Death Guard high command, Heresy era?

[bluntblade]

So, following a discussion of how I'd like a DG novel to open, I got excited and started writing:

 

 

 

They hunkered down in the trenches, firing bolter rounds and missiles taken from the dead. They fought with a grim resolve that had damned them in the eyes of others as artless, yet they had held this area against for months against an enemy that outnumbered and outgunned them many times over. They set traps in a hundred corners, forcing their foes back and ransacking corpses for arms, sustenance packs, what little armour they could retrieve. They fought not only with the usual space marine arsenal of bolter, chainsword and plasma blaster, but weapons that other Legions were loath to wield. Their flamers burned noisome, corrosive green as often as prometheum orange, their grenades burst in iron-eating gouts of phosphex. Many were born of Terra, but most were sons of Barbarus, bonded by gene-lineage and solemn oath to their master, warlord, Primarch, father.

 

The same being who came to destroy them. The sky was thick with fumes from dropships and bulk landers, but already phalanxes of their erstwhile brothers were advancing towards the trenches. They moved without swagger or undue haste, inexorable. At their head was a giant among giants, hooded and masked, a massive scythe held high above his head. His guardians bore lesser reflections of that weapon, and as their master lowered his scythe and thrusted his free hand forward, acrid flames leapt from their wrists. Elsewhere on this world fratricide was being committed elsewhere with howls and roars of mutual loathing. Mortarion’s army said nothing as they lumbered into range, advancing to the grind of armour-servos, the rumble of tanks and the ugly symphony of guns and chainblades.

 

-----

 

Mortarion had never been one for brazen charges at the head of his men. Horus, Sanguinius and Russ indulged their vanity thusly, and told themselves it was for the sake of morale or to stun the foe. The Death Lord, however, fought battles of grinding attrition, and let the enemy’s weakness show before he intervened personally.

 

Once he did, however, he was as unstoppable as any of his kindred. He waded through sheets of chem-flame, caring not that his cloak caught light, shrugged off grenade-blasts as a mortal would a gust of wind. Silence took lives with every swing, breaking lesser blades rather than parrying them. The loyalist Death Guard never got close in sufficient numbers to press him properly. The Deathshroud wreathed them in noisome fire and hacked them down with their own scythes. Still more were held at bay by the companies Mortarion had brought to fight at his side.

 

Even other Primarchs might have donned helms against the onslaught of toxins and ash, and Mortarion’s less wise brothers would have been hindered if they failed to do so. The Death Lord simply endured it, yellowed eyes unblinking, ever watchful.

 

-----

 

Here and there he recognised officers. That was to be expected; he had spent long hours determining which of his commanders would be culled on Isstvan III. After the failure to eradicate all the recaltricants and Angron’s impulsive rush to the surface, he had returned to them, pondering who might have assumed command of the remainder, how they would try to resist. He sought them, blasting them with his sidearm, hacking them down with Silence or simply leaving his retainers to do the honours.

 

The one loyalist he yearned to find and slay above all the others was not here. He knew that. Power swords rose against him, but they were not that one. There was no warrior here whose armour was crowned by an eagle, for he was fled, taking the command of the Second Grand Company wth him. Perhaps slain, perhaps lost in the hateful turbulence of the aether, perhaps even now declaiming his erstwhile master’s treason.

 

Betrayal by one who should have been loyal to him became a mark of shame in Mortarion’s heart. He had trusted enough to almost bring the rebellion crashing down around the Warmaster’s armies. He was spared overt accusations only by the failures of others. Lord Commander Eidolon had failed to note that one of the men he had marked for death had slipped the trap - that had facilitated the treachery among the XIV’s ranks. Then worse, it emerged that Fulgrim, perfect Fulgrim, had not turned Ferrus Manus but infuriated him, guaranteeing a premature intervention from forces loyal to the Emperor.

 

Privately, Mortarion gloried in his brother’s humiliation, denied a place in the battle here, banished to the margins where Mortarion had skulked for so long, toiling to erect defences against the retribution he had set in motion. The Death Lord would drown his shame with the blood of his disloyal sons, and see that of those loyal to him, only the strong endured. Perhaps Angron, amidst his frothing bloodlust, had understood something of the latter.

 

His vox-feed brought him brusque reports from his officers, and the Deathshroud were as silent as ever. That was as it should be. Mortarion cared not for making confidants of his lieutenants and retainers. He had seen it often enough in his brothers, and judged it a distraction. His Deathshroud cast off all other concerns - rank, opinion, identity - to ensure their utter devotion to his safety.

 

They met a howling pack of warriors with the same silent resolve as always, weathering the blows and cleaving their enemies apart, only a single Astartes slipping the net. The attackers’ armour was largely white, but they were not Death Guard. Their pauldrons were blue, and as a T-visored helm glowered up at him, Mortarion wondered how any XII Legion loyalists had managed to reach him.

 

The World Eater champion leapt at him, a combat blade in one hand and a meteor hammer chained to his other wrist. Mortarion leaned away from the sizzling arcs of the weapon, noting the control, hearing his enemy’s breath measured, unobstructed by nosebleeds. No Butcher’s Nails, then. “In so many ways,’ he rasped, amused, “yours is a dying breed.”

 

“No more than you whoreson traitors,” spat the World Eater, lashing out again. Mortarion did not evade the blow this time.

 

Meteor hammers were a difficult weapon to master, prohibitively so even for most space marines, but in the right hands they had a rare lethality. They made paste of mortal bodies and were quite adept at shattering power armour and transhuman bone - Angron’s warriors left no doubt of that. When this one struck Mortarion, he didn’t even stagger. He barged through the impact and bisected the World Eater below the shoulders.

 

The companies on his flanks had enveloped them during this skirmish, pressing ever onward, so the Death Lord indulged himself for a moment, inspecting his armour where the flail had struck. It had been a fearsome blow; the ceramite had cracked and he felt splinters of it against his ribs. There was pain, but that was nothing to what he had withstood before. Ferrus and Vulkan had never understood true endurance, sheathing their sons in ever more or ever finer armour and believing that would suffice. Few indeed comprehended it. To endure, to truly endure, was not about invulnerability, but to take it, bleed, bleed again, feel toxins drag razors over the inside of your lungs and yet never relent.

 

 

 

And I was wondering, are there any named Grand Company Captains besides Typhon who should be mentioned in this scene? Grulgor, Temeter and Garro are obviously spoken for.

[disease]

taken from battle bunnies:

 

Praetors: The Death Guard have 7 Captains (Mortarions favoured number), during the Great Crusade these are:

1st First Captain Calas Typhon

2nd Commander Ignatius Grulgor.

3rd Captain Ujioj - either 3rd or 6th Captain

4th Captain Ullis Temeter

5th Captain Holgoarg

6th Captain Unknown

7th Battle-Captain Nathaniel Garro

 

 

I really liked your short story; but if referring to Garro as the escaped captain, he commands the 7th not 2nd Great Company.   Grulgor is traitor and a supporter of Mortarion to the core, same with Ujioj and Holgoarg.

[BrotherCaptainArkhan]

This is publishable. Awesome job. That last line is the Death Guard encapsulated in a single sentence. You've captured their spirit perfectly.

[TRIBUN]

Just great. On the first look, I thought you quote Abnett or ADB....so awesome ist your writing-style. Please write more!

[Gorgoff]

"Holgoarg" is hell of a name. B)

[bluntblade]

And now I have the heebie-jeebies about how the rest will look. Wish me luck!

 

And thanks

[bluntblade]

Before I post, does Extermination say for certain how the Death Guard's campaigj to exterminate their loyalists ended? This is aiming to fill the gap with Galaxy In Flames, but for all I know FW might have settled that already.

[bluntblade]

Double-checked on the Wiki, and I think I've avoided conflicting with canon. So, enjoy