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ART - The Corpora Ferro, the children of Xandra and the EW

AlphariusOmegon108

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AlphariusOmegon108 Venerable Brother

AlphariusOmegon108

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"THE IRON IS WHOLE AND THE SOUL IS DONE,

THE TIME OF DEATH AND FLESH HAS GONE.

 

FOR WE ARE THE BODIES OF DEATH AND THE BODIES OF STONE.

FOR WE ARE THE XANDRIANS AND THE BREAKERS OF BONE"

 

- Warchant of the iron bodies of Xandra, during the siege of Terra. At the gates of serenity.

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

 

So what the frack is this? I hear you say, well, it's my way of getting my nose back into this project with a bang! This has been a secret project for me for a while, every day putting like 5 minutes into it, just to keep it secret from you all and to work out the reasons why a bit more...

 

But let me first explain, what in the name of big E are the Corpora Ferro?

 

Well....

 

They are the secret highly elite troops of Xandra and the Cognis (the largest of the dark mechanicum factions) and are the secret sons of the Eagle Warriors. They are sacrificed brothers, from wich the bodies are reanimated with a deamon and then damaged parts, limbs and sometimes almost the complete bodies are replaced with mechanical bits (stolen from Iron Bear storage ships, from forge worlds and stolen from allies).

 

These warriors are the 50k EW sacrificed in the name of chaos during the whole of the insurrecion, Alexos would nopt let their flesh and muscle go to waste (Yes, he is not COMPLETELY insane), so he had Xander Travier take the bodies and rebuild them in a new vision.

 

So what will this change in the story you think? Not that much, they are five extra full cadres of bodies, they are just about as strong as any astartes, slower, but a bit more precise. They have no real commander except for perhaps save the primarch and Xander themselves. They don't play a very vital role, they are just some of the main "assault and boarding cadres".

 

"Then why the hell create a WHOLE new tread for this you weird creature?" well, this is my way to get back in this project, I am finnaly becoming a bit more productive and am reading more and more in this project, so I hope I can finnaly churn out some fluff again like in the early days of this project so that I can finnaly help the books and all be created. This tread is also to show my eagle warrior models, primarch models, and ofcourse...

 

 

The Corpora Ferro:

 

http://image.bolterandchainsword.com/uploads/gallery/album_11447/gallery_79144_11447_21942.jpg

Edited by Lord Thørn
AlphariusOmegon108 Venerable Brother

AlphariusOmegon108

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So they're like fully replaced Iron Hands aka cyborg marines?

Do they still have their own will or are they controlled like these things of the AdMech (their bots have brains too or not?)?

1. ish yeah, just more deamon fueled ;)

2. They have the "Cognar Logicist" wich does NOT give them free will, but they CAN override commands if other options are more logical

Kelborn Venerable Brother

Kelborn

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Deamon fueled means that we potentially see something like a mutilator?

Or more cyborgs with a touch of warp? ^^

 

Every time I'm trying to visualize these guys, I end up with mutilators and other chaos possessed machines. ;)

bluntblade Venerable Brother

bluntblade

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Trying to decide how to write them whilst avoiding Necronitis. Perhaps playing up the daemonic aspects is the way to go.

 

Here's my first stab:

 

The Bears halted, as the Eagle Warriors revealed their newest weapons. Walking through the phosphex fire as though it was nothing, things with the shape of Astartes moved towards them.

 

Things like Astartes, and things that had been Astartes, but they moved wrongly. As they drew closer, Nibaasiniiwi felt a wave of disgust. The Bears were proud users of bionics, but these figures were a mockery of their craft. Many lacked hands, their arms instead terminating in masses of blades or chains. Where skin showed it was distorted, like wax that has melted and then set. The once-proud lines of their armour were twisted too, with many of the appendages apparently welded straight onto the plates.

The metal itself rippled and flexed. And from eyes, mouths and gaps in the armour, light flickered, as if some eldritch flame burned within each figure.

bluntblade Venerable Brother

bluntblade

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So, barely recognisable as Astartes? I'm just trying to decide how that degree of replacement would be noticeable without losing the armour. Though I am thinking metal ribcages (I know Astartes don't have ribcages per se but bear with me) over that unearthly glow.

 

Control-wise, are we talking something like an Iron Warriors daemon construct, where the daemon's basically enslaved to power the thing? I suggest they keep a vestige of the original warrior's mind for reasons of Grimdark, and for reasons of plot convenience that the priests (any special name for them?) of the EW can command them.

 

While I think of it, what's the naming convention for EW Astartes?

AlphariusOmegon108 Venerable Brother

AlphariusOmegon108

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Well, deamon mini engines is a good way to describe em. They are about 60-70% rebuild.

 

Any preator or leader can control the corpus ferro, as long as the aztekii circle has given them acces to the special deamon network

bluntblade Venerable Brother

bluntblade

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Here's my final draft for the ritual that creates them:

 

+++++

 

Out here, so far from the heart of either Imperium, alien and aetheric energies shimmered in the void. Even through the clouds of pollution that covered Tartarus, Azraltan could see them. Perhaps, somewhere out there, the Pantheon signalled their pleasure at the acts done in their name on this world. For six years now, the most forward-looking elements of the Mechanicus had turned their minds to forging new weapons to be used against the False Emperor's lackeys. Anticipating the Stormlord’s decision, they had accelerated their research into how the Warp might be harnessed to create new engines of destruction.

 

Five months ago, the decision had finally been made and Alexos had travelled here, ordering his Legion to muster for a new campaign. Most of the Eagle Warriors gathered in the Mexicatii system or in the Mithran Cluster, but one fleet was to follow their primarch to the edge of the Galaxy itself and take up these new weapons for the approaching campaign.

 

The skies were full of landers and personnel carriers, and Azraltan stopped again to watch a maniple of super heavy tanks roll up an embarkation ramp, before hurrying on. As magnificent as it felt to see this army preparing for the true Crusade, he had summons from his master and those took precedent over all else. His retinue tailed behind him as he strode into the greatest of the tech-cathedrals.

 

He had expected great ranks of siege guns, tanks, even Titans. Instead, adepts ushered him into… an abattoir. He had expected that some facilities would exist here for Alexos’ biological projects, but this on a scale he had never imagined before. Moreover, this freezing chamber was not filled with the perfect fruits of the Legion's gene-manipulation, but twisted and deformed appendages that looked to have come from botched augmentations and ascensions. He tore his eyes away, looking to the figures at the end of the chamber.

 

“Ah, Azraltan,” croaked his lord. Azraltan and his men knelt as Alexos stepped forward, smiling. “Perhaps some warning would have been more considerate, but I preferred to wait and let you witness the daring of Xander’s order firsthand.” Normally the master of the Eagle Warriors was cold and distant even to his sons, but now he burned with zeal. This was why they dubbed him Ixiptlatlan, the one who bore the visage of the gods beyond the Immaterium.

 

Alzratan bowed his head to Tlahtoāni, Master of Ritual and leader of the Kaskuta berserkers. Tlahtoāni responded with a smile, congratulating him on his recent victories. The Jaguar Toa remained still and silent, their bolters, macahuit swords and tepoztō spears held ready.

 

“I have seen much of the innovation that our enlightened friends pursue under Kekbor-Hal,” acknowledged the Doubter as they set off through the charnel hall. “But I have never seen anything quite like this.” My erstwhile brother walks a strange road indeed.

 

A rare smile tugged at Alexos’ lips as they stepped into another room. This chamber had the look of a temple, with rows of sacrificial altars and devotional carvings on every surface. “Quite. For what the Cognis do here is far beyond anything you will have seen before.”

 

“My lord?”

 

“You assume that the Magos here have been working on the gene-seed, as our friends do across the new Imperium. That is only part of the truth.”

 

Fires lit the next corridor, reflected by the augmentics of the adepts who scuttled past them. Each bore the marks of the old Aztecki faith, their faceplates modeled on death masks or the native fauna. One, his staff worked into the shape of a deer skull and his mask engraved with rippling flames, approached and bowed to the Prophet. In the flickering light, his scaled limbs resembled fiery serpents.

 

“My lords, the Shaper sends his regards and waits beyond. We are ready to commence the rites of wakening.”

 

-----

 

To say that Xander Travier had changed in the years since Azraltan had last seen him was a pitiful understatement. A strange feeling nagged at him, almost like what he imagined fear to be, as he neared the slab where the Shaper lay in the centre of the hall.

 

A lens sat in the middle of Xander’s helmet’s forehead, giving him the tri-ocular visage common to the Adepts of the Mechanicus. Strange metal links sat between the plates of his armour where once there had been fibre-bundles. Then servitor-limbs prised open the chest plate, and Azraltan realised just how little of his fellow Astartes remained. Xander’s torso was a mass of gears and cables. Every surface covered in both Aztecki characters and runes such as he had seen on Davin and other worlds, all offering praise to the Pantheon and the Omnissiah.

 

“My lord, Hunter Master Alzratan.” The words buzzed from the helm; evidently Xander no longer possessed vocal chords. “I apologise for not bowing, but my energy sources are somewhat limited at this stage.”

 

“No gesture could compare to the courage and devotion you have shown in this undertaking,” Alexos replied with a smile as his eyes roved over his son's new form. “Adept Spierius tells me you are ready to commence the ritual?”

 

“Now you are here, master, yes.” As if it a signal from the Shaper, the gates at each side of the chamber opened and a great procession entered. Adepts, leading great stretchers with the forms of Astartes on them. With a mounting sense of horror Alzratan saw that they were dead; lifeless flesh wedded to metal and ceramite. No two were identical, and all sported vile weapons grafted onto their armour and bones. Blades, cannons, flails and more esoteric armaments. Some even had mechanical tendrils in place of arms. Most were helmeted, but a few bore partial or complete visages of steel, worked into the same bestial shapes and death masks as the Adepts of Cognis.

 

“What happened to them?” He asked, turning to stare at Alexos, who calmly held his gaze as the inert giants were hauled onto the slabs.

 

“These are the false Eagles who failed to embrace the Primordial Truth. You will recall that we sacrificed them and took their gene-seed; I saw no sense in wasting their bones, muscle and sinew either. Thus I had them interred in stasis, waiting for the day when they would serve their Legion again.”

 

“And the others?”

 

“Unsuccessful gene-enhancement experiments,” grated Xavier. “We cannot afford to waste such resources, and thus they will also be recycled into weapons for the war against the Anathema.”

 

Alzratan reeled. The gene-seed experiments had become normal, but this…

 

Alexos stepped quietly towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Master Hunter, I understand that you may find this difficult to take in, but this simply marks another step along the road lit by the Primordial Truth.”

 

“How can this be? I see only the glorification of the Mechanicum’s god, not the true divinity that you exhorted us to follow.”

 

Xavier's voice was like wire on rock. “Be glad that I am not in a position to exact retribution for your remarks, Alzratan.”

 

“Peace, Xavier,” growled Alexos. Then his face softened. “Alzratan, I have valued your scepticism more than you could know, but you must believe me when I say that these experiments glorify the Pantheon just as much as our gene-manipulation, if not more.”

 

Alzratan stood his ground. “How can that be, when we are simply reanimating fallen Astartes as glorified servitors? No amount of runes can hide the fact that this will be an army that marches on the sterile energies of crude matter, and not the righteous fervour that drives us!”

 

The rebuttal came not from Alexos, but from Xander. “My warriors will not be animated by material energies. Our lord has devised a communion by which the power of the Neverborn will infuse these shells of chrome and flesh. All that remains is for us to perform it.”

 

As if on cue, a new sound entered the vast space; hundreds of voices, shouting, screaming, weeping. Alexos swept out of the chamber, up a steep flight of stairs, Alzratan and the rest of his retinue trailing behind. They stepped out onto the grated floor above the hall, where long chains hung down from the roof. On these chains dangled prisoners of every kind, in their thousands. A few were even adepts of the Mechanicus who had remained loyal to the false Emperor, their occular lenses broken and their limbs shackled by crackling shock-restraints.

 

Alexos stepped towards an old man whose tattoos marked him out as a senior Army officer. “General Molsov, I believe?” The officer, to his credit, responded with a series of vicious epithets, but was drowned out as Alexos began the chant. Far below, Xander's machine voice joined the primarch's. It mixed the Aztecki litanies with High Gothic and invocations of the ancient tongue, and grew in volume as Astartes, cultists and Magos added their voices.

 

Alexos’ knife tore up through the man's sternum and he prised the ribcage open. Blood splashed on the grating as he ripped the heart from the officer's chest before moving on to the next victim. Tlahtoāni and the Jaguar Toa followed, plunging their blades in and ripping upwards. Adepts seized their former brethren and brutally tore out the augmentics from their remaining flesh. Flensing knives peeled skin from muscle. Vitae engines kept the butchered people alive as long as possible, that their pain might provide more fuel for the ritual. The old general convulsed in his manacles, still trying to shout as the blood flowed out of him and his organs quivered. Howls of agony knifed through the air, and the chanting grew in volume.

 

“Mayaq huizoca hotolitl Tlazolteotl-Slaanesh…” Alzratan felt the build-up of power, like a scalding wind. The runes inscribed across the stone and metal lit up, searingly bright. Yes. The Pantheon smiles upon this work. He gave himself over completely to the chant, somehow knowing the exact words and rhythm as he drew his own blade and opened a woman's ribcage. “Ovnashka k’tip uos Tzeentch-Calacoyanti vorsaka, gras…” Blood gushed in a red tide, trickling through the grates and splattering the warrior forms below.

 

“Brukh echash noryag Chalchiutotlin-Nurgleth!” A thousand inhuman voices merged with the intonations and the agony of the victims, as the ritual built to a fever pitch to invoke the lords of both Change and Death, binding entropy and hypertrophy into a single mad process. “Hyrua xope hjeldavr blurad gei gnak blurad vorg, Khorne-Mixcoatl vok lkod gra maurak!” Alzratan threw back his head and howled the words. He felt the power of the gods as never before, and cast aside the last shards of doubt. It was glorious, and then it ended.

 

Silence fell, broken only by the dripping. Then strange droning noises sounded from below. Without a word Alexos strode to the doorway and descended the stairs.

 

As the group stepped out of the stairwell, the Shaper rose from his slab. Eldritch flames lit the inner workings of his chest and burned behind the grille of his helm. A hand with seven steel claws fastened on his staff, and he raised it above his head. As one, the other cyborgs lifted themselves and stood, utterly still but for the flickering energies that powered them. Then, with the same synchronised motion, they brandished their terrible weapons, which now burned with the same sorcerous glow. Ceramite and metal stretched and warped like skins and tissue, and blood hissed as it met their blades.

 

As his master approached, the thing that had been Xander Travier saluted, and spoke with two voices. One was the vox-crackle Alzratan had heard before. The other was guttural, like the breath of a jagwar. “We are the walking walls, the bodies of steel, the power of the Immaterium our lifeblood. We are the Corpora Ferro, and we shall burn all who will not see the truth.”

Edited by bluntblade
AlphariusOmegon108 Venerable Brother

AlphariusOmegon108

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And now to accompany the story...

 

I present you the unpainted version of..

 

The Shaper...

 

http://image.bolterandchainsword.com/uploads/gallery/album_11447/gallery_79144_11447_8737.jpg

http://image.bolterandchainsword.com/uploads/gallery/album_11447/gallery_79144_11447_35717.jpg

 

(This is without any flames, and in the mid of battle, why? I dont want a flame covered flying monster)

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