Hydra Imperious - Loyalist Alpha Legion/Shattered Legion

[Dantay VI]

You should check out Paz's Alpha Legion. It is the way I am gonna go, but with indigo instead of blue. I really want the old-school vibe :)

 

The second Alpha looks a lot better than the first. It is far too pale

[Balthamal]

Terra – Throneworld of the Imperium – 1106 Days after the Istvaan V Dropsite Massacre

 

 

Of all the wonders of the Imperial Palace, watching rain fall lazily from the dome of the Hegemon had been the one that always made his heart sing. Its absence these past three years had weighed him down more than the rumours of war that drifted home or the silence from both his Legion and the Lord Dorn every time he requested permission to take his men and depart. Cata Gantesua suppressed a sigh as his boots thumped the marble floor.

 

How much longer must we sit here when the real war is out there in the wider galaxy?

 

He didn’t want to dwell on the question longer than necessary; doing so only stoked his anger and resolve in equal measure. He detested being forced to wait when the fate of his Primarch remained unknown. Nothing had been heard from the XIII Legion since their mobilization on Calth had begun. Leman Russ had reported that the Dark Angels were still active in significant strength however of the Blood Angels even less had been determined; it was as if the galaxy had simply swallowed over three hundred thousand warriors. He ached to be able to pit his strength against that of the traitors and make them bleed for every inch of their advance but that would be to discard his duty; without orders from Gulliman or the Emperor himself he would stand on the walls of the palace and ensure that at least one Ultramarine fought in its defence.

 

The approaching warriors broke his reverie; their sable armour almost sucking in the light of the great hall. Gantesua prepared himself for what promised to be an irritating conversation as their leader brought the men behind him to a halt and continued forwards alone, his mark III plate chased in gold, a massive blade sheathed across his back. Stopping a few paces away, he brought his fist to his chest in salute.

 

“Delegatus”

 

Gantesua made the sign of the Aquila and inclined his head, “Captain Tsaral.”

 

Bartellmus Tsaral removed his helm and regarded the Ultramarine with his golden gaze. “I trust you have met with Lord Dorn and the Sigillite?”

 

The delegatus nodded; “I have, and both remain set in their determination that we should bide on Terra a while longer. There is still no word of my Primarch, nor yours.”

 

Tsaral took the information without a change in expression. “I trust the Lion will emerge from the storm of war in due course. Until either he or our beloved Emperor see fit to issue me other orders I will stay and heed Dorn’s wishes. For now.”

 

Gantesua bowed his head in acknowledgement “I thought such would be the case lord.”

 

“Ah Cato you do stand on formality, I trust you’re aware that you outrank me?” chuckled the Dark Angel.

 

The Ultramarine smiled briefly, the break in his features almost making him appear a different man. “Rank is a nebulous thing when our lords and masters are absent to give them context captain. I simply content myself that I have duty enough that I do not have the leisure to think of it overly much.”

 

The approach of one of his warriors ended the light tone of the conversation. He snapped a salute to both his captain and the Dark Angel, his vox not quite stealing his voice of its uncertainty.

 

“Sir, we’re picking up faint signals to suggest there are significantly more warriors in the Hegemon than is currently the case.” He looked around to emphasise his point. “There’s nowhere they could be hiding.”

 

Gantesua ran his gaze across as much of the Hegemon as he could see, and given the acuity of his gene-enhanced sight that was a great distance indeed. His retinue were still helmed so they would be able to scan for infrared, heat and microwave emissions. To remain concealed despite all of that it would take psychic manipulation of breath taking subtlety or-

 

“Falsehoods! Plate fist!” He yelled the order and his warriors leapt to obey, even the Dark Angels wasted no time in asking foolish questions or doubting the delegatus’ intuition. In short order both retinues were back to back in a perfect circle, Gantesua and Tsaral ensconced in the centre, their eyes darting in every direction, the grip on their weapons tight.

 

Long seconds passed.

 

The eerie silence in the dome was finally broken with an order spoken calmly in High Gothic though the unmistakeable grating tone of a vox grille made clear the speaker was armoured in the same fashion as the warriors holding defensive formation;

 

“Remaneo”

 

Bide

 

Gantesua flicked a glance at the Calibanite standing beside him but Tsaral’s gaze remained firmly outwards; likely a trait from his formative years on Caliban, peering into the deadly forests for any sign of predators.

 

Forty paces ahead, the air..warped. That was the only way he could describe it. The fabric of reality seemed to twist and writhe, melting into an armoured figure in blue ceramite several shades lighter than his own. Serpents and scales were engraved over the entirety of the warplate, script in dozens of languages decorating the precious few inches not chased in silver and obsidian. The Alpha Legionnaire, for it could be no other, walked forwards slowly, his arms held away from the weapons holstered at his belt and maglocked to his armour. When he reached twenty paces away from the outer circle he stopped and curtly made the sign of the Aquila. Gantesua spoke before he had the chance.

 

“Identify yourself at once or prepare to die!” Tsaral did glance at him once then though whatever emotion was curling around the unnatural glint of his gaze was lost on the Ultramarine. He was reassured by the words his fellow officer spoke however,

 

“My kinsman isn’t bluffing traitor, speak. And quickly.”

 

The man facing them made no further movement though both felt the unmissable sensation of being stared at behind the green eye lenses of his helm. His voice could have been chiselled from the long dead ice at Terra’s poles.

 

“My lords, my name is Phytroa  Rahypto, and I am captain of the Second Siege Echelon, Fourth Chapter, Twentieth Legiones Astartes. And I am no traitor to the Imperium Captain Tsaral.”

 

The Dark Angel betrayed nothing in the way of surprise at his name being known; if anything he became even more still, the sign of a predator preparing to charge its prey. Gantesua spoke for both of them.

 

“Your Legion is already assured of its in infamy Captain, you are a fool if you expected any other greeting,”

 

Rahypto inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the Ultramarine’s point but that was the extent of his reaction.

 

“Theoretical: you say you remain loyal,” Gantesua contuned, “Yet you bear falsehoods within the Imperial Palace itself and even now keep the extent of your warriors hidden. The only practical in such a situation is to assume attack and to strike first lest we be overwhelmed in the opening salvo”

 

The captain still didn’t move but this time deigned to respond. “An astute appraisal Delegatus but you disregard Lord Gulliman’s third paradigm of encirclement against unknown opposition: to fire the first shot is begin the accounting before more favourable ground obtained. I’m going to give you favourable ground Cato, you’ll even thank me eventually.”

 

Gantesua suppressed a sneer despite being moderately impressed at the depth of the Alpha Legionnaire’s knowledge of his Primarch’s treatise.

 

“Then speak plainly. I have little patience after years caged on Terra.”

 

“My lord wishes to speak with both you and Captain Tsaral, in person. Together he feels you may wish to partake in an enterprise he is fashioning to bolster the Throneworld in advance of the Warmaster’s arrival in the Sol System.

 

He certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

 

“I understand if there is a degree of distrust involved with such a decision Delegatus but it really is very simple. Horus will reach Terra despite the best efforts of whatever Legions still loyal are fighting out in the wider galaxy. The Emperor remains secluded, the Custodians withdrawn, the Wolves of Fenris bloodied and the Fists rooted here, all the while the Sigillite plays his little games, bleeding the defence of men and stratagems that could decide the war.” He nodded slightly for emphasis. “Both of you and your forces are marooned on Terra by order of both Malcador and Dorn; if you’re going to be stranded do you not wish to do something productive with the time remaining?”

 

Tsaral pushed his way past the encircling the warriors and stood two paces away from Rahypto.

 

“I will ask you two questions and if you wish to live you will tell me true,” the cold menace in his words all the threat he needed. “Does my Primarch still contest the Imperium?”

 

A nod. “He does, at present his on Maccragge.”

Gantesua made to interrupt but Tsaral flung a hand behind himself to demand silence.

 

“Good. Now the more important matter. Why are you still loyal when your Legion has turned its colours?”

 

The azure clad warrior paused for precisely eight heartbeats before replying.

 

“I fought for the Imperium before my Primarch rejoined the Legion. I bled for the Imperium before any Primarch led their Legion. My hands were red in Unification blood before the Lightning Banner was raised and the Emperor’s realm born. A thousand times a thousand times a thousand enemies have fallen before my blade so that the Pax may prevail. Sometimes, sons are more than the failings of their fathers Dark Angel.”

 

Tsaral absorbed the words before nodding.

 

“Have the rest of your warriors show themselves.”

 

Rahypto snapped out a fist and the warping of the air was almost audible. Scores of Astartes were ranged around the Ultramarines and Dark Angels. All had weapons drawn though none were pointed at them. Unexpected but something he would use at a later time if he needed to.

 

“Very well. Take us to your lord. Whoever he is.”

 

Rahypto looked back over his shoulder as he turned away.

 

“He is Ruin Dark Angel. You’ll see the truth of that soon enough.”

 

 

So after a long, long time away doing other things (and plenty of hobby) I have returned! The Downfall live and they are far from done with their mission.

 

There'll be more shattered legion elements on the way soon enough but thought I'd get in a recap of the bits and pieces I've completed since updating this last.

 

 

Cata Gantesua, Invctari Delegatus to the Imperial Court

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20160611_151355_001_zpsbqf5sw9y.jpg

 

 

Eighty Third Invictari Cohort

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20160620_142949_zps6exdqcrv.jpg

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20160620_142936_zpscv4naswf.jpg

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20160620_142930_zps76xxpdcp.jpg

 

 

Tempest of Iax

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20160604_175612_zpsubg3hgoa.jpg

 

 

Squad Lycineus

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20160728_230158_zpsrx2huc6k.jpg

 

 

Bartalmus Tsaral, Captain of the 35th Company, 3rd Order, Deathwing

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20160813_152607_zpsqplaw9xk.jpg

 

 

Squad Vareil

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20160728_230241_zpshiaqcrx2.jpg

[Soldier of Dorn]

Well, damn, this is a blast from the past, isn't it? Good to see that you've not been idle, and the fluff is good as ever.

[Balthamal]

Well, damn, this is a blast from the past, isn't it? Good to see that you've not been idle, and the fluff is good as ever.

 

Idle I have certainly not been haha. Actually have completed around 3.5k points wise it's just been in a haphazard order for events and stuff that's been run through my club so there's plenty of completed models to show off, just need to catch up on my writing. Amazing how moving house/getting married/going on honeymoon/helping to run a club/doing a podcast can eat into hobby time 

[Balthamal]

Day 1

 

The first sensation that came to him was the biting cold. It cut through the rags that remained of his clothing. It stole all feeling from his hands and feet and briefly stung the many lacerations on his flesh before blessedly numbing the pain from them as well. He had felt chill air in the mountains of his home before he had found himself taken though he didn’t even know the name of the region. The next was the blinding glare of the sun. After so many days in the half light of failing lumen globes true sunlight scorched his eyes despite the lateness of the day. The snow coating the frozen ground merely returned the brightness with interest.

 

The third sensation was pain although that was rapidly fading as his body began losing feeling through a combination of the bitter cold and the exhaustion flooding through his veins. As close as he could tell, he had been forced to run and fight for close to 13 hours every day for at least 9 days. Miles and miles of jogging and sprinting through the cavernous halls underground, climbing, jumping, rolling, swinging; all to prove his strength. At the conclusion of every punishing schedule he and another had been pushed into the blood stained pit and forced to fight to the death. To begin there had been cheers and jeers to the clash of blows, boasts and taunts from each other but as the days went on and more blood had been spilled they had gradually ceased. By the seventh day there had been silence as the lords picked their chosen victims and signalled for the bout to begin. There was to be no quarter. No stopping. It would end only when one breathed his last. If the other were also mortally wounded then that was their fault for dying as well. Ten times he had stood in the pit and ten others he had killed; with blade, with chain, with rock and with his hands. He was a killer.

 

The final sensation was wariness. This was change, new. This wasn’t running on legs turned to water or climbing with burning arms or feeling the breath saw in and out of screaming lungs. This was caution, not fear; after the blood he had spilled and shed in turn he was fairly sure he would never feel fear again. Yet unease clung to him.

 

The lords pulled others aside, forced them to stand in groups; each eleven strong. They were methodical, sometimes they’d skip over several dozen before finding one they decided was fit for a grouping whilst other aspects lacked all uniformity; height, colour of hair, eyes, skin, the amount of muscle each carried whether they were well set or on the point of starvation. All that bound them were the bloody wounds still fresh across their bodies and the fact they had each killed ten others to arrive at this moment.

 

With their sorting complete the head lord looked over the sight before him and spoke simply;

 

“Look at the ten worthless turgs standing around you. They are your brothers now. Their lives are now yours and yours theirs. So too are your deaths. You will stand as one and fall as one. As of this moment, you are one.”

 

The boy looked around at those standing close to him. This was new. Unexpected. He had brothers now. Brothers.

 

 

http://i1299.photobucket.com/albums/ag78/chud395/20170214_144626_zps1od3w9ed.jpg