as the Alpha Legion in the Koronus Expanse. I have so far confirmed little, that the cell in the expanse are know by their contacts as the Seekers, and that they operate out of a Styx class heavy cruiser known as 'The Alethia'. This information was all that the many interviewed could agree upon. Those few who claim to have seen the Seekers in combat identified them as wearing mixed patterns of power armour painted in blues and greens, and described their combat doctrine as unorthodox, unpredictable, and without clear objectives. One subject, a mercenary voidsman, claimed that the hold of a ship he worked on was attacked, the guards were eliminated, but rather than advancing through the vessel the attackers simply retreated, apparently without reason.

The more common accounts are those of the fixers, fences and dealers of the underworld who have been contacted by the Seeker's human operatives. Meetings of this sort have been surprisingly frequent over they past few years, with many seemingly conflicting reports about the exchanges. I theorise the operatives are concealing the truth from us with volume of false information, a worrying tactic that implies a lack of caution associated with a plot nearing it's conclusion. All the reports seem to suggest the Seekers are looking for something, although there is little agreement about what it might be. Common themes include archeotech relics, tomes of forbidden knowledge or deep cover operatives that have gone to ground.

Most interestingly, I managed to meet with a subject who I believe to be an operative. A scrawny dock worker of little note, he appeared to be hiding information when questioned, leading to an application of the excruciators. Under torture, the subject freely spoke about a meeting with one of the Seekers, a fallen Astartes known as Rax Terron. Allegedly Terron is a specialist assassin, favouring the use of combat knives for silent kills. He is the leader of a Raptor cult within the Seekers, suggesting he is atypical of the organisation. He claims to have fought during the Horus Heresy, and to have killed many loyal Astartes of the Ravenguard during an alleged infiltration. The subject stated that Terron spoke at great length of killing Astartes on the fields of Isstvan V with bolter, and finding it “too easy”. Personally I find these claims to be mere fanciful boasting, but we heave learnt not to rule out anything when dealing with the Alpha Legion.

The subject claimed Terron marked him with the sign of the Hydra, and willingly showed a small brand of the Alpha Legion's symbol under a bandage on his shoulder. Terron ordered the subject to destroy any documents that passed his station that pertained to the Alethia or any shuttles associated with it, and supposedly offered to kill one person of the subject's choice. The subject was not sure if this was in jest.

It seems unlikely to me that the Seekers would associate with an individual so easily interrogated, nor that they would plan to dock their ship, a Heresy era warship, at Footfall. The implcation is that the information was meant to be uncovered, perhaps as a subtle threat to those who dig too deep. None the less, further investigation is required, as in any case where the Alpha Legion breaks it's cover.

Your faithful servant, Inquisitor Deatrix Kane.

Note from Inquisitor Quidam: This message was found on board the Imperial Cruiser 'Lonely Predator', returning from manoeuvres in the Koronus expanse. It was pinned to the back of a murdered naval officer with an Astartes grade combat knife.

Tenebris:

Entry log 12. The Triangle, sideral coordinates 123.349.887

For years I have observed my legion in combat, for years I have watched the skein of the Warp, for years I have studied the mundane affair that is war. We are a legion of scholars and while I and my brothers are astartes all we still often come short when the tides of war sweep us in the deep currents of defeat. It is clear to me that we need proven commanders to lead the Thousand Sons, someone who can take the burden of command from us, more scholary souls, and see to our needs and demands. Several magisters attempted to walk this path, either by employing mercenary warlords or even by tempting fate as military commanders themselves, yet while some were successful on this path, most blunted their inborn gifts on the anvil of war. This will not be my case.

Today, I Arstar Hanahon will change this and I will try to create the "strategos" a military commander solely bound to me, a merging of cogitator, astartes and the gifts of my legion and bloodline. I went to great lengths to secure a batch of geneseed of our flawed bloodline but secured it I did yet still I have to pay the price for it... alas my chirurgeons reported to me that the implantation went without problems and the recipient is now resting. In a few weeks time I will use the mind bending techniques of my caste to shape this youngling into a formidable strategos.

Entry log 171. The Triangle, sideral coordinates 762.124.231

Long and hard I have laboured but the "strategos" project is looking to be a success. For weeks unending I have shaped every single facet of the neophyte's mind in order to make him a posthuman cogitator, every mind pattern was carefully rewired and I have used my gift to map his brain. Notions of history, countless battle simulations, everything was carefully placed in his mind via my telepathic gift and I have already tested the strategos in several simulations, to outstanding success. Erus of the Black Legion is tutoring the neophyte in the fine arts of astartes combat and the youth seems to be a very efficient and pragmatic warrior. So far the process went without hindrance but there is still so much room in his mind to fill with libraries about astartes and human warfare. If all goes to plan, the "strategos" will be my lieutenant and the burden of command will be relieved from my shoulders.

Entry log 412. Tower of Holkasu, Planet of Sorcerers

The "strategos" project encountered the first setback. Taroth, as I named my pet lieutenant, was unable to cogitate an effective response to an ork assault. The brutish greenskins managed to flank him and my warband has lost several thralls and a Forgefiend daemonic engine to their assault. Taroth looked like he was suffering from a logical loop, not an uncommon event with the Rubicae but unthinkable in a creature of flesh and sinew. I have used the translogis rituals to encode more battlefield experience and treaties about the greenskins in the expanded brain cortex of my lieutenant. Hopefully this should provide him with ample response strategies for countering unexpected events in battle.

Entry log 814. The Triangle, sideral coordinates 465.982.122

Again Taroth proved to be an efficient commander in terms of logistics, deployment and overall strategic command but the unexpected events still force him into a logical loop. Despite my best effort to imbue my creation with extensive battlefield experience, force feeding him with astartes brain matter and securing several Dark Magi to expand his brain cortex the Strategos is still not perfect as a battlefield commander. In a clash with the Alpha Legion all his strategies were nullified and all his counter-attacks easily interpreted and repelled. In a shifting battle most of his strategy was of logic nature yet still the Alpha Legion won that day. In a desperate bid to salvage something of my project I contacted the Alpha Legion afterwards the battle and despite their victory they seemed very amused of my "creature", so far that one of them offered his services for an extraordinary price, a price at this stage I am willing to pay, pride be damned.

Entry log 1209, sideral coordiantes 230.235.684

I officially close my "strategos" project and seal it as a failure. The project was flawed from the very start. Despite my best effort to "tutor" my pupil in the art of war the problem is that most of it was of literal nature and when layered within his mind it proved to be a great wealth of information yet of little practical use. My advisors warned me about the prevalence of the theory and the lack of experience but an astartes should be a formidable weapon as it is, yet the "strategos" did not think as an astartes, hence it did not act as an astartes. Comparing the results of my creature to those of Ando Luran, Splintermaster of the Alpha Legion the outcome was dismal. Taroth was unable to cope with the pragmatic and effective doctrines of the Alpha Legion, he was not able to adapt or react and my all too synthetic approach to his mind patterns proved to be the ultimate mistake that sealed the fate of my experiment.

As it is I have recreated a Rubic Marine in flesh and soul. An automaton, a static commander and not a proactive one. The curse of my bloodline comes to haunt me yet again for no matter how many times I meddle with the minds of my mortal subjects, while I give them incredible cognitive powers I blunt their visceral, emotional part which is the result of experience and flesh, flesh that is learning on mistakes past. The project "strategos" showed me this truth, the truth of flesh and the truth of Change and once again I am humbled by the teachings of the Changer of Ways. A brain must be allowed to change, to adapt, to learn. Change cannot be programmed, it must be spontaneous, it must be emotional and it must be done on ones own terms. In my hubris, in my arrogance I have deemed myself worthy of creating a mind, only to find out that I have created a null mind, an automaton of flesh.

Taroth will still serve me, he is astartes still but I cannot escape the shadow of my failure, I cannot escape his dead gaze and emotional stillness. I have sought to create a Son from the dust, but I have created a Rubic of flesh...

The failure of Arstar Hanahon, Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons, notice the "Strategos" Taroth. It is clear that the sorcerer was desperate to salvage his project. Despite the meticulous gene forging, mind weaving and techno cant that went into the creation of the "strategos", the creature proved ultimately a failure, failure as an astartes and failure as a commander. In a desperate bid to save his creation, Arstar imbued the armour of his lieutenant with the essence of a Pink Horror, to supplement the predictability of his ward with the unpredictability of the daemon, only to find the daemon ever more taking advantage of the constant logical loops of the ward. Armed with a powerful set of weapons, a daemonic blade and an archeotech plasma gun, the "strategos" proved time and again to be a very effective, if unimaginative warrior, immune to most forms of psychic or psychological assault, an economy fighter with high marks in blade work and shooting, yet... unpredictable foes still bested him often enough. His logistical form was impeccable as were his strategies in void combat, where advanced logarithms and enhanced brain patterns allowed him advantage in the often mathematical form that is void warfare but on the ground the "strategos" was ultimately a failure. Prone to logic loops and often prey to the unpredictability of combat the "strategos" was little more than a Rubic Marine clad in flesh. Without expression, without a personality, the creature despite being of flesh and blood was little more than an automaton, a silent guardian, a drone clad in astartes flesh, a synthetic creature and in the end... unable to change... a failure.

You don't understand it sorcerer, a mind must be allowed to change...and grow on its own...

Ando Luran, Splintermaster of the Alpha Legion

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Silver Phoenix:

The taste of bitter ash and dust clung to Arit’s tongue as he peered through the fog that hung to the shattered city like a long forgotten funeral shroud. His helmet’s auto-sensors picked up various heat and movement signatures that even his enhanced astartes vision could not. A quick glance sideways told him his other brothers were still in place. His Chapter, the Silver Swords, has been engaged against the traitors on this wretched planet for weeks. The enemy commander was a cunning one. His Chapters attacks would always seem to miss their true mark, as if the enemy either knew or could predict their every strike. It was as though the enemy commander was toying with them, leading them to strike where he wanted them to, only for the real attack or target to be on the other side of the battle field. He knew his Captain was growing frustrated for, as Sons of Corax, the Silver Swords were being played with their own game. The duelling of his captain and the traitor commander had been playing out to a stale mate. That was until they had received intel on the location of the enemy commander himself. And so that was what Arit and his fellow assault marines were doing here. Waiting in the dust shrouded ruins in ambush for the enemy commander.

Arit did a final check on his bolt pistol as his auto-sensors picked up the signature of enemy astartes. A silent signal sent to his squad signalled they be ready for the attack. A few seconds later and with a deafening roar Arit and his marines leapt to the attack. As they soared through the dust and debris Arit picked his targets. He landed with a bone shattering jolt on top of one of the many mortal allies of the traitors before swinging his bolt pistol around to fire several rounds into another advancing mortal. The cultist fell back a few steps before the round detonated, shattering his torso and blowing him in half. Arit swung his chainsword around with pre-natural skill born of countless years of training and bio-engineering to block the downward swing of a traitor astartes power axe. He staggered under the blow but managed to fire his bolt pistol into the traitors chest from below, knocking the traitor off his feet. Another traitor mortal answered for their heresy at the end of Arit’s chainsword before the space marine took stock of his situation. There were far more traitor astartes here then the intel had provided. And those here seemed to be somewhat more skilled then the others his Chapter had been fighting so far. That and these seemed to be true astartes, not the poor gene-enhanced proto-marines they had killed in the last few weeks. It was with a sinking heart that Arit realised that they had been out-smarted again. This was a trap, designed to lure Arit and his men to their deaths. The icons indicating his battle brothers status began to turn from green to amber then red in Arit’s HUD in his helmet. With desperation Arit looked around for the enemy commander. If he could at least take him down then Arit and his men’s deaths wouldn’t be in vain. Arit’s keen eyes soon marked the traitor commander. Standing on a small out-cropping watching the battle before him stood a shorter and smaller in stature astartes with ornate bronze and blue armour, black cloak flapping in the wind. Arit smiled to himself. At least the intel had been right about one thing, the traitor commander was small and looked weak. He was clearly unwilling to engage in the battle alongside his brethren and instead hung back where he felt less venerable. Arit would soon show him the error of his ways. A battle cry on his lips Arit gunned his jump pack. Soaring over the heads of those desperately fighting below he made a direct path for the commander. The traitor didn’t seem to have even seen him coming. Arit hit the ground at a charge, bringing his chainsword up high as he charged in. He hardly had time to even register the traitor drawing his ancient plasma pistol before he had fired a shot. The blinding bolt of plasma cut straight through the air and through Arit’s helmet, scrambling parts of his brain. The assault marine crashed to the ground, his own momentum carrying him to the traitor’s feet.

Arit looked up at the grinning traitor above him. Red warning sensors flickered in what was left of his helmet and his shattered brain reeled, attempting to make some sense of what was happening.

“ But… the intel….” He managed to mumble through broken thoughts and reeling haemorrhaging. The traitor simply smiled before reaching down with a cruel power fist.

“ Fool boy, where do you think the intel came from?” the traitor asked, before ripping Arit’s head from his body.

Korvin Underghast, Third Captain of the Void Legion, is regarded not only for his ruthless nature but also his malicious cunning. Always regarded as small even post augmentation he was smaller then his brothers. To make up for his smaller size Korvin always made a habit of going into battle with the most powerful weapons available to him, most often a power-fist and plasma pistol. Despite this Korvin’s most dangerous weapon has always been his mind. Before the Void Legions Excommunication and subsequent turn to the darker powers Korvin proved his worth to his brothers. His quick rise in the Chapter was attributed to his masterful strategies and he soon became known as the “Little Strategist”. He earned himself the position of Third Captain, or Commander of the Chapters Third Company, following his masterful defeat of the Eldar Craftworld forces on Pillum IV. With the Chapters excommunication Korvin was one of the Captains whom backed Xaeros, the First Captain and followed him into exile. With Xaeros’ division on the Chapter Kolvin went on to lead his own forces before returning to Xaeros’ later call for a re-united Chapter. The time seperate in the warp had changed Kolvin however and now alongside his cunning his is filled with a cold malice and viscous hatred of anyone whom he deems inferior to himself. Unlike some in the Chapter Kolvin hasn’t turned to the path of excess and instead believes the Chaos Gods are a tool only to be used to fuel his own ambitions. Kolvin is, however, still completely loyal to Xaeros and the Void Legion.

THE VOID LEGION

Once a loyalist chapter of the adeptus astartes the Void Legion were a Chapter based on the belief of self reliance and personal strength. It was this belief that slowly led them away from the Imperium and eventually to be Excomminucated following their attack of fellow astartes, simply to prove their own strength. The Chapter had, however, realised the consequences of their actions and had fled the inevitable retribution long before it arrived. Instead the Chapter became a mercenary force, working on the fringes of the Imperium, fighting for whoever game them the best offer and the chance for the best fight. It was during this time that the Chapters First Captain, Xaeros, recovered the ancient Pre-Heresy vessel the “Indomitable Wrath”. Little did he know that the vessel was actually possessed by an ancient daemon that began to whisper and gnaw at the edges of the Captains mind. It wasn’t long before Xaeros launched a bid for command of the Chapter and the Void Legion became fractured upon the Chapter Master’s disappearance. Xaeros took those loyal to him into the Eye of Terror while other Captains took their forces elsewhere. One even returned to face the judgement of the Imperium. Shortly after arriving in the Eye Xaeros sent away his other Captains, claiming he needed time to meditate on the new purpose given to him. He made them all swear an oath that they would return to him when the time came. Deep in the warp Xaeros fought a battle of will with the daemon of the Wrath before eventually gaining some kind of control. He put out the call to those whom were still loyal to him and re-united the Void Legion. He began to track down others of his Chapter in an attempt to rebuilt what was lost. Many in the Chapter, particularly those following the Second Captain Kaliel had given themselves to Slaanesh in pursuit of becoming the perfect warrior and even now the Chapter is divided between the cult of Chaos Undivided and those whom follow the Prince of Pleasure.

In early M41 Xaeros began to gather other warbands to his banner and has formed a bond known as the Dark Covenant. So far this warband consists of the Void Legion itself, The Angels of Decay (Former Ultramarine Successor the Angels of Ultramar – Now devotees or Nurgle), The Sons of Abel (Former Company of Blood Angel Successor the Angels of Evisceration, now mind controlled servants of Tzeentch) and the Iron Hounds (Unknown origin, devotees of Khorne) What this gathering of traitors’ exact purpose is isn’t known but it can only spell doom and blood-shed for the Imperium.

Oldschoolsoviet

Resentment.

That's what resonates with it's appearance, the grudge it holds against me. Some sleight of the past, some search for recognition, I know not. My knowledge only extends to the fact I feel haunted by it's presence, and it's ever present shadow across my own.

Tamerian believes it to be ascended, a survivor of Terra granted fortitude by Our Lord, perhaps a survivor of The Breach, the day our kin scaled the Palace walls. Buried under the rubble and charred corpses of the thousands dead, perhaps it had pleased Our Lord sufficiently in glory, and found itself plucked from the mortal realm to serve in more valiant form. An interesting theory, formulated in his twisted mind through observation on several occasions, lacking as it is the typical hound visage, but bearing armour that harks back to echoes of the Glorious Age.

Why then, does it concern itself with my war ? Could it be displeased with our extended exile following the actions at Ghenna ? Does it seek vengeance for the withdrawal from Terra, or the fact it was abandoned to it's fate, left behind like so many of our brethren in the aftermath ? An agent of retribution tasked by Our Lord, to drive and torment me towards greater glory ? A curse for the inability to end this Long War with haste ?

Answers elude me, and I must suffer it's wrath once more. As I advance on the Loyalist lines to the south, tales have spread that the rift in the Primus hive have torn the bowels asunder, and that it marches on my flank at the head of a medley, daemonic and flesh alike, cultists and my own berserkers included.

Whether Khorne intends it to aid or confront us, is something to be seen. Perhaps it will finally reveal it's resentful past......and whose skull Khorne truly seeks.

- Jural Kordash

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teutonicavenger

Cannoness Helga chanted a prayer to the Emperor as she struck down the Plague zombie in front of her crushing it’s rotten skull causing it to collapse to the deck. “For the Emperor, strike down these abominations my sister’s” all around her the Battle sisters under her command tore into the Plague zombies that had swarmed the ships corridors cutting them down with holy flame and sanctified bolter rounds. Helga cursed in rage as she thought everything was going wrong whilst charging forward towards the next breach her squad following.

As part of a crusade of faith declared by his eminence Cardinal Jacob, a massive fleet was assembled with a full company of Battle Sisters of the Order of the Wounded Heart which acted as the personal retinue of the cardinal aboard his Flagship “The Divine Will” a Emperor class battleship. However as the fleet was in route to its destination it was ambushed by an unidentified slaughter class cruiser which was completely powered down to avoid being detected. Striking fast it had crippled a few of the Imperial ships before launching a volley of torpedoes which had penetrated the Divine will, through forbidden weaponry the breached torpedoes released toxic cloud killing dozens of the ships crew who were then revived as plague zombies by a device which radiated foul sorcery. Slowly but surely the undead were gaining in numbers as the overwhelmed the doomed crew leaving it to the Battle sisters to purge the plague zombies before they overwhelmed the main areas of the ship with the lesser ones being sealed off.

As the Sisters entered the Engine Reactors, Helga noticed the last surviving crew members dragged down by the zombies which had swollen in size with every death, noticing the sister’s arrival the undead horde let out a tortured scream before shambling forward.

“Open fire, send the abominations to oblivion” Helga cried firing her Infernus Pistol into the undead ranks cutting some down, all around her, her sister’s opened fire upon the zombies cutting down dozens especially the retributors who reaped a deadly toll with their heavy bolters, though just as the horde seemed to be broken it was then that they appeared.

Shrouded in a haze of smoke they strode out from the zombie ranks, clad in a decayed and corroded armour of an archaic pattern from a forgotten era their eyes blazing with a sickly green spectral light . Wielding rusted blades alongside heavy shields fitted with bolters they advanced towards the Sisters as the zombies were cut down around them

Plague Marines!!! Helga cursed as her sisters opened fire upon the seven new arrivals

Striding forward, the marines soaked up the oncoming fire before they opened fire

Four of her sisters were cut down screaming, two from meltaguns while the others from combined bolter fire, splitting up into two groups the Plague marines attacked.

Three of them attacked the Retributors who stood no chance and quickly fell to the twisted revernant’s blade before the sisters could defend themselves

“No!!!” Helga screamed watching her fellow sisters fall before charging forward with her celestine bodyguard firing her pistol on the run melting one of the Plague marine’s shield before the two sides met.

Striking out with her power mace she aimed for the foul champion who seemed to be leading Plague Marines, however the creature was fast for it’s decayed state and managed to block the blow with it’s shield though the force managed to stagger it causing it to lower it’s shield offering an opening, Seizing the opportunity Helga pointed her pistol at the champion’s chest crying “Die Heretic” before firing point blank punching a massive hole in it’s chest, thinking she had defeated her opponent she turned to kill another.

However just as she turned a massive force smacked into her causing a terrible pain sending her into the nearest wall with a sickening crack causing her to slump down to the ship’s deck blood poured from her mouth, every bone in her body seemed to be broken as she was unable to move. As she gazed up she noticed the Champion still standing it’s power fist covered in blood, it had a smoking hole in its chest but seemed unfazed by it’s grievous wound ‘Foolish” it scolded little more than a ghostly whisper but which seemed to bore into Helga’s head. As the last sister was slain another Plague marine approached the champion “Morbidius” it intoned in a deathly whisper it’s eyes blazing with a sickly witchfire, “they are dead, we must get moving, the engines will detonate but there is still much we must do that the Prophet has ordered”

“Yes” the champion Morbidius said “ onwards my brothers, we bring death to the living leave this one to her comrades” laughing at it’s last comment before making their way down the corridor

Helga Tried to rise to her feet but was unable to move, hearing the sound of shambling feet she turned her head to see her fallen sister’s slowly rise to their feet

“Yes my Sisters, let the Emperor grant you the strength to rise, prepare to smite th- “ her words turning to ash in her mouth as she noticed the hungry dead stare they directed at her with their flesh rapidly decaying as the foul sorcery which was sustaining them slowly corrupting their flesh. Joined by more zombies the zombie sisters rushed the helpless cannoness beginning to devour her still living whilst she screamed before the engines detonated engulfing her and the zombies in a blazing inferno.

Morbidius the Graveborn

An undead champion of mighty power, the one known as the Graveborn leads the raids of the Heralds of Salvation launching horrifying boarding actions that leave ships desolate hulks filled with rotten corpses. As the right hand of the Necromancer Michael Vilepox, Morbidius serves his dark master seeing him as a holy prophet of Nurgle tasked with bringing the gift of death to the living.

The Graveborn's is decayed Revenant clad in Archaic armour from a forgotten era wielding a powerfist alongside a mighty boarding shield capable of shrugging off the heaviest of firepower ignoring even grevious wounds that would kill the living. Always at the head of a similar armed band of Plague Marine boarding squads the one known as the Graveborn has become a deadly threat to the Imperium

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Chareon

He pulled his hood closer around his head, concealing his more avian features within the shadows lest he draw too much attention to himself. His cloak whipped around him as he crossed the road and ducked into the local tavern, and the comfort of an empty, secluded booth. It was busy, as befitting of the season, with many off-duty soldiers utilising their break celebrating the Saint’s birthday to relax and unwind from the front in the arms of alcohol and women. Scanning the bar with his hawk-like eyes, he spotted a lone drinker engrossed in contemplating his beverage, feeling his state of mind and knowing him to be perfect for this task. Slipping through the throng, he sidled behind the trooper, laying his hands upon his shoulder in a comradely gesture and began to whisper delicious lies into his ear. Holding the guardsman's rapt attention, and the boisterous masses within the tavern otherwise engaged with their merriment, no one saw the third hand slip from a fold in the cloak nor the sickly glowing athame prick the soldier and draw blood. Concealing the weapon once more within his robes, he took out and placed the suicide note into the pocket of the man who was about to become complicit in this scheme, before taking leave and slipping out into the darkness. He waited until Trooper Yevin started loosing shots on full auto within the crowded bar and for the screaming to start before cawing with delight and melting into the darkness, to look for other ways to alter the course of this war and herald the coming of the end times.

And some background, for the Legion:

Over time, even the mightiest legions require reinforcement. The 4th Great Company has lurched from strength to strength since the Heresy, and continues to grow ever stronger with the power of the warp, with many flocking to its banner: marine, mutant and daemon alike. From vicious daemon engines of new creation, to immutable Plague Marines, the core of the Legion is represented most stoically by this long-serving, battle-hardened company. More organised that many other rivals post-Heresy, both within the Legion and outside, this preparation has stood them in good stead for their conquests and goes some way to explaining both their current strength and how they continue to grow and expand in the 41st millennium.

Whilst fully in the embrace of Nurgle, these followers have not taken on many of the physical gifts that would otherwise mutate and deform them, and look to maintain working vehicles and armour so as to supplement their cause. A variety of older Marks of battle plate can be seen worn by Terminators and by the rank and file within the core of the legion too, in addition to those that have been scavenged and hastily repaired to ensure that constant conquest remains a viable possibility.

Boasting a fearsome array of machines, supplemented by daemonic summoning, and a careful choice of mercenary allies and those who have been convinced to join the cause, there is a fundamental belief in the overarching unity of the Legion and its purposes. It is this drive that maintains both this order and battlefield dominance, allowing for nearly any combination of units to be fielded depending upon the opponent, and to operate in any theatre required of it. This diversity is seen as a strength by both ally and enemy alike, and as such offers a powerful psychological tool in addition to what the company can utilise when mobilising for war.

A recent raid on a forge world has allowed for the modification of two Baneblades into Plague Reapers, as well as recruiting a rare renegade Imperial Knight with allegiance to the Legio Mortis to the swelling ranks. Rumours abound of the desire to obtain a Warhound and other Titans, which would perhaps fully round off a company that is growing ever stronger and larger, and to cement this company as the largest known in the history of the Death Guard. The mantra of “We are Legion” is most appropriate for arguably one of the Imperium’s greatest known threats, in the form of organised Chaos.

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Kizzdoug

Borghast (formerly brother Lorente of the Angels Encarmine), the Gorehound, Reaper of Angels, Black hand of Urkanthos.

Veteran brother Lorente served the Angels Encarmine with distinction and honour. He had risen through the ranks of the Chapter’s third company, serving under the famed Captain Tacion. It was during the cleansing of Cepheus Hive that brother Lorente earned his veteran’s laurel, leading his assault squad to strike down the rebellion’s Arch-Heretic, the rogue psyker, Cardinal Xystus. In the immediate aftermath of his victory, Lorente was lauded and celebrated for his courage and fortitude but as time passed many noted a marked difference in the bearing of the Hero of Cepheus Hive. As he threw himself into each new engagement with ever-increasing fury, some began to whisper that the dark sorceries of Xystus had left their mark on his soul. Others attributed it to the curse that afflicts all sons of Sanguinius. The matter came to a head on the killing fields of Auriga II.

In a single night of carnage, brother Lorente and four of his squad mates succumbed to the Black Rage. Driven on by glorious images of Sanguinius, his battle brothers, resplendent in their now alabaster battle plate, fell upon the forces of the Arch Enemy with renewed vigour. Unlike his brothers, Lorente was plagued by far darker visions. Where his brothers refought the glorious last stand of their doomed Primarch, brother Lorente’s mind drowned in an ocean of blood and slaughter. Lorente was last seen wading through a sea of corps, his once white armour darkened by blood and the filth of battle. After the pacification of Auriga II he was presumed dead and his name entered into the Chapter’s great tome of the fallen.

As fate would have it, brother Lorente arose from the slaughter of Auriga II reborn in the blood of his former brothers. He now prowls the void as Borghast, the Gorehound, Black Hand of Urkanthos, Hound of Abaddon. Clad in the black of vengeance and wielding the dread axe gifted to him by his new master. Once a warrior of courage and honour, he fights only for blood and ambition.

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BEN:

Ratherax, the Cleaver

Ratherax was initiated into the World Eaters legion in late M30, and after volunteering for implantation of the Butcher’s Nails, quickly rose through the ranks until he earned the right to wear terminator armor into battle. At the start of the Horus Heresy, Ratherax gladly followed his primarch, and followed his legion into the eye of terror after Horus’s defeat.

After the splintering of the World Eaters Legion in the aftermath of the burning of Skalathrax, Ratherax gathered a small cadre of Khorne Berzerkers and forged them into a new warband. The Cleavers of Khorne, as they now called themselves, rampaged in and out of the eye of terror, razing and pillaging chaos and imperial worlds alike. Ratherax held a particular hatred for the Emperor’s Children, who he held responsible for the fall of his beloved legion, and took great glee in personally leading the charge against them whenever the opportunity presented itself.

In late M40, Ratherax and his Cleavers of Khorne made planet-fall on the daemon world Coraaxi to claim a Black Legion-held blood temple of Khorne for himself. The surprised and outnumbered defenders were quickly overcome, and the temple captured. However, Black Legion seers had predicted the attack, and so mere hours after the victory a massive Black Legion force besieged the temple. The Cleavers of Khorne howled as one, and manned the defensive positions they had just overcome. The siege was brutal and bloody, with neither side being able to break through the other’s entrenched positions. Ultimately, attrition and the Cleaver of Khorne’s relatively small numbers became the deciding factor, and by the 8^th day, Ratherax was the lone survivor of his warband after a final Black Legion assault. Standing on the steps of the temple, surrounded by the bodies of his own men and Black Legion alike, he yelled a challenge, preparing to take as many skulls as he could along with him. His last stand was not to be however, as Urkrathos, the Lord Purgator under Abaddon, was impressed by the brutality in which Ratherax fought. Urkrathos delivered Ratherax a simple ultimatum, by patching directly into the comm system in Ratherax’s terminator armour: “Die here, and be forgotten, or take on the mantle of the Black Legion and slaughter for Abaddon and Khorne until the fall of the false Emperor.” Ratherax growled a begrudging acceptance, and was transported up to the Black Legion fleet. He eventually took command of the force that he had fought on Coraaxi, and reforged his armour to display the Eye of Horus.

Ratherax, and his now hardened Black Legion charges, are currently taking skulls for the blood god on the fortress world of Cadia, as a crucial part of Abaddon’s 13^th black crusade.

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Brother Kortmer

Tiitus Demeter Vuspusiaam, The Firstborn, The Far-Sighted –

emerged as one of the key figures from the ashes of the First Secession War in the Peccatus system. While Tiitus’ formal associations with any one of the nomadic warrior houses of Peccatus II cannot be reconstructed from fragmentary pre-war Imperial records, such records do indicate that Tiitus was navigating the warring tribal societies long before Imperial planetfall and the post-war Peccatian cargo-cult.

During the war, Tiitus implemented traditional Peccatian partisan tactics with scavenged Imperial hover technology and gathered a respectable force of hovercraft pirates, mostly fighting for Secessionists. More recent Imperial intel suggests that it was pirate and Secessionist forces that made contact with (what is believed to have been) an expeditionary splinter of the Disciples of Sol warband of traitor Astartes eight years into Imperial planetfall. Details of the incidents that ultimately led to the end of the First Secession War – seeing the single Imperial space bridge on Peccatus II’s moon in ruins and the Navy’s commanding cruiser boarded and under Secessionist control – remain unclear; it is known, however, that the Disciples of Sol disengaged from the Peccatus system for a number of years to come, leaving the Peccatian spear-tip of Tiitus’ pirates decimated after turning their weapons on them. It is believed that Tiitus was resurrected from the casualties – receiving what geneseed Secessionist-loyal Genetor Vuspusiaam could recover from the single fallen Disciple left behind.

At present-day, Tiitus Demeter Vuspusiaam has been reported to take tribal Peccatian warfare to space in and around the Peccatus system, mostly – but likely not exclusively – for the Secessionists of the Black Harvest.

Thats everyone. If there are any error or issues, please contact/pm me.