Liberalia Martiale 2016 - Blackshield Generator

[alfred_the_great]

Death Guard

Veteran

Accused of treason

Known by most of Legion

Troubled

Trickster

All-round

 

I'm looking after the kids right now whilst my wife does stuff; I'll update later.  I have thoughts....

 

Sgt Avgust of the Grave Wardens was drawn from solid Barbarus stock.  He slowly, but relentlessly made his way to the right hand of Typhon, becoming a Grave Warden.  Motivated by a burning desire to bring the light of the Emperor to the oppressed across the Galaxy, he took honour in fighting in some of the worst places.  Although a Grave Warden, Typhon found him too pious for his plans.  He used the putative attacks on Isstvan III as an excellent way to rid himself of Avgust.

 

Temporarily promoted as Chapter Master, he was to lead his men into destroying their assigned targets.  Avgust heard the warnings broadcast by his fellow Death Guard immediately before the virus strike began, and he managed to get himself and his command group into tunnels.  Fighting hard throughout the dread days after the betrayal, he survived on Isstvan's surface, and was lifted out with the few remaining loyalists, a bitter and broken man.

 

After extensive de-briefing and testing, Avgust was assigned on Terra in a supernumerary role.  Stripped of his Grave Warden armour, he re-donned MkIII armour, unpainted, recalling the Dusk Raiders he was never a part of.  However, they could not strip him of his knowledge of poisons and toxins, a knowledge that originally set him apart from his peers.  He quickly set about reconstructing his beloved Assault Grenade Launcher and phosphex bombs. 

 

Sgt Avgust was ready to take his position in the line defending the Imperial Palace, when he discovered an Officio Venenum assassin, loyal to Horus, attempting to taint the Loyalists' positions.  He now roams Terra's surface, ensuring that the poisoners do not sabotage the Emperor's plans...

[Loddfafnir113]

So my results were (after my third set of rolls):

Legion: (14) Death Guard

Rank : (2) Battle Brother

AoC: (6) Pride

Fame: (5 (3+2)) Known in his company

Sanity: (3) Troubled

Reputation: (5) Reckless

Speciality: (2) Ranged

 

Instantly my thoughts went to a psyker who was sent into a battle company but is deeply affected by some of the legions at Isstvan V, primarily the Emperors Children and Word Bearers. I also took a bit of inspiration from the Orphans of War blackshields trait which hopefully came through. This chap is currently nameless, but I think I'll do something with him in the future, may even be the start of a blackshields project for myself. So, here we go...

 

"I'll tell you why I fight them. Our Primarch had...a distaste for psykers. He called us 'cursed', claimed our powers were nothing more than 'an affliction' for which there is no cure. Don't worry, the irony doesn’t escape me. Isstvan five was the turning point. Oh we were all beholden to the Warmasters words at first, how we were saving the Imperium, OUR Imperium, from the basest hypocrisy and tyranny. I was as loyal as any to my legion and our new cause. It wasn't the destruction of the loyalists that shook my allegiance, Isstvan three had already taken all the unease at that kind of atrocity from me. You see, I could sense something in the other legions that many couldn’t. I knew what powers they had started using. They reeked of the warp. Some of them wore it proudly on their flesh, others held it in their hearts, but it was there and being used against our enemies. But to them it wasn't just a weapon, or a defect of birth which could serve a better purpose. Some of the things I saw were more horrific and twisted than anything I had witnessed in centuries of warfare. And after the killing was done I looked on and saw my Primarch, stood shoulder to shoulder with those who flaunted the very power I was forbidden to use. Where was his hatred for the warp then? Where was the conviction he held when he looked upon me with disgust in his eyes and threw me back to the depths of my company, where I dug my heels into the mud and pointed a heavy bolter at the enemy? My hands were not meant for a mortal weapon, they were meant to spit searing flame and snap bones with a gesture! That’s when I made my choice. In the sprawling morass above the planet, when companies and battalions were being herded to their ships by the thousands I saw an opportunity to leave. I knew some of my brothers had seen what I had seen and felt as I felt, and together we took control of a strike cruiser, slaying the rest of the crew before they could raise an alarm. It amuses me still that, how the betrayers were so blind to being betrayed themselves. We hung back from the main fleet, claiming a technical malfunction which needed to be fixed before we could translate to the warp. It wasn't wholly a lie, when we took the bridge I damaged a number of control consoles with my powers. I was a little out of practice. We changed course and translated to the warp with little trouble, one ship in the sprawling morass of the armada above the planet drew little attention. In time we found other ships cast adrift from other legions. Some of them shared our views and we joined with them. Some did not, but we'd had enough practice fighting astartes to deal with them. As we travelled we all saw more evidence of the taint which we had witnessed on Isstvan. This was not the controlled power which I wielded, but the basest corruption and uncontrolled madness which my Primarch had so fervently hated. The Emperor might have lied to us, but the things the traitor legions were doing spat in the face of everything we were and everything we achieved, and together we vowed we would not let this stand.

So that's why I fight them. I don’t do it for penance or redemption, I know I've killed brothers and cousins enough that were I to fight for eternity forgiveness would still be out of my reach. I fight because I can, because I am a weapon, because I am stronger now than I ever was when I was bound in the chains of one master or another and because I am one of the few with power to fight against the madness and corruption that is trying to rip this galaxy asunder. So, now I have told you my story there is only one question which remains. Will you fight with me?"

 

 

[Slips]

I got myself:

 

(5) White Scar, (5) Consul/Centurion, (11) Separated From Former Legion For A Long Time, (7) Known By Most Of His Legion, (2) Unstable, (8) Good Hearted, (3) All Rounder.

 

Soooooooooo.....

 

It looks like someone who wanted to Oversee the Traitor White Scars element on their Suicide Mission and make sure as many of them found redemption and, due to how widely he was known, was brought before the Khagan as the prime candidate. Possibly a Primus Medicae because of 1) Personal Bias 2) Who better to take care of Geneseed?

 

Upon his return to the wider Imperium, he's immediately suspicious of any and everybody as Information of the scale of the Heresy starts filtering in unless they're a White Scar and seeks to return to the main Fleet and the Khagan.

[Jareddm]

The marine known only as Silence has been gaining a reputation across the Shadow Crusade of Ultramar.  Clad in the black, he appears and disappears from one battle to another seemingly at will, on planets in completely different systems.  Dangling from his battle plate from a dozen locations are devices of such infamy that those who recognize them wish they didn't.  Butcher's Nails.  Each one ripped directly from the skull of a World Eater legionnaire.  Stranger still is the weapon he is seen wielding.  A horrific amalgamation of Astartes sniper rifle and Dark Eldar Blaster.

 

This marine appears to not care who he fights alongside, be they traitor or loyalist, as long as those across the battlefield are World Eaters.  He gives no notice, no acknowledgement.  His crackling black bolts simply appearing from the battle sidelines, striking down the sons of Angron.  With intense precision, he removes one limb after another from marines lost in the battle haze of the Butcher's Nails.  Once they are disabled, he approaches their, usually still living, limbless, bodies, and rips the Nails out of them with his gauntlet-ed hand. 

 

Several theories have spread as to the strange marine's origins.  Some believe him to be a survivor from a destroyed Ultramarine outpost.  Others that he is a World Eater apothecary, seeing the error of his gene-father's ways.  Others still that he is an Istvaan V survivor, wishing to turn the former predators into prey.  The truth is even stranger still.

 

Within the Word Bearer's legion exists an unpopular sect.  This sect, spread thinly across the Chapters of the Osseous Throne and the Exalted Gate, believed that it is She Who Thirsts that is currently in ascendant within the pantheon, and that it is Her favor that should be courted at this time.  However, political and dogmatic rivals within the legion had it crushed, its believers left to be put to use on Calth.  Silence fled, continuing to seek out all there is to know of Slaanesh.  As tribute, he slays the prophesied champions of the Blood God, taking the instruments of their worship and corrupting them to amplify all emotions, not just anger and rage.  Through Slaanesh he can locate and travel to battles for harvesting, then return to his new followers amongst a forgotten asteroid colony, each one gifted with one of the newly profane devices.

 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Former Legion: Word Bearer
Rank: Centurion/Consul
Conflict: Befriended xenos
Fame within former Legion: Well known in his Chapter
Sanity: Unstable
Reputation:  Cruel
Speciality: Ranged Combat

[Robzilla]

First post on here, so here goes!

Actually just started doing an alpha legion force, but I think I've got some motivation for black shields on the side now!

 

I rolled:

Unknown legion

Consul

Left for unknown reasons

of great reknown

Evil incarnate

Sane

Close combat

Thought to add to the mystery I would tell it from a third party...apologies if it's a little disjointed... Been typing it all intermittently throughout the day on my iPhone. Anyways, without further ado Behold, the(ill fated) Godslayers:

 

The cruiser burned bright and hot in the cold black of the void.

On his knees, Marius watched, his humours rising as another hope for the 500 worlds died in the dark.

The rest of his squad also knelt, defeated and disarmed.

 

Marius felt a bitter sting to his pride in the silence of the room. The ship to ship engagement had gone so well, overwhelmingly so. The hunk of scrap that burned outside was testament to that. Nobody, not he, nor his captain had expected the counter attack. So many teleports, and with such precision... He had held out as best as he could, but his squad was surrounded, and overwhelmed. Radio noise had died out a long time ago...

 

The corsairs stood watch at a respectful distance, their boltguns a mismatch of improvised repairs and unorthodox alterations. Their armour, dark grey, worn, battered and littered with bonding studs. Theoretical? They had gone a long, long time without true resupply. This force had been operating independently for at least several engagements over an unknown span. They held themselves with precision and confidence of veterans, tried and tested. No legion markings. Unusual for traitors. Practical? It mattered not. His unit were overwhelmed and the other squads unaccounted for. The sirens had died down some time ago now, as had the sounds of battle. The enemy guns worked, their armour held, and it was his unit, or what was left of it, that found themselves on their knees, surrounded. But still alive.

And you know how that saying goes...

 

He let out a chuckle at that. If his captors noticed, they didn't show it.

 

Time passed, the fire rose on the ship outside whilst the last of the oxygen burned out, the hull a ruin. Marius tried not to focus on it. His concern was his own ship, and the cargo it held. The munitions were vital to the ongoing prosecution of the 500 worlds defence. Even now, world burned as the forces of the xiiand the xvii ran unchecked, fleeing through the warp.

 

His captors stirred as one of the blast doors opened, and Marius shifted slightly to gain a clearer view of the new intruder to their midst.

 

Theoretical? The plate worn was the same worn, battered gun metal black of his fellows, but clearly of superior stock. A flowing cape hung from his shoulders.. Possibly a consul, judging by his poise, a herald or a chaplain? The astartes carried no side arm, only a pair of powered gauntlets. Clearly a brawler, and quite possibly the leader of this ensemble. Unhelmed but for a snarling rebreather. Quite the taste for the theatrical. What Marius wouldn't give for a bolter and a clear shot... Leader, brawler, arrogant, aloof.

Practical? He was a giant, even amongst his kind. Marius had seen smaller cataphractii... Do not engage in melee.

 

'Your brothers have been subdued, your ship gutted and your hopes of reuniting with your legion waylaid. My apologies.'

The giant surveyed the group.

His voice, even through the rebreather was a rich timbre, definitely one for oratory. Definitely a leader.

'You. Sergeant. Rise.'

It was a command, and Marius allowed himself to stand. It would be fruitless to yield resistance, for now at least.

'You now command these men' he gestured with one of those giant gauntlets at the remainder of the ultra marines knelt on the deck, and at those who lay, incapable of kneeling. 'Your captain is dead. I broke him. My men tell me you held a strong defence here. Admirable, but pointless...'

The giant turned, surveying the ship through the viewport.

'She will still limp in still, have no fear'

'We know no fear!' Marius spat, before he could help himself.

A moment silence.

'I know. But you should...' The giant did not turn. 'Fear for your imperium, and for this petty little empire you have carved. Fear for your legacy. Fear your father, As he is just as flawed and broken and destined for disaster as the rest of his brothers, and his father before him.'

'How dare you speak of guilliman! you are a plague upon the galaxy, Our father crafted an empire. What have you accomplished, traitor?'

The room fell silent. Though their captors did not stir outwardly, Marius heard the soft tap of fingers to triggers. Marius turned to the speaker, it was Gaius, a Youngblood with an impressive record gained in the twelve years of service to the legion.

The giant had spun, slowly and calmly walked to where Gaius knelt, to Marius' left. Every instinct spoke to Marius to leap to his brothers support, to his aid, but the giant... His gaze, it's intensity gave Marius pause. The giant knelt before the legionnaire, placing his hand upon Gaius' shoulder gently, engulfing it almost entirely.

 

'Your father' he said softly, as if speaking to a child 'carved an empire out of vanity to sate his desperate need for control. His greatness, both martial and mental was grown and tailored in a lab by someone even more hell bent on domination than he. The only thing that affords your legion a shred of nobility was that the bastard Horus decided to topple the empire his father built, before the pride and ambition of your own sore caused him to do the same. Don't look so hurt little soldier... My father is just as doomed and just as broken. You follow a flawed God, raised upon a pedestal willingly by the masses who would follow him blindly into destruction. I am going to topple that pedestal, cast him down, and When he is in the mud and the dirt, like the rest of humanity, I will end him.'

For a moment, Gaius looked to respond, but the hate filled shout of defiance died on his lips, as Gaius found his shoulder crushed to a pulp beneath the iron grip of the giant.

He rose, gauntlet dripping gore as Gaius flailed, howling. And turned to the rest of the captives.

'Fear not. I bear no more Ill will to your father, than any other of his brothers. They will all follow him in time. I will see to it.

 

'As for you... Your chariot awaits' he featured towards the carcass of a ship beyond the viewport. 'You will forgive us for taking your ship. War is costly, and our cause is greater than yours.You are welcome to what is left of our former vessel. Sergeant, take your men, and depart. The other survivors are being shepherded off as we speak.

The crew stays of course... I'm sure you understand'

Marius was about to speak when one of those Slabs of ceramite fell upon his chest with the delicacy of a watchmaker. A warning. Marius had to only consider the faint moans of his squad mate to understand the practical necessity of the situation. Stay quiet. Don't move.

'Limp on, lick your wounds and Spread the word of our coming, little soldier. Or join us now, and cast out your fallen idols.'

 

It was with pride that Marius saw the entirety of his squad depart the chamber with him, wounded carried and supported between them.

They were escorted to a hangar where several stripped down naval transports nested. His men were escorted into each, and in turn the ships left for the wreck of the corsairs ship. Marius, last to embark on the transport, turned once more to assess the Giant.

 

'Who are you? You want us To spread word of your coming... Who shall we announce, as you sail to your destruction'

 

'It doesn't matter who we are... What matters is our plan. We are gods layers and iconoclasts. We are liberators and broken sons. The orphans of war and the saviours of man. And until our dying breath we will put fire unto the plans of our fathers'

[Kronos]

I've got an Insane Thousand Son consul who left his legion sometime ago, an all rounder expert known by his legion and apparently quite honest. Seems like Tzeentch did his handywork some time ago on this chap.

[Doctor Perils]

A prideful veteran of the Salamanders, known throughout his company for his skill at ranged combat and for being utterly drake :cuss crazy. He is now seen as Evil Incarnate... Hummm...

 

A veteran of a hundred wars, Brother Adoni Carpos was known among the 55th company of the Salamanders as one of its best marksmen, a talent that had afforded him the right to bear on of the company's reverred Multi-meltas. Proud of his skill, Carpos nonetheless believed that he had earned more, and constantly asked his captain for promotion. However, with no promotion forthcoming, Carpos turned his ever growing spite and bitterness on the enemy, regularly choosing to aim not to kill but to maim. His shots would provoke unbearable agony for his targets, and would tie enemy Medicae up for hours at a time.

 

This darkness would boil over at the Assault of the Drained Sea, during which he systematically shot holes through the Acid Dams protecting the civilian population, condemning them to a slow, painful and inevitable death. At the end of the battle, Carpos's captain decided that he had tolerated the Salamanders acts of cruelty too long, and exiled him from the Legion.

 

No one knows how Carpos left the surface of Euplenides, but it seems he has joined the battered banners of Kharon Dasz's 249th cohort of the Night Lords, where his skills and cruelty have finally earned him the promotion he believed so ardently he deserved.

[Emperor's Furor]

I rolled the follow:

 

Raven Guard

Sergeant

Pride

Known only by his squad members

Sane

Evil Incarnate

All rounder

 

What I think he could be -

 

A Sergeant that had been going through the motions for some time, a remnant of the Raven Guard before Corax had arrived, a Terran of the Xeric region, he had never fully integrated with his newer Kiavahr brothers. He had a fearsome reputation that made members of his squad think he was more like a World Eater than a Raven Guard. He was cruel almost vindictive with the way he killed but he always got the job done. He knew perfectly well what he was doing, it just didn't phase him. After the events on Istvaan he escaped but never made an effort to rejoin his brothers. He figured that the legion of old was dead and what was left was nothing but weaklings who would rather hide than fight. 

[Brother Aiwass]

Oh, thanks Olis! Didn't see the post before as I was lost in the warp. Thanks for sharing ^_^

[Olis]

No problem. I mentioned you twice to make sure you were credited properly, after all. ^_^

[Nusquam]

Evil Incarnate Thousand Son initiate, known only by his squad, accused of treason who becomes an insane space pirate. 10/10 would generate again.

 

I can see him having been off world for whatever reason when Prospero burned and subsequently joining a loyalist shattered legion force. The loss of Prospero and betrayal of Magnus weighed heavily on him until accusations of being from a traitor legion lead him to insanity. Which he then embraced and decided to carve out a bloody empire for himself.

[BLACK BLΠFLY]

Here's what I got ...

 

Unknown Legion (02)

Consul (05)

Unknown (12)

Well known in his Chapter (06)

Sane (04)

Good Hearted (08)

Close Combat (01)

 

Let's say he was away from his Legion on a secret mission whilst they were destroyed (for whatever reason). Learning of the loss of his Legion he did not return to their home world to preserve his own safety and keep his identity secret. He is a Champion well versed with the application of many melee weapons but will most often use a Charnal blade and maintains an areotech pistol. He now works as a mercenary fighting for good causes under various assumed identities.

[Reyner]

Well this could be very interesting as I got:

 

Iron Hands
Centurion
Deceit
A Champion of Renown
Sane
Coward 
All rounder

 

I will write up something for this guy later and probably throw a mini together for Loyalty and Treachery!

[depthcharge12]

I missed reading these! I'm glad you guys found it again!