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+++The Mark of the Liber: an ETL VII story+++

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Events take place during the Devastation of Baal





He was tired. No, that’s not true. He was disappointed. Incarael hadn’t been on a campaign for a long time now. In the last century of M41 the Blood Angels had been endlessly toiling in the fields of battle to uphold the light of the Emperor and that meant that there was no rest for the Armoury. His work however, and that of his subordinate Techmarines had always been flawless, accurately crafted to Omnissiah granted specifications, repaired parts indistinguishable from new.
But now… now the battlefield was his own fortress-monastery, and the repairs were functional yet disgustingly crude. Disappointing…
We are losing the Arx Angelicum!

He heard running from his left, half human half machine. The ammo servitors had finally arrived at the makeshift bunker at the entrance of the Undying Light chapel. He had asked for replenishment thirty minutes ago, the delay meant that the swarm had probably blocked the junctions from the Observatory!
By the Blood, we are totally overwhelmed!
“Reload Tarantulas 236, 237 and 239, mark 238 as destroyed!”, he shouted at them, his wireless binaric transmitter missing along with portions of his helmet and skull bone. Thankfully the scar tissue from Larraman's cells was protecting the small exposed part of his human brain well enough.
“Complying master, ammo store 36 depleted”, came the reply.
“Use Training Range 2 stores for next run!”, if you can get there… he thought.
Incarael lifted Tarantula 236 with his one servo-arm to horizontal position, placed a metal beam fallen from the ceiling to replace acid-melted ground bracing, and set his flamer to fusion mode to weld the beam. Pathetic…

The one reloaded Tarantula started turning and elevating its heavy Bolter barrels for anti-aircraft fire, a Harpy was diving on their position from a hole of the damaged dome above. Without stopping the welding Incarael set his plasma cutter to spread fire and almost without looking begun firing his Boltgun in full auto to the direction the Tarantula was aiming.
“Stop it you old fool! You will end me before my time!”, the comm screamed in his ear.

The Harpy crashed on the floor with force and Incarael had to stop its crawl with his pollaxe before it toppled him over. A red figure lifted from the back of the creature, releasing a power fist from the monster’s crushed skull.
“Lieutenant Orim, as I live and breathe! Your manners haven’t improved since you left my tutelage, nor has your flying!”, responded the surprised Master of the Blade, happy nevertheless to see his former student alive.
“Well someone has to offend the enemy!”
“I still don’t understand what Captain Aphael sees in you and keeps you as his Sword.”
“I ‘m good at crash landing on my opponents.”
“I know, Techmarine Arestos always complains about the state you bring your jump-pack at his forge!”, Incarael laughed hard, but the pain at the back of his skull was returning. He got serious quickly. “Why are you here?”
“The captain send me to reinforce you.” was Orim’s reply.
“Just you?”
“Me and sergeant Levantin’s assault squad, they are now with the Angel. That Harpy was not alone.” Orim looked Incarael closer, “How’s your head?”
“Functional! So, you think us two will hold this position now?”
“No. If it was up to me I would order a withdrawal and consolidation to the captain’s defensive perimeter. Higher ground and an Aegis line, not that my crash landing skills are needed there…”
Incarael couldn’t stop a snort escape.
“However,” Orim continued, “the captain and you seem hell-bent on defending this chapel, there’s probably more to it that I ‘m initiated in. Thus my taciturn brother, lieutenant Mateus is on his way already.”
“Captain Aphael is wise, but now he‘s being reckless, spreading the company too thin,” Incarael said.

At that moment the buzzing noise of the Tyranid swarm around Arx Angelicum intensified and lieutenant Mateus appeared on the eastern corridor running furiously towards them and throwing his last grenade behind his back on the small tsunami of Hormagaunts that followed him.
Incarael passed his Boltgun to Orim as his mechadendrite plugged in the three operational Tarantulas, “Don’t go crashing!” he warned him and the reloaded heavy Bolters burst to life. Over sixty gaunts were exterminated by the unerring accuracy of the two veterans when Mateus joined their small gun line. One more mechadendrite launched from Incarael’s master-crafted servo-harness, frost all over it from leaking coolant, and attached on Mateus’ combi-plasma’s auxiliary port just as he leveled it to fire.
“Full auto brother!” screamed the venerable Techmarine and dozens of blinding miniature suns joined the onslaught of exploding Bolt rounds.

It was pointless. They would never kill enough before the got on top of them. Orim clenched his power fist, Incarael lifted his pollaxe with both hands and Mateus went for his chainsword. The swarm never reached them. Anticlimactically, the swarm of Hormagaunts lost momentum and vitality, and only reached within 5 meters of the trio of stunned Astartes that kept firing mechanically.
“What’s this?” Incarael asked as his slaved Tarantulas went on firing on the now randomly moving mindless gaunts.
“Something happened,” Mateus replied, “Something big. I can’t contact the captain. Company comm frequencies are overwhelmed with signals and so is the chapter-wide net.”
“You‘re stating the obvious Mateus, I build and manage the communications equipment in case you forgot. I know that already!”, the pain from the back of his skull intensifying.
Orim launched himself, going through one of the huge holes on the high dome above. As soon as he landed he removed his helmet and looked down towards his brother Astartes to tell them what he saw. He couldn’t. He was overwhelmed.


ETL7 vow1 complete A

Edited by Spyros
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After credits scene


"Lieutenant Mateus, you came alone! How did the captain expect to reinforce the defense of the chapel?"

"With all due respect Master Incarael, go have that head of yours checked!"

Edited by Spyros
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Here is my Vow:

I Machine God rise to the challenge of E Tenebrae Lux VII as a Renegade and vow to complete:

1x Chaos Lord with Thunder Hammer and Plasma Pistol.

For a total of 100 pts on or before 01 Sep 19. Success will bring me eternal glory and failure will doom me to wear the Badge of the Oathbreaker until the year's end.


Now to paint it and think of fluff.

Edit: Added picture.

Edited by Machine God
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I, Aquilanus of the Order of the Dauntless Spirit, vow to paint Canoness Verydian and Celestine with two Geminae for a total of 259pts. Failure to do so will bring shame to my Order.


My apologies for not entering far, far sooner. I recently got a new job and almost all the effort I have has been focused to that end. I've made a small vow here, just so that I can at least ensure I don't miss the cut off point for this year's ETL.



The voice seemed to come from everywhere, it's bass growl could not be swallowed up by the noise made by the Traitor Knight finally smashing it's way through the ceiling of the Chapel Maximus of the Order of the Dauntless Spirit. Frescoes of the God-Emperor in all of his glory atomised in an instant. Canoness Sera turned to face it, her eyes furious at the weakness of the building she had defended against the foe for nearly a full month. Hour after painful hour she and her Sisters had repelled attack after attack, the enemy wisely using their spineless followers to whittle down their defenses. Yonder, she could see the Legendary Canoness Veridyan charging a group of the worthless even now. Her power sword cut down a dozen before they could enter the Chapel proper. On her comrades heals, she brought her own weapon,

Lucia, Tempered, a Chainsword that was the equal of a Repentia's evicerator and more so. Behind her, Agatha, Æthelfleda, Motoko and others drew their own blades, their determination to let not one of the Chaotic scum cast their eyes on the secrets within. An explosion to the right hit Sera and threw her against a pillar, a sickening crunch told her that she had yet more broken ribs. Her armour was barely functional, but she allowed not one hour to attempt any kind of significant repair. All resources they had left, she was adamant, went to those who needed it. The hole left from the bombardment was filled with the form of a being she hated above all others. Getting to her feet, she hissed, a precursor to expressing pure white hot rage. All the pain she felt at that moment became strength, and uttering a cry of wrath ran towards him, her weapon raided above her head. The bare faced foe laughed, his earlier declaration a sneer of contempt to the Sisterhood he now plundered. Minions behind formed a meat shield, ripped apart by a heavy bolter, its blessed shells tearing into corrupted flesh and burning it within seconds. Screams of pain defended her as she closed in, but the Enemy had his hand around her neck, choking the life force, enjoying its ebb. Sera struggled, kicking and screaming as she fought desperately to gain an inch, anything to forestall the inevitable, before blackness enveloped her...


...A voice. It seemed so far away. Struggling to comprehend those words uttered, Saffron Sera could not move, her limbs heavier than they've ever felt.


"Sister...", he could make out. "Time to rise, Sister..." that voice. She knew it, from a long time ago. It used to be full of jealousy, pride, arrogance, even hatred. But now, it was pure. No anger, no rage, merely calling, reassuring. She opened her eyes, and a light, blinding like the sun threatened to consume her. The voice called again.


"Sister. Rise. Rise up. Make your stand here. He is not done with you yet..." The light faded and a woman on pinions of feathers held herself aloft above.


"Anabelle..?" The woman smiled, pleased at the recognition. The formerly hateful, prideful Sister who Sera prevented becoming an unwilling Daemonhost opened her arms.


"It's not yet your time Sister. Rise. Rise!"


And the blackness loomed again. She felt the claw around her neck, constricting tighter and tighter. The opponent wanted to take his time, savour the moment. That was his first mistake. Surprised as his wrist exploded in gore, he reeled back, roaring in anger. Falling bodily to the floor, Saffron saw her Inferno Pistol The piety, and grabbed it. It seemed to weigh more than the universe itself, but she managed to aim. The shot missed by a lot, but enough to scatter the Cultists who had gathered around to watch their master take the life of a Canoness. Squealing in horror as the woman stood up to her imposing height, her face pulled I to a rictus of hatred, none were able to get out of the way as she made chase. The Warband leader had escaped, save for his hand. The twisted thing was pitiful to look at bereft of its owner. Turning, she could see that the tide had turned just enough to hold. The Chapel Maximus had not yet fallen.


The image of her fallen Sister was etched into her mind. She was right. No more hiding behind rockcrete, prayers and hope.


Time to rise...

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  • 2 weeks later...

The silence in here grows ever deeper, brothers.

There are still more tales to tell - let's see the Liber done proud!

...On which note:

I, Acemund Debonair of the Liber Astartes, rise to the challenge of E TENEBRAE LUX on the side of the most despicable Xenos Dark Eldar (But really still the Liber) and vow to complete One (1) Succubus with Archite Glaive and Agonizer, of total value 76 Points (if my maths is right :sweat:) on or before September 1st, 2019. Success will bring me eternal glory and cement my ascension to the upper echelons of Commorragh, and failure (which is NEVER an option) will doom me to wear the Badge of the Oathbreaker until the year-end.

Here's the basecoated model, still on sprue:


-- Prologue: A Challenge Made --

Weeks had passed since Ace's three serfs had read of the battle of Cironus. None of them had managed to work up the courage to mention it to Acemund, who had returned home from his last mission full of his usual cheer, boasting about the size and number of Tyranids he and his brothers had killed in their recent battles.

Ace being Ace, he'd brought home an arm, hacked from a particularly belligerent Tyranid warrior. He'd then spent a few days mixing paints until he could replicate the dull purple sheen of its' carapace plating exactly. Life continued as normal, and eventually the serfs put the events of Cironus at the back of their minds and largely forgot about it.

That is, until one morning, when the servitor SN-517 came bearing a handful of data-slates for Ace and his serfs. Most of them were platitudes from scribes and adminitorum staff who had received copies of the data-slates detailing the Kabal of the Shattered World, or notifications about various documents that Ace's work on heraldry had influenced.

One, however, was different. It began as a standard request for the Liber Heraldry Department to render a depiction of a Knight House's heraldry, but was interrupted partway through the message.

Mischa, who was reading the data-slate, hesitantly called out to her master.

"...Ace? I think you should see this."

Acemund turned, regarding her wide-eyed expression curiously. He strode over and plucked the data-slate from Mischa's grasp, flicking it around deftly so he could see the screen. His eyes immediately widened with shock, then quickly narrowed in anger.

The data-slate's message was short and simple.

--++ Looking for a rematch. Don't make me wait. Mephirion will be watching. ~ Idarileth ++--

Underneath that was a complicated list of galactic co-ordinates, doubtless where Ace was supposed to go for this rematch.

"Who is Idarileth?" Mischa asked, warily. "What do they mean, a 'rematch'?" Haydram and Irian had stopped in their tasks now, and were watching Ace and Mischa curiously.

A humourless smile spread across Ace's face. After a moment, he gave a short, mirthless chuckle. "Oh, I've been waiting for this day. To answer your question, Mischa, Idarileth is an old enemy of mine. She's someone I owe a great debt of violence to." The Hawk of Talhon handed the data slate back to his scribe.

"I'm sure I've heard the name before," Haydram mused aloud.

"No doubt," Ace shrugged. "It's a common enough name amongst the Drukhari, I'm told. But this one in particular is Idarileth Skinsplitter, a warrior chieftain of the Kabal of the Shattered World." Ace cracked his knuckles. "And she's about to become an example of why picking a fight with the White Hawks is a bad idea. Come with me, you three, and bring that data-slate. Oh, and that one," Ace pointed to the data-slate that contained the transcript of what had happened at Cironus. "Keep it sealed, though. The data in there is restricted." Ace missed the worried glance that passed between his scribes as he made his way towards the door.

"Come on, you three. We're going to go see the Moderati about another mission."

Edited by Ace Debonair
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So... I finished my third vow, and had typed up another story, but it was 1,400 words long and didn't even get into the part actually regarding the vow.

I'm going to need to re-think this idea. :laugh.:


In the meanwhile, brothers, the halls of the Liber await your tales!

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  • 2 weeks later...



"That makes three sectors clear." The Primaris Lieutenant Isiah observes.


Arrayed surrounding the hololithic table, the commanding officers of this Hive clearance mission, members of the Dark Angels 5th company, examine the displays.


"However, we have lost contact with squad Uriah and Venerable Chaplain Cahethal. This bodes ill." The statement, uttered by the Interrogator-Chaplain Israfiel, makes clear his concern, despite the Terminator-armoured Astartes monotone manner of speaking.


"Vox communication is spotty at best in the area of the hive they are in, but you do have a point Chaplain." The lieutenant responds, nodding as he brings up the section of the hive Squad Uriah and Chaplain Cahethal were last observed.


"Company Master Dalquiel, if I may make a request, we should send a small force to find our brethren and find out what has happened with them." Says Israfiel.


"..." The Company Master, newly appointed and similarly mistrusted by the other, non-Primaris Dark Angels, continues to silently observe the displays. Despite his (relative for an Astartes) youth and inexperience with command, he has quickly proven himself apt and able for the role of command. In addition, Dalquiel has one thing that separates him from even the other Primaris Astartes of the Dark Angels: He was born of Caliban, one of the first Marines taken by Cawl for the Primaris project. Thereby making him, chronologically, the eldest of the gathered marines by a massive margin.


"Company Master?"


Nodding, Dalquiel looks to the gathered officers.


"The course is clear then. We shall send a small force to find our brothers. Isiah-" The Lieutenant looks up from the display. "Find where squads Vanael and Josiah are, they will be on this mission. And Apothecary Pathiel?"

The Apothecary looks up at the taller Primaris. "Yes Company Master?"

"If the worst has come to pass, you know what your duty is."





Deep in the hives, a vast majority of the vehicles of the Adeptus Astartes are far too cumbersome. Dreadnought ironforms however, while large and bulky, are able to move through the tight corridors of the underhives. Clearing out an uprising of Genestealer Cultists in the hives of a world is problematic at best, but to Venerable Chaplain Cahethal, there is no mission greater than destroying traitors not just to the Imperium, but to Humanity itself.


+Hold steady brothers, we do not know if we are being observed+


"Additionally, the vox appears to be jammed, I cannot send or receive messages outside of our immediate vicinity."  Replies Inias.


"Clever bastards. They think they can cut us off to make us easier targets." Sergeant Uriah says, grinning. "They'll soon learn how wrong that is."

"Contacts on the auspex, closing in 6 o'clock!" Mihael says, now stowing his auspex and pulling out his plasma gun.


"Then they show themselves. Ready yourselves brothers, stand firm!" Uriah says, readying his bolt pistol and chainsword.


Cultists begin charging from the nearby tunnels, firing their autoguns as they do so, the small caliber rounds bouncing harmlessly off of the Astartes' ceramite plating. The bolters, as well as the paired plasma weapons, of the squad return fire several of the cultists cut down as they near the mouth of the tunnel. The tactical squad stops firing as the lumbering form of Cahethal moves to the mouth of the tunnel.




Too late do the cultists realize they have run to the mouth of a tight corridor against a Dreadnought's inferno cannon and heavy flamer. The roiling flame incinerates the remaining cultists and aberrants.


"All contacts eliminated. No more observed on auspex." observes Mihael.


"This area is too large for the eleven of us to clear. We need to regroup." Uriah says plainly.

+I am in agreement brother. While purging the enemies of Humanity is our mission, it is wise to have allies in doing so+




Having neared the entrance of the hive where Cahethal and squad Uriah were last heard from, the team sent by Company Master Dalquiel has encountered heavy resistance. Of the twelve Astartes, only seven remain, with both squads Vanael and Josiah having taken casualties. The five fallen Primaris brothers lie where they fell, the Mark VI-armoured Pathiel having been unable to recover the gene-seed during the fighting.


"There's no end to them!" Vanael shouts, his bolt rifle barking as the mass reactive shells detonate, killing two more cultists.


"I fear we'll run out of bolt shells before they run out of bodies." Josiah quips back, reloading his rifle before firing again, while he and the other remaining squad brother covering the opposite side of Vanael's squad.


"Less talking, more firing brothers." Isiah says, punctuating his point with another searing shot from his plasma pistol, the shot vaporizing one of the cultists.


The seven astartes continue firing, reloading and nearing empty on all but Isiah's plasma pistol. However, a familiar, and very much welcomed, voice cuts in over the vox.


+Brothers, do you need assistance?+

The ten-strong squad Uriah and the hulking dreadnought form of Cahethal now enter the fray, their bolters and plasma weapons firing as they enter the opening of the hive.


"Rally brothers! We are reinforced!" Isiah shouts, still firing his pistol before charging a squad of cultists to slay them with his sword and thereby allowing his pistol to cool down.



Three hours was how long squad Uriah and Venerable Chaplain Cahethal were unheard from when Company Master Dalquiel sent a recovery team. The cultists thought that by separating the Astartes and Dreadnought, they could break at least part of the siege by destroying the Dreadnought. Two more hours was how long it took for the fighting to stop. In the ensuing battle, a total of thirteen brothers fell under the massed fire of the Genestealer Cultists. However, their legacy was secured, as the attached Apothecary Pathiel was able to complete his duties.



Phew. The story was based on a game I did with a friend,with Genestealer Cults V Dark Angels.


It was one crazy game as you can tell :laugh.:


And for those wondering, the models relevant to the story:

Primaris Lieutenant Isiah, Intercessor Squad Vanael and Tactical Squad Uriah:


Chaplain Dreadnought Cahethal:



Apothecary Pathiel (middle, kneeling)



Squad Josiah:


And last but not least, Interrogator-Chaplain Israfiel on the right:


Edited by Gederas
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Beautiful models, Gederas, and an excellent tale to boot! :biggrin.:

I especially like the Apothecaries, they look great! :happy.:

Which reminds me, it's time for me to actually finish my promised third story. :sweat:


I've just remembered the data regarding what happened on Cironus was meant to be restricted. This is what comes of writing after Midnight, I'll have to address this with another edit once I've had some actual sleep. :wallbash:


It is done!

--== Hatred ==--

Ace and his serfs made their way through the Liber. The Officium Moderatus lay above Hall One, reached by a bridge that spanned most of the way across Hall Two. Access to the bridge was gained via an ornately carved spiral staircase at the far end of the Hall, numbering one thousand four hundred stairs, each one decorated with the colours and emblems of a Space Marine Chapter. Some were repeats or outdated heraldry, Mischa knew, but that didn't make the number of stairs any less staggering.

It was a long walk from the Workshop to even the base of the stairs, and so it was unfortunate that Haydram, whose reading skills were the worst of the four, only spotted an important detail as the party reached approximately the four hundredth stair. The serf came to a dead stop, suddenly. Mischa and Irian, on either side of him, turned to see Haydram looking at the data-slate he was carrying with a look of genuine worry.

"Uh... M'lord Acemund?"

"Yes, Haydram?" Ace didn't slow his pace, continuing up the broad stairs two at a time.

"You should... uh... probably see this." Haydram looked nervous, and Mischa wondered what he'd seen. Ace, for his part, spun on the spot, took two steps towards Haydram and plucked the data slate from Haydram's hands. After a long moment, Ace closed his eyes and cursed in what sounded like Talhonic to Mischa. For once, she was glad her grasp of the language was very limited. Still, since they weren't all running up the stairs, Mischa took the opportunity to catch her breath.

The deluge of muttered curse words petered out, finished by Ace giving the three serfs a wan smile.

"So... That challenge Idarileth made was dated for over ten years ago. She'll be long gone by now. Well spotted, Haydram." Ace shrugged. "Back to the workshop, then." He seemed to notice Mischa was out of breath, since he added in a more kindly tone, "There's no rush - take your time."

The party trudged on in silence for a little while, each with their own thoughts. After a while, Ace cleared his throat.

"I never told you about Idarileth and I, did I?"

"No, m'lord," Haydram replied, speaking for all three serfs. Mischa glanced at Irian, who shrugged. Ace grunted, as though suddenly remembering something.

"I shouldn't actually be telling you this. Captain Kaedric didn't want the story to spread, really. But... Well, I trust you three to keep this to yourselves."

Acemund turned the data slate to the three serfs, so they could see a pict-capture of the succubus herself, sprinting into a battle.


"I fought her on Cironus." Acemund announced. "Idarileth attacked my squad, trying to keep us busy while her Archon, Mephirion the Bleak, killed Squad Beremont. This was a long time ago, you understand. I was barely even a Sergeant back then, and my squad..." Ace went quiet for a moment. "Young, all of us. Beremont too, but his squad was more accomplished.

Anyway. There were more than eighty Drukhari arranged against us, and they caught us by ambush. Idarileth tried to kill Garril, a member of my squad, and I took the attack for him. She was fast, but I figured out the rhythm of her attacks. Once I did, I sidestepped and kicked her over the edge of the landrise we were fighting on. From the sound of it, my kick broke at least two ribs, even before she fell the eighteen feet or so onto the rocks below. She was still alive, of course, but incapacitated."
Ace paused to let another marine carrying an armful of scrolls pass by, the two exchanging a solemn nod as greeting.

"So I turned my attention back to my brothers. Beremont was down. The Archon had cut his throat. Of his squad, Tumol and Olsius had fallen with him, knives drawn and ammo spent. The last two brothers, Runis and Macharan, cut down a dozen Drukhari with their Heavy Bolters. They tried to pull back towards my squad, but the Wych cult got between us. I saw Macharan die at the Archon's hands."

Mischa stole a backwards glance at Ace's face as the party made their way down a stone-floored corridor. His expression was distant, his eyes glazed over, clearly replaying events in his head.

"We were pushed back to the ridge I'd kicked Idarileth over. Runis joined us, his ammo dwindling fast. Garril put a missile into the wyches, scattering them. One jumped on my back and tried to stab me in the neck. I threw her down, struck her head from her body and watched it fall down towards Idarileth, who let out a scream of pure, primal anger. I later discovered that Wych had been Idarileth's own daughter."

Mischa almost tripped over her own feet in shock. Ace caught her arm, steadying her. The scribe turned to the Space Marine, her face betraying the horror she felt.

"You killed Idarileth's daughter?" Mischa asked, aghast.

"A centuries-old murderer who tried to kill me first, yes. A would-be assassin and a dirty xeno into the bargain. How many innocent lives do you think she'd taken before that day?" Ace shrugged. "Death is no great setback to the Drukhari, I've learned. They always seem to come back one way or another."

Mischa sought for a reply, but none came. Ace continued his story as the party moved on.

"My squad engaged the Archon. We were hopelessly outmatched. Idarileth recovered from her injuries and came after me. I lunged for the Archon, Mephirion knocked my attack aside, and Idarileth drove me back, keeping me from re-engaging the Archon. Yandir got one good hit in, his knife shattering a plate on Mephirion's leg. The Archon decapitated him in two strikes. Garril tried to bludgeon the Archon with his missile launcher after firing into what was left of the Wyches. Mephirion dodged, easily, and killed him. Morgamus died next - he was locked in combat with a kabalite warrior and didn't even see the Archon coming.

Jorcan, Runis and I were all that was left. Jorcan grabbed Yandir's knife and went at the Archon with two knives. Runis had only his empty Heavy Bolter, but went after the Archon's legs with it, knocking Mephirion to the ground. Immediately he did, a dozen or more Kabalite warriors leapt on my brothers. Runis managed to grab Morgamus' knife and threw it into one of the warriors on Jorcan's flank. They took down four or five more warriors each, but the Drukhari's poisoned knives wounded them enough that the Archon had no trouble finishing them off."

Ace stopped in his tracks, staring at nothing.

"Which just left me."

"What happened?" Irian asked, her voice a whisper. Ace closed his eyes, and Mischa could see him trying to put the battle into words.

"I failed," Ace said, at last. "I got free of Idarileth by hitting her broken ribs with my bolt pistol. I lunged at Mephirion with my chainaxe, my heart and mind full of rage, grief and fury. Had I struck him, I'm certain it would have been a killing blow. But the Archon avoided me. He cut me to pieces, and left me crawling on the floor. He had Idarileth restrained, so she wouldn't kill me, and the Kabal of the Shattered World fled before the rest of my Company arrived."

Ace opened his eyes at last and looked each of his serfs directly in the eyes for a moment before continuing.

"I shamed my brothers by failing that day. I shame them further every day that Mephirion and Idarileth still draw breath. Only once they are dead - truly dead - will I bring honour to their names once more. As for Idarileth, she seems to bear me a special hatred." Ace gave a grim smile. "Once news got out that I'd recovered and was looking for vengeance, she came after me herself. Unfortunately for her, she found me right next to Venerable Fulbrand, and his lascannon never cared much for grudges." Ace gave a dry chuckle. "Like I say, death doesn't seem to truly stop the Dark Eldar. I know not what fell magics sustain them so, but I will find a way to end Idarileth and Mephirion."

The party came to a stop outside of Acemund's Workshop. Irian gave her lord a questioning look. "But... if the challenge she made is a decade old, how do you know you'll ever get the chance to face Idarileth again?"

The Hawk of Talhon gave a weary sigh, a careless shrug of the shoulders, and pushed the door open.

"Simple. Because each of us hates the other enough to never stop looking for the chance."

Mischa, in spite of herself, shuddered as the door shut. Was that chill down her spine just a result of Acemund's words, or a premonition of things to come? She shook herself. Such superstitions surely had no place in the Liber. She re-lit the lanterns and got ready to continue the day's scribing. A brief glance at Irian's worried expression suggested her fellow scribe had a similar sense of foreboding, but soon both of them were lost to their work, copying out treatises on effective storage of rations aboard Imperial ships.

Edited by Ace Debonair
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I finished my vow a little while ago but it was right before i went on vacay so I am just now getting around to crossposting it from the outpost.


It was the dark cycle on this side of Seranon, the icebound crownworld of the Naculan dynasty. For four hundred days, it would be cloaked in the darkness of space, with nought but the stars and the defense fleet to illuminate its surface.

Prowling in the inky black night was the Shadow Legion, the Phaeron’s answer to the night and all its dangers and opportunities. Assigned to the authority of the Deathmark Vizier Rezak the Executioner, they were responsible for patrolling the parts of the Crownworld that were undergoing the dark cycle, and were built specially for the task.

Those of the Shadow Legion—primarily Warriors and Immortals, though there were phalanxes of Deathmarks and Lychguard—were equipped with hardware that enabled them to move silently, see and hear perfectly in the night, and were provided with phalanx-level shadowlooms that twisted the darkness around them to obscure them from the vision of any who cared to look.

This hour saw First Phalanx on guard on the outskirts of the Forge Labs, where the Thunderseeker and his compatriots of the Crypteks experimented with new war machines. Silently they marched through the blizzard, caring not one whit for the argument that had exploded inside the labs.


YOU DID WHAT!?!? thundered Sarnakh the Sunderer, Phaeron of the Naculan. His hand gripped dangerously around the hilt of his Warscythe, thumb dangerously close to the rune that would extend it to its full, deadly length.

Therek Thunderseeker, chief scientist and advisor to the Phaeron, however, was undeterred. Mood swings often struck his friend, and this one was no more dangerous than any other he had when confronted with new science.

That did not, however, mean he would be deliberately antagonistic to his friend and master.

“My Phaeron, please understand what I have been able to accomplish! This Magos, he willingly sought us out! When you kidnapped several of the Mechanicum from the Αυγή Λεπίδες, one wished to stay.

“The Αυγή Λεπίδες, sorry to say, forcibly removed him after you teleported them back to their camp, but he returned recently with his own warriors. Marvelous creations, I must say. Bound completely to his will, and not a one of them care where they are.” He snorted in amusement, and had he still been flesh his face would have contorted into a smirk. “They even believe us to be an aspect of their god.”

“Yes, and tell me what happened the last time a technologically-minded species found their gods made metal?” asked the Sunderer idly, though his tone was anything but.

Therek bowed his head slightly in deference. “Of course, my liege. However, please consider.” He gestured to the magos—now armed with a particle lance, transdimensional beamer, and a wicked pair of claws more oft found on Wraiths—and his men. “They are stronger than ever, and can handle our weaponry. This here is but one squad, and there are two more of them on guard duty that you surely saw. He has in orbit an entire warship filled with these men, ready and willing to become subservient to us and the Triarch.”

“Therek, they are human. Augmented, yes, upgraded, yes, but still human and weak. They cannot rise from lethal wounds as you and I would.” The Phaeron’s anger had cooled somewhat, he was not going to behead Therek as had occasionally been done in the past.

“Respectfully, my lord, I think you shall find that to be incorrect. Magos, would you demonstrate?”

A burst of binaric spat from the tech-priest’s robes and with one swift motion he snipped the head off of one of the skitarii, which rolled until it hit the leg of one of the Warriors patrolling the lab. It picked the head back up, setting its carbine aside, and handed it to Therek.

The Thunderseeker held out the head, which was taken from his hands by the decapitated techno-horror before being reattached.

“As you can see, they possess rudimentary reanimation protocols. They won’t survive a direct explosion like some more fortunate warriors have, but they’ll last far longer than mortal troops.”

“I must hand it to you, Therek. You have outdone yourself once more.” The Phaeron drew his blade to his throat in salute.

Therek placed his claws across his. “You flatter me, my friend.” The Thunderseeker did not mention that he had only been overseeing the project and that they would be assigned under another Cryptek with more experience handling converts and mindshackled enemies, and held theoretical ownership of the Triarch Striders.

The Sunderer turned and pointed at the Magos. “You. What is your designation?”

“My designation was Tuscon-Theta-Seven. However, I believe a new designation is in order to reflect my change in status and allegiance.”

“You may be right—“ Tuscon-Theta-Seven replied, but he was cut off by a howling wind, greater than had been heard in more than a standard Seranon orbit. It rattled in the thin wintery air, like the teeth of a chilled mammalian creature.

Therek’s eyes lit up in a poor facsimile of a smile. “I think the wind has given us an answer.”

“Tell me Tuscon. How does Coldhowl sound?”

A blurt of binaric filled the air. “I think that I shall enjoy that designation.”

And outside, the wind blustered and blew, disturbing only the snow, for nothing else was aware enough outside the lab to be bothered.


Coldhowl Front

Coldhowl himself, in all his mechanical glory. Snip snip, pew pew.

Coldhowl's Skitarii

His Skitarii, with the two lab assistant warriors.

First Phalanx, Shadow Leigon


Shadow Legion, First Phalanx. If requested I will provide a better photo but I felt this fit their character well.


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”Heiress Kani and the Vargard Chronozak,” announced the functionary standing guard at the doorway to the throne room. The Phaeron rose from his throne, warscythe in hand. They knelt, and he bid them rise.

"Greetings, Kani, Chronozak. We have an assignment for you."

"Is it regarding the message?" Kani questioned, intelligent enough to know not to speak out loud of the Triarch's dealings except in private.

The Phaeron only nodded gravely. "You are to take a ship to the Archive World. Collect the Cataloguer; he has data we require. Go swiftly, and do not fail us."

Kani bowed, then placed her claws at her throat. "We live to serve, my lord."

The Phaeron turned slightly towards Chronozak, and transmitted over interstitial command burst, *keep her safe*.

*You know I will* was the reply. It was the work of microseconds.

"Now go," the Sunderer spoke. "Tell the Cataloguer that his Phaeron has need of him."

I, Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch, rise once more to the challenge of E Tenebrae Lux for the glory of the Necrontyr Forum and the Liber! I vow to complete
- 1 Overlord with Voidscythe and Resurrection Orb
- 1 Overlord with Hyperphase Sword
- 6 Canoptek Wraiths with Whipcoils
- 3 Canoptek Scarabs
- 1 Cryptek with Chronometron
- 1 Heavy Destroyer
- And 1 Seraptek Heavy Construct armed with Synaptic Obliterators and Transdimensional Projectors
Worth a sum of one thousand, three hundred and seventy two (1,372) points, on or before the 1st of September, 2019. Success shall bring glory to myself, the Liber, and the Silent King; failure shall see me doomed to wear the badge of Oathbreaker till year’s end.

ETL 2019 Vow 2 start

As a challenge, now that a Necron superheavy is within the range of possibilities for this ETL.

I, Daimyo-Phaeron Lenoch, issue a challenge to xenos of the Tau species. Resistance is futile, but if it is entertaining (I.e. if y’all have a higher final score at the end of ETL than the Necrontyr), than I shall paint one unit of Tau Stealth Suits. Alternatively, if am an Oathbreaker this ETL, regardless of which faction is above the other, I shall paint a squad of Pathfinders. Best of luck!



A flash of red light appeared in the air, and a lone Necron stepped forth from the glow.


She stood, and ignored the shouted hails in the T'au tongue. The Necron strode forward, and as she approached the chamber that held council for the T'au envoys, activated a hologram that bore in the T'au language a sign that said 'envoy'. The implicit promise of violence if she was attacked was evident in the ornate but lethal frame and weaponry she bore.


She stopped just before the door, though from her posture it was clear it was not meant to be in any way respectful, but rather one of annoyance.


After a hurried conversation that she could have understood if she had cared to, the door opened slowly, and the Necron diplomat stepped through the doorway.


She waited for no introduction, no call from any master-of-arms to announce her. She merely took the central podium and began to speak, the T'au language made harsh in her vocalizer.


"I am Diplomat-Secundus Aramka. I am authorized by my Phaeron, Sarnakh the Sunderer, ruler of Seranon, Shatterer of Dynasties, and Lord of the Naculan, to deliver to you, xenos of the T'au species, this message."


She stood straighter and a holo-projection appeared before her and the T'au council. The Phaeron Sarnakh stood before them, though it was but a facsimile made of light and forcefields.


"T'au Council. I am the Phaeron of the Naculan Dynasty, and I am here to issue you a warning."

"Do not interfere with our efforts. Our forces are mighty, and you would not survive direct confrontation."

He paused, and his posture softened a microfraction. "However, any valiant attempt made would be recognized. I would caution against it. But it would be recognized nonetheless."

"You have been warned, T'au. Resistance is futile," he growled. "I have no more to say."


The hologram faded, and Arakma relaxed slightly.


She bowed contemptuously in the manner that diplomats did. "You have heard my master's words."


And she vanished in a flash of red light as she teleported away, leaving the T'au to ponder what had been said.

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That is one mighty vow to make in the last month of the ETL, brother. :eek:


Truly, the might of the Naculan dynasty is considerable!


I'm digging the stories so far though - it's interesting to see glimpses into the life (or unlife, or whatever the correct term is) of a Phaeron and his underlings!:happy.:

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  • 2 weeks later...

Honouring the Vow I made for the Liber, now that I finished my First and Second Vow for the Space Wolves (2287 points total), here is my contribution to the Liber. I went with something else, to motivate myself to expand on my ETL success in the coming weeks.



+ + +TRANSMITTED: 'Enigmatia'; in Orbit of Suvia; Mor-System; 'Emperor's Lance' Macro-Sector; Ultima Segmentum
+ + +DESTINATION: Lord Inquisitor Jamez Justizion
+ + +CO-DESTINATION: ll Replic-Archives of the Ordo Astartes; all Inquisitorial Operatives of the Ordo Astartes within Ultima Segmentum, Magenta-Level Clearance required.
+ + +DATE: 113.237 post ELCM.M41
+ + +TELEPATHIC DUCT: Lusinda Gy'erheart
+ + +REF: Inq-OA/1305071991799/GZ
+ + +AUTHOR: Artorion von Pechstain
+ + +SUBJECT: „Second Analysis of the Primaris Astartes Chapters of the 'Emperor's Lance' Macro-Sector Re-Fortification Efforts“
+ + +THOUGHT: Even the Mighty shall fall against the Devouted of the Emperor! + + +

As you wished, I kept an eye on the newborn Heroes... and as we expected, they are as shiny and impeccable as they can be - atleast for propaganda purposes. In truth they are as flawed and dangerous as all other Foundings before them, if not more so.


The sons of the venerable Lord Commander himself now "carry" the burden of leading the efforts at this border. They have positioned themselves right in the centre of it all, both in physical space, command hierarchy and the bureaucratical efforts of it all. Their "loyal liaisons" sit in every command centre or bureau of high rank imaginable - reporting everything they encounter back to the Chapter's upper echelons on Suvia.

The effects of their possible treason could be devastating for a far wider range of sectors than just their own.


Accon is in one of the systems closest to the Rift that has been deemed safe for re-settlement. In very little time the Unforgiven have errected their Fortress Monastery upon Accon and then started fortifying the rest of the system. Though I suspected their messages directed at their "neighbours" to be tyrannical, they almost sound soft-spoken. The settlers, in turn, are eager to fulfil any requests and wishes the Chapter voices, giving every bit of manpower and ressources to their cause, like zealots - even tho the settlers are secretive and stone-cold towards any outsiders.

This reeks of some misbegotten pact, especially with the Sons of the Lion involved.


Like saints carved out of ceramite, Vulkan's sons welcome every refugee on Fanir. They can eat rest and recover once they get to the planet's surface - before they continue their travels deeper into our beloved Imperium. But rumours speak of ships full of survivors coming out of the Rift, being brought into the planet's orbit by the Chapter's Fleet as empty, dead caskets later.

No wonder they have a very high standing in the Admiral's eyes, no? He sure has some use for dozens of retro-fitted ships in his strained fleets.


Most survivors coming from the Imperium Nihilus – and, in addition, many hopeless souls from the surrounding sub-sectors – flock towards Er'elim.
The sons of the Angel and the 'Order of the Auric Dove' have restored the abandoned Ecclesiarchal Coloss-Cathedral of Saint Edyth and the gardens and fortifications around it to new glory. Hand in hand they have laid claim to it, making it both the Chapter's Monastery and the Order's Bastion.
But even tho they claim to have found old relics harking back to the marvelous days of the Great Crusade, none are publically shown to the masses. In general, the Cathedral Grounds have been closed off, still more pilgrims arrive on the planet, settling in the surrounding areas. Tens of Thousands have arrived already, no real prospects can be made on how many more will come, only that the numbers will rival any hivecity in merely a few years. A humanitarian crisis in the making – or a Crusade of the Masses in the wrong hands? A disgusting prospect either way.


Dorn's Sons have built their complex pattern of fortifications on the rocky, desolate surface of Limes Secundus, but they claim more and more of the star ports on Limes Primus for their own fleet assets. I could not yet link these new ships to any of the wrecks brought to Fanir, but I would bet a shipload of slaves on it.


The system of Fomoria is one of the gateways out of the Rift, where the Warp spits out anything it doesn't need anymore. Bouts of gases, chunks of wrecked ships or planets reduced to dust. Anything from the size of a Munitorum Standard tin can to a Space Hulk.
Like madmen Ferrus Manus' sons have cartographed every moon, every asteroid, every small piece of debris in their system - and are now following the clishee of their gene-line, using all of it to fortify the system, as if it was the Capital of the whole Segmentum. Augur stations, hidden fortresses, hangar bunkers, re-supply docks, minefields and rocket silos.
Their Fleet stalks between all this polished waste and I can only assume that the essential departments of their Chapter have been strewn throughout the system, making a single strike at them impossible.


The Sons of Corax make their gene-father proud. Only every two Terran Standard Years do they return to their Homeworld, where a bare bones crew has defended their underground 'nest' and selected new recruits from the local miner populations. As far as I got to know, they gather the recruits and some supplies, hold a ritual to change the guards and fly back to their ships. After that, they leave the system, vanishing almost completely.
Only now and then do they appear in battlezones, leaving as quick as they come. What they do in between remains a mystery.

Meanwhile the Khan's sons are parading through the Macro-Sector, messages hailing their coming with prideful glory. And in the same way they walk over the battlefields and onto every command deck, as if nothing could befall them, nothing could leave a stain on their armors.
The people cheer for them, as if they were gods. Guardsmen lay down their weapons in battle, thinking themselves easily saved and the day already done. Planetary Governors praise them and bribe them with gifts. And they enjoy it, they enjoy it beyond measure.
By now I am sure they only choose battles that can still be easily won, to add to their glory and reputation, leaving harder battles to the other Chapters.
Such weakness paired with pride will surely be their downfall.

What should I tell you of Russ' offspring that you do not already know?
So far reports of their battles are similiar to those we got from Primaris Space Wolves during the Indomitus Crusade. They fight with ferocity, maybe more so than other gene-lines, but nothing... extra-ordinary beyond that. Yet.
My agents have not found any substantial evidence on the whole subject of the genetic heritage of the natives on Skógr. Only that the genes are 'old' with very little variance, due to the planet's seclusion. Tho with no genetic samples from Fenrisian natives or the honorable Space Wolves themselves available to us, it is merely guesswork.
Archaeo-historical analysis points towards a human population existing even before the Great Crusade. The culture of Skogr has parallels to that of Fenris - but many other more primitive, 'innocent' populations all across the galaxy too.
Assuming that the planet was settled by the same ancestors as those of Fenris or that it was re-populated with Fenrisians to cross the gene-pool to a fertile recruiting ground would only building a myth out of nothing. There is no conclusion to be found here.
The Arch-Magos and his lackeys are unwilling or unable to answer any questions raised, even tho the planet -must- have been chosen specifically for this purpose.
No matter all these circumstances, I'll stay wary of them. History will surely repeat itself and they will loose their temper... it be wise to be prepared for such a case, to put the rabid hound out of its misery.

Final Evaluation of the 'Eagles of Suvia', 'Lions of Accon', 'Dragons of Fanir', 'Seraphs of Er'elim', 'Rams of Limes', 'Giants of Fomoria', 'Crows of Karaz',
'Hawks of Fengxian' and the 'Wolves of Skógr':

The Macro-Sector is well secured by now. Re-Settlement of the liberated and newly conquered worlds is well underway. The Primaris Chapters are doing what the concepts and estimations of the Lord-Commander and Arch-Magos Cawl promised. In unison they even exceed all expectations.
But they need constant surveillance in the future.
I propose the forming of a Conclave, inviting other relevant Ordos, to establish multiple contingency plans, in case one or more of the newly established Chapters leave the Emperor's Path.

Until then, with highest regards,




Edited by RikuEru
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Now that's a proper inquisitor. "I can see Space Marines being Space Marines, they're definitely up to something". :laugh.:


Those Chapters all sound pretty interesting, I must admit!:happy.:


Thank you! Yes, that is exactly what i wanted to evoke! A paranoid Inquisitor seeing problems where there are none. (...YET!)


And thank you for the praise aswell.

Over time I wanna flash them out with their respective IA Articles and atleast one Marine per Chapter painted.

First will be a squad of veterans from the Lions of Accon - to honour the brotherly challenge I spoke out against Captain Semper and the Dark Angels.

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Index mechanicus

Forge World Fermya

The demesne of explorers



Deep inside the darkness, isolation and strife of the Imperium Nihilus, located halfway between the Somnius Stars and Malefactus, where the Ultima Segmentum borders the hungering darkness of the Ghoul Stars, is located an single beacon of order; a Forge World of the Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but one quite unlike the crown jewels of Mars, Gaia and Metallica. Established only recently, it boasted little fame or power and for a long time was considered little more than an outpost, a resupply point for Explorator fleets or refuge for tech-priests that had outstayed their welcome on more orthodox worlds. But its strategic location and toil of its independent-minded adepts forged it into a stronghold of the Mechanicus at the very edge of oblivion. And the coming of the Great Rift elevated it into rare linchpin of Imperial rule in that benighted region of the galaxy.


Last Hearth at the edge

Fermya is not an archetypical Forge World like Mars; it is more like a collection of holdings, forges and stations scattered throughout the Dyrac system. From the solar farms of the inner planets and the Mechanicus enclaves on the Imperial world of Telosa, to the orbital mining operations around the gas giants and Pathfinder station at the outer edges of the system. Collectively, these linked-but-independent assets are called the ‘demesne’. It’s spiritual center is the ash world christened ‘Fermya’, where secret excavation operations dig deep to uncover mankind’s history.

Yet this search for archeotech was never widely known within the wider Mechanicus, let alone the Imperium. For most, this was little better than another Explorator outpost or research world. The Forge World’s prestige and power was less than that of a single renowned Forge on blessed Mars. But it was an excellent resupply point for the various Explorator fleets that dared to venture to the dying embers of the dreaded Ghoul Stars. More importantly, it was a refuge for those that managed to limp back after finding something better left undisturbed. Even ship-bound Explorators began to refer to the system as home.

Soon other parties moored at Pathfinder station; Rogue Traders in search of adventure and wealth, Imperial Navy cruisers that patrolled the borders of Imperial Space, and even more secretive powers that took an interest in whatever lurked beyond the frontier. And as traffic increased, a varied collection of Mechanicus adepts found their way to the inner worlds. Often they were of the less reputable sort: innovators, xenophiles, rogues, free-thinkers, those tech-priest that had not quite strayed into techno-heresy, but who had nevertheless  made themselves quite unwelcome on other Forge Worlds. Using whatever resources they brought with them, they began to construct their forges, manufactora and stations across the system.

Thus Fermya became a refuge; for those adepts who had wandered in the deep void as well as those who wanted to disappear in it. And after the Cicatrix Maledictum ripped through the galaxy, this outpost at the frontier suddenly became a single bastion of order in a galaxy that had grown much darker still.



Creation of this new Forge World can be accredited to its current Fabricator-General; Archmagos Galaan Senorus, formerly of Mars. A spirited and charismatic man, he managed to evade banishment or even outright execution for his eccentric interests. Nevertheless, when he made an important discovery in the forgotten vaults of the great Martian library, he kept it secret as not to tip off his many enemies. Instead, he gathered what resources, favors and allies he could and claimed passage on an Explorator expedition bound to the galactic North. En-route Senorus presented his findings to the fleet master. Whatever was said has been crypto-locked, but Senorus managed to convince his audience to divert course to the Dyrac System.

The Explorator fleet arrived at the backwater system mostly without incident, much to the surprise of the local Imperial Commander. Senorus, now self-appointed spokesman for the fleet and de-facto expedition leader, assured him they were not looking for conflict. In fact, they were bearing gifts. Senorus offered priceless technological marvels to the Imperial Commander, as well as the magnanimous technological patronage of the Mechanicus to develop his world. All that in exchange for ownership of the worthless ash world of Occirus and uninhibited system access.

Tempted by this remarkable offer, but also quite aware that the Mechanicus expedition had many big guns, the Imperial Commander accepted. Soon, Mechanicus dropships landed on the surface of Occirus. Senorus was the first off the ramp. As he skittered over the radioactive ash, Explorator adapts around him deploying heavy excavation equipment, he renamed it after his patron saint; the mythological Father of Atomics, Enricus Fermya.


Fabricator-General Senorus

The master of Fermya, wielding absolute power (in theory at least) is the one who was responsible for its creation. Archmagos Galaan Senorus. Genius. Maniac. Born Leader. Deceitful backstabber. Creator. Destroyer. Pious servant. Cynical usurper. The picture that is painted of him depends very much on who you ask.

It did not help that his goals we never clear, and his methods contradictory. Often he would disappear into his private laboratories working on Omnissiah knows what, assign tasks that seemed inefficient or downright counterproductive, infuriate allies for no reason at all, and occasionally destroy opponents for flimsy reasons. And yet, his position is unassailable; somehow this Forge World of rogues and outcasts is kept relatively stable, in which many see the hand of the Fabricator-General. Some claim his eccentricity is an act, intended to keep his opponents off-guard. Others suspect he has secret access to everyone’s noospheric nodes and that he watches them all from his sanctum. Still other believe Senorus has simply shorted his circuits and is being controlled by the Locum, some shadowy faction in the council, or perhaps his pet rat. Whatever the truth, very few Tech-Priest deal with Senorus directly these days; day-to-day running of the Forge World is left to the perpetually overworked Fabricator-Locum and the Council-Elect, with Senorus only appearing from his private laboratories for the most holy rituals at the world’s Altar of All Knowledge, or whenever some fancy grips him.

Whatever Senorus is working in his private, and highly secured, sanctum on is one of the great mysteries of the Forge World. It is often supposed that he is preparing the final ritual to upload his consciousness into the Altar and become one with the Machine God. Many pray that the day of his ascension is close, so that leadership of the Forge World is finally up for grabs.


Gateway to the Ghoul Stars

The expedition found what Senorus promised would be there, but it would take many lifetimes to unearth it from the grey ash plains. Many Explorators settled down on the planet, building installations and outposts to direct the excavation. Others longed to return to the void and began preparations for new expeditions, laying the groundwork for their logistical infrastructure. Before long other Explorator expeditions called on the system, and Fermya’s future as an important Explorator hub was assured.

Despite being a benighted region (or maybe because of it) the Ghouls stars sang a siren song to explorers, adventurers and rogues of all stripes. Ambitious Rogue Traders came in search of wealth and fame. Many returned empty-handed, some not at all. Everyone had to content with the fact that no accurate star charts existed, and that the Astronomican did not reach that far from Holy Terra. The wise quickly learned to make a final stop at the location where the last glimmer of the Emperor’s Light was visible, and exchange information with other adventures on Pathfinder Station.

Forge World Fermya, and in particular Pathfinder station, gradually grew as a central shipping hub. Resupplying outbound vessels. Unloading the riches of those that returned from beyond the border. Repairing damage from far away battles and stranger encounters.

As the influence and production capacity of the Forge World increased, it began to launch its own expeditions beyond. Armies created in its own forges, carried by ships laid down in its own stardocks, all in the livery of Fermya.

However, the eagerness with which the Forge World and its many visitors probed into the haunted reaches of the Ghoul Stars tended to irk some powers in the Imperium who monitor the Ghouls Stars for any threats, much preferring to let sleeping dogs lie. The Space Marines of Death Specters chapter have long since warned that the Pale Wasting still lurked in its depts, and have opened fire on vessels that approached regions declared forbidden.


Post Cicatrix Maledictum

Expeditions into the Ghoul Stars have mostly been placed on indefinite hold. With the loss of the Light of the Astronomican the Forge World is preoccupied with keeping open the lines of communication within the region, Mechanicus cruisers patrol the space lanes, carrying enough troops to both offer protection and salvation to those worlds that are threatened by the many enemies that haunt the void, and to remind the more recalcitrant worlds of their oaths and duty to Omnissiah, Imperium and the of course local Forge World. 

Far removed from warzones like Vigilius or the Stygian sector, the sub-sector around Fermya has been a beacon of relative order and quiet. Yet all cogitations predict it will not last; sooner or later the enemies of mankind will assault this remote domain of the Deus Mechanicus in force. So the Tech-Priest shore up their defenses, clone cohort of cohort of skitarii, sanctify their weaponry and await for the inevitable storm to break.  


The Dyrac System and the Demesne

The system is dominated by the ancient star of Dyrac, its orange hue and bloated size indicating it is reaching the end of its life. The sun-blasted inner planets are barren rocks with surfaces completely devoid of life, save for Mechanicus installations that somehow endure. It is assumed that the irregular shaped worlds of Luminosus and Ignis once formed a single planet that was shattered in some ancient cataclysm. Massive solar farms dot the surface of Luminosus, the resident tech-priests harvesting the vast output of the sun to power deep-core mining operations. Ignis is even more extreme; it’s highly eccentric orbit taking it through the star’s corona every cycle. No structures survive on the surface except for the heavily shielded particle-syphons that draw in stellar matter into hidden underground laboratories.

At the edge of the solar habitable region lies the world of Dyrac-Telosa, tide locked to its parent sun. For millennia this Imperial world was for the only planet of any value in the system, but considered a frontier backwater at best despite its balanced economy of agriculture, mining, industry and local trade.  Its alliance with the young Forge World has caused a rapid industrialization of the world, which is beginning to show the telltale signs of hive construction.

The planet formerly known as Occirus is a wasteland covered in radioactive ash, and its apparent lack of value has made the frantic Mechanicus activity on this world all the more enigmatic to outsiders.

The three gas giants called the Trigemini form the system’s outer worlds, with a complex network of asteroid fields and stellar debris in between. Vast orbital refineries extract hydrogen and helium-3 from these planets, while swarms of prospector ships search the asteroid fields for rich mineral veins and ore deposits.

At the outer edges of the system, near the Mandeville point, are several dwarf planets, the largest of which is simply designated as Dyr-IV, or ‘Dirrif’ in the dialect of the voidsmen. Orbiting this frozen orb is Pathfinder Station; the massive station functions as a port and trading hub for Imperial shipping. It is by far the largest starport in the system as the ruling council of the Mechanicus is very reluctant to any allow non-vetted vessels (even those of their fellow tech-priests) near the inner worlds. Most interstellar cargo is transferred on the station onto intrasystem freighters, and its piers a bustling with activity, with small tugs and tenders swarming around massive cargo haulers and bulk loaders. More importantly, it is a resupply point for the various exploratory vessels that pass through on their way towards the Ghoul Stars, orbital drydock for those that return but not unscathed, and bulwark against unnamed things that might follow those vessels back to Imperial space. More than one void abomination or xeno raiding party has found its end on the station’s gun banks and torpedo salvoes.   



An Imperial World within a defacto Mechanicus system, Telosa was for millenia the only inhabited planet in the system. A tidelocked world, one hemisphere is a scorching desert where the bloated sun never sets. The other side is covered in perpetual night, with frigid winds blowing over frozen tundras. But where eternal night meets everlasting day, there is a strip of twilight, temperate weather and human habitation. Humanity has trived here. Mostly left to its own devices, it developed largely independent of the wider Imperium, forming several tribe-nations with noticeable cultural differences.

The coming of the Mechanicus rapidly altered life on the planet. The Tech-Priests' expertise raised the technological base significantly, now on par with some of the most developed hive worlds in the Imperium. Tech-Priests are operating from Mechanicus enclaves that are considered part of Fermya, where Forges have been erected that rival Senorus’ personal fief, but are active at every level of Telosan society.  In fact, most of the system’s Tech-Priests are operating on this Imperial world, recruiting its rich source of manpower to labor in forges and manufactura. Prime example are the traditional techno-guilds in which the mechanicus has been actively (some would say aggressively) ingraining themselves. Noowadays the guilders fulfill most of the roles that on other forgeworlds would be performed by menials.

Of course these developments have their detractors; despite the technological trinkets he gained, it cannot sit well with the imperial commander that he, once absolute ruler of his planet, has effectively been reduced to a vassal of the Forge World. Everywhere on Telosa are dissidents that resent the Tech-Priests' encroachment, but outright insurrection has not yet occurred, for now.



Many were perplexed when Senorus’ claimed the planet Occirus, for it boasted little of apparent value. The world is covered in mildly radioactive ash, the atmosphere unbreathable for unaugmented humans, and possessed little in mineral wealth. The only geographical features of note are jagged and fractured mountains that cut through the ash plains. Massive dust storms endanger everything on the surface not properly armored, each particle a miniscule shard of glass that can flay exposed flesh.

But the planet’s true value lies beneath the ash dunes; remnants of another time, when humanity reigned supreme. In an forgotten Martian vault Senorus had learned that Dyrac once harbored an advanced human civilization, its origins dating back to early or even pre-Imperial times. A civilization of which the the planet of Telosa was but a minor colony. A civilization that had been destroyed in some vast conflagration.

At the center of every Forge erected on the wind-swept and radioactive plans is a bore-hole, each one penetrating the many layers of ash until it reaches vast structures that may have once been hives, forges, or something else entirely. Here Tech-Priests labor to uncover the mysteries of this ancient people. Each structure is a ruin, and ash fills every hall and chamber, but marvels are still to be found there. The neuromapping cloning pods, the weirding modules and Boltzmann device were all found in these dead cities.

Information on these structures and their excavation is heavily restricted. Senorus and his inner circle are very determined to avoid unwanted attention from other treasure hunters, especially other Forge Worlds who are just as eager to uncover archeotech, but have a larger military force to call upon.



Because of its connection with Explorators, it is no wonder this branch of the Mechanicus has a large presence on Fermya. The Forge World is also a haven for sects and cults that are treated with suspicion or even hostility on more orthodox worlds. Fermya boasts a significant faction of Xenarites, several Logican cults, and even Disciples of Hark. With so many sects spread over many radically different enclaves and installations, Fermya does not bother with any true centralized government. All are left to their own devices and mostly govern themselves. The only semblance of unity is formed by the Council-Elect; a circle of administrators, magi and representatives that gather to discuss policy and resolve issues. And yet, it is not a confederacy or representative government; all power is held by Fabricator-General Senorus. However, Senorus rarely involves himself in day-to-day administration anymore, and as such it befalls the Fabricator-Locum to chair the council, evaluating requests, granting favors, assigning duties and dispensing justice as he sees fit. 

Lesser administrative and bureaucratic responsibilities are divided over trusted Tech-Priests who then employs their own cult, order or acolytes to do the legwork or routine tasks. Effectively, an impromptu bureaucracy is created whenever the power of factions and holding waxes and wanes on the council. Despite the obvious nepotism this system enables (even if Tech-priests are very insistent they are above such things), it works well enough to prevent such large group of non-conformist Tech-Priests from settling its differences by shooting at one another. Mostly at least. Though it occasionally does lead to some awkward situations; like when diplomatic envoys were selected from a particularly aggressive sect of Myrmidons.

Nevertheless, the myriad ranks and cults of tech-priests are still policed. This task fall to the Forge World’s Auxillia Myrmidon which doubles as a cadre of enforcers to assure that even the most independent-minded tech-priest will obey the commands of the Fabricator General and the Council-Elect. Being tech-priests themselves, they cannot be awed into submission like the Skitarii are hardwired to do. And being students of war and combat, few recalcitrant Magi have the will (and layers of armor) to stand against them.


Fabricator-Locum Jurius

Bennet Jurius is the second most powerful individual of the Forge World. And with Senorus not bothering with administration, it fall to him to keep the forges burning and the mag-levs riding on time. What follows is a daily balancing act of assigning and withdrawing favors and duties to on one hand placate the myriad factions of Tech-Priests, and on the other to actually get things done.

Though undeniably bright and cunning, even before overclocking his cerebral cortex, he is constantly undermined by the fact that no-one but Senorus thinks he is worthy for such a lofty position. It has always been a mystery why Senorus chose such a young and comparatively junior Tech-Priest as his Locum. Some suspect that Jurius is a clone of Senorus, pointing out the biological resemblance between the Locum and his master. Others secretly make an even more low-brow suggestion; that Jurius is actually Senorus' biological bastard son. This is rarely taken serious, as it is quickly pointed out that Senorus is completely mechanical from the waist down.

Nevertheless, as long as he has the Fabricator-General’s blessing, Jurius will work to keep the cogs running. Of course, many are very curious about what Senorus is doing in his sanctum. If Jurius even knows what the Fabricator-General is up to, he does not say. But if the rumors of Senorus imminent ascension are true, Jurius will be his obvious replacement as Fabricator-General. However, some whisper that without his patronage, Jurius position becomes vulnerable, and that he can expect challenges to his authority.



Fermya is a hodge-podge of many Mechanicus cults and sects, so there is no specific belief system other than the basic tenets of the Cult Mechanicus that all tech-priests at least can agree upon. Between their various domains belief systems can vary wildly, and on other Forge Worlds would certainly lead to culls or wars of theology. That is not to say Fermya’s tech-priests are any more tolerant than their peers on other worlds; it is just that here most Tech-Priest ascribe to the unwritten rule that as long as you do not bother me, I will not bother you.

The only expection to this rule is warpcraft. Though several Magi Aether study the mechanics of that other dimension without interference, those that cross the hard line of communing with the entities haunting it are purged without delay. The Myrmidons that police the Forge World are well-encoded to recognize the tell-tale signs of corruption, and react with extreme prejudice. With atomics, if need be.

When mechanicus assets are being deployed for combat however, skitarii troopers and Tech-Priests alike take on a crusading zeal that is quite unlike their normally insular behavior on Fermya. Considering themselves the vanguard of the Omnissiah’s will, come to bring enlightenment to the ignorant, and take knowledge for the unworthy, they become the forces of light in a sea of darkness. Given the callousness and brutally employed to convert or steal from their enemies, the latter generally do not agree.


The God-Emperor and the Omnissiah

Telosa was an Imperial world long before the Adeptus Mechanicus claimed its system, and as such the Imperial Creed had long since taken root there. As it was a frontier world its Ecclesiarchial presence was rather modest; though its parishes were formally part of the sector diocese, and the occasional Pontifex or zealous Missionary arrived to enforce some orthodoxy, its local cults were mostly left to their own devices. Its followers, as frontiersmen are wont to do, tended to blend piety with practicality.  

The coming of the Ecclesiarchy’s rivals of the Cult of the Machine God had some profound changes on the local belief system. As the influence of the Tech-Priests waxed and they introduced tangible miracles or technology, Mechanicus beliefs diffused into the local cults. Soon the Tech-Priests were given equal deference as those typically reserved for the holy men of the Adeptus Ministorum.

Still, the Mechanicus and Ministorum are rarely cordial with one another, and they do fight a velvet war for the souls of the populace. The Adeptus Mechanicus had made great progress with indoctrinating the technological inclined factions, like the tech-guilds or the miner-clans, so that the cog is a common religious icon even outside of the Mechanicus enclaves. Conversely, the Ecclesiarchy has double-downed on its hold on the more traditional-minded groups like the farmer communes, water harvesters and freetraders.

This theological conflict occasionally results in physical violence, especially when the more devout followers of opposing cults meet over bottles of rotgut. However, most of the general populace, ever practical, is content in knowing that the Emperor demands their worship, not their understanding. For them the conflict between the worshippers of the God-Emperor and those of the Omnissiah is like arguing about which end you open a gloppit egg.


Specialties and technology

Being a realm of explorers and innovators, it is no surprise that many wonderous technologies can be found on Fermya. Unfortunately, the insular nature of many of the adepts means that few of them ever leave their personal laboratories, let along come into mainstream use. On the other hand, some pieces of archeotech have been unearthed that radically changed how the Forge World functions.

First and foremost is are the cloning-pods the Tech-Priests have unearthed under the ash dunes of Fermya. Cloning, vat-growing and flesh-crafting are relatively common technologies in the Imperium, but like so many of its technologies are crude or flawed. Not so with these devices, which can produce a perfect copies of an individual, including memories. They are mostly used to resurrect favored servants long dead. It has proven especially effective with bolstering the skitarii legions, as the mass production of hale and capable individuals allows the Forge World to rapidly induct recruits into its legions, giving the Forge World the numbers to punch above its weight.

But the true hallmark of Fermya is atomics. Nuclear weapons have long since fallen out of favor with the Imperium, as these weapons pale when compared to cycloninc torpedoes, Life Eater virus weapons and vortex warheads. Yet these ancient weapons are still given the respect they are due, because of the threat of mutual destruction it posed to ancient man and the salvation if offered when it encountered the xeno races, and even more so on the world named for the mythological Father of atomics. Though hardly a technological specialty as these weapons can be constructed on many worlds with even pre-spaceflight tech base, Fermya’s forges produce these weapons in unnecessarily large quantities and often with such artisan embellishments it is almost a waste to actually detonate them.


Military forces

Fermya’s military forces are very standard compared to other Forge Worlds, aside from the fact Macroclades are referred to as Legions, presumably to add some gravitas. Though not yet at the same level as worlds like Gaia and Lucius, let alone Agrippina and Mars, the legions are plentiful and capable, thanks to Fermya’s cloning facilities. Organization structure allows for easy incorporation of Knight or Titan support, as well as the various martial sects of the Tech-Priests.

Combat doctrine is based on rapid deployment and maneuver warfare. Here speed is essential and Skitarii are programmed to take the initiative. Every cohort is equipped with multiple transports, often enough to move the entire formation. This probably has its origin in Fermya’s Explorator roots. These pioneers knew the value of speed; both when snatching away Archeotech from sluggish guardians, as well as beating a hasty retreat after accidentally awakening some ancient horror.

Unique to Fermyan strike forces is that they always carry atomics, and are willing to use them. Skitarii alphas have been know to request nuking their own position when about to be overrun. Mostly they are used on the offensive however. Either to blow holes in enemy defenses, or as terror weapons against soft targets.


Legio Pharus, the Lightbringers

History makes no mention of Legio Pharus before Arhmagos Senorus’ ships entered the Dyrac System, yet bulk loaders carried in their holds several titans in the livery of of the Lightbringers, banners showing numerous battle honors (and even some scorch marks of recent engagements).

Where the titans came from is a bit of a mystery among the Collegia Titanica, but it is generally assumed Senorus called in favors and scraped together aid from existing Titan Legions. Whatever its origins, the new Forge World immediately set about on expanding the legions numbers, and though still one of the smallest legions, its strength increases with every proud new titan that marches out of the Forges.

The legion’s battle tactics mimic those of more established legions, further hinting to a shared ancestry, but unique to the legion is the focus on speed and keeping casualties low. As such, the Lightbringers generally avoid combat unless a solid advantage can be pressed, not averse to leading stronger opponents on a merry chase in which the shots are only traded when the aggravated enemy walks into an ambush.  

Also unique to the legion is its culture; instead of warriors of the Omnissiah, demigods or war, or protectors of the Mechanicus, the crews of the titans see themselves as the vanguard of enlightenment, paving the way for the disciples of the Omnissiah to illuminate the ignorant. Many exploratory fleets launched fom Pathfinder Station carried titans of the Lightbringers with them.

Legio Pharus employs all common titan classes and weapon loadouts for its engagements, but at least one titan in every battlegroup carries a full load of atomics, as a reminder to friend and foe alike that the Legio Pharus brings light to the darkness; either the illumination of knowledge or the sickly green afterglow of atomic devastation.


Knights of Ascalon

The armored warriors of the Knight World of Ascalon are loyal allies to the Tech-Priests of Fermya. This was not always so, and according to some in the Adeptus Terra, it is a bought loyalty. Saying this to a Knight of House Ritter would result in an immediate challenge to an honor duel, and most likely a very gory demise of the offending party.

Nevertheless, there is no denying that the knightly houses once paid homage to the Imperium, with the High Kings of House Steffald barely tolerating Fermya’s overtures of mutual benefit. Most vassals followed the example of their liege. Only the minor house of Ritter responded positively to the emissaries of the Omnissiah.

The Tech-Priests exploited this opening by offering massive support to House Ritter, within decades turning it from a minor house to a power that rivalled that of the High King himself.

House Ritter remained fiercely loyal to its liege, and served with distinction and honor. Nevertheless, after the fierce Edge Cluster war the royal house was decimated, its King and his Heir killed. House Ritter filled the vacuum by a series of politically astute marriages and gathering support from other houses via (Mechanicus’ supplied) material aid, combining the royal bloodline with theirs. This began the reign of the House Ritter and effectively switching Ascalon’s undying loyalty to the Mechanicus.


Naval assets

As can be expected of a realm of explorers, Fermya boasts significant naval assets. Its cruisers can challenge anything smaller than a battleship, and have the support of several escorts at all times. The fleet does not have one of the awe-inpiring Ark Mechanicus, but as cruisers are deployed in groups when fleet actions are expected, this is not seen as a disadvantage.

The coming of the Great Rift and the Blackness that followed in its wake was damaging but not nearly as catastrophic as for other parts of the Imperium. Explorator fleets operating at the edge of the Astronomican already had to content with the fact that the Astronomican was barely visible at this range, and by necessity had to rely on short calculated hops through the warp. As such, after the initial warp storms had passed, this familiarity allowed the bulk of the Forge Wold’s naval assets, and the Explorator fleets that operated alongside it, to limp back to its moorings on Pathfinder Station.

With the Great Rift effectively cutting of some Explorator Fleets from their original Forge World, Fermy has become their de-facto home base, lending their strength to the defense of the system and the sector as a whole. Even some Rogue Traders are employing the station as their staging area.

Further in-system the Forge world has deployed system defense monitors; ships of nearly cruiser size, but without warp capability. Though lacking the versatility of warp-cabable warships, they are easier to construct, much easier to repair, and will present a formidable obstacle for any enemy fighting its way to the inner system.


Navigator House Hansa

Though still incredibly wealthy compared to the destitute masses of humanity, the navigator house of Hansa is considered a clan of paupers, vagabonds and drifters by their peers, with few planet bound holdings and not even a presence in the Navigator District on Terra. They are tight-lipped about their origins, but given the deadly games of intrigue that the navigator families play, it is safe to assume that at some point they were banished to the dark corners of the Galaxy by their  rivals, forced to eke out a living away from the lucrative trade lanes, well-mapped sectors and stable warp currents. They had to offer their services to those no sensible navigator would work for; captains bold, desperate or foolish enough to take the plunge into the darkest recesses of space. In these high-risk voyages to stellar wildernesses, where the Astronomican grows dim, dangerous anomalies are unmapped and unknown horrors prowl, House Hansa had to adapt and hone their skills just to endure.

And endured they have. Though presumably many of their clansmen were lost in doomed voyages, along with their ships and everyone on it, those that survived acquired the skills to carve out a new niche; to boldly go where no man has gone before, and have a not bad change of actually coming back. Most importantly, they learned to combine their mystical sight with raw data from the warp drive’s cogitators to improve the accuracy and range of calculated hops through the warp, allowing reasonable navigation even when the Astronomican was obscured.

Whether it is their skill in navigating unmapped space far from the light of the Astronomican, or simply because they are cheap, Archmagos Senorus has enlisted House Hansa to pilot his ships. They have been supplying most of the navigators for Fermya’s void ships ever since.


Motto & war cry

Formal Forge World motto: In darkness, let there be light.

Popular war cry (unsanctioned): Light them up!


Warriors of note

As exploration and warfare go hand-in-hand, Fermya has acquired its fair share of heroes and veterans. Still, most adepts consider warfare a means to an end, and give it little thought once the fighting stops. As such, only dedicated combatants like the skitarii have a warrior culture.

Fermyan skitarii are cloned from favored retainers, often themselves noted warriors. Though these skitarii are as expendable as any other, they are allowed a lot of independence by their Tech-Priest overlords, as well as retaining their personal idiosyncrasies. The Jon-Sigma series have a sense of humor that borders into insubordination. The Charli-Delta type tends to avoid quick and efficient kills and prefers to slowly disassemble foes, all the while broadcasting a very unsettling laugh. The Holden-Epsilon models are notorious among Astra Militarium personnel for bumming commodities to feed their insatiable addictions, including lho-sticks, amasec, ‘slaught, weapons grade promethium, bolt propellant, combat neurotoxins and wallnuts. The Duncan-Omega models have a peculiar tendency to (try to) fraternize with mature (and well-endowed) double-X chromosome humans, not letting small issues like having attained the Crux Mechanicus or possessing vibroblades as hands dissuade them from their philandering.

The most controversial warrior ‘hero’ among the Tech-Priests of Fermya is without a doubt ‘Barking’ Toade Tellus-Omicron the First/Second/Third/Fourth/Fifth. A Genetor whose recklessness cannot be kept in check by his cranial implants, and whose eagerness to slay the enemies of the Omnissiah far outstrips his combat protocols and skill at arms. Normally this would’ve led to a regrettable but inconsequential end to the Genetor’s existence, but ‘Barking’ Toade has a ready supply of his own clones that replace him every time he falls. Though cloning oneself for a measure of immortality is considered tacky by his peers, and the fact that each incarnation is as reckless and inept at combat as the original exasperates them, is by itself is not much of an issue. Unfortunately, as of its third incarnation Toade has somewhat realized his less than stellar battlefield performance. But instead of upgrading his battle algorithms or weaponry, he opted to replace his standard potentia coil with an unstable nuclear core. Now whenever he is cut down, his opponent kills Toade, himself, all troopers around them and a significant part of the battlefield in nuclear fire. Which tends to annoy his peers that are both more subtle-minded and averse to buffeting shockwaves and radiation burns. His senior status in the cult has prevented Toade from being denied service on the front lines, so canny Domini have resorted to surrounding Toade with expendable troops, goad him to charge at a concentration of enemies far away from their own forces, and stand well back. At least then they get some mildly effective results whenever the Tech-Priest takes to the field that blows up quicker than the notorious Catachan Barking Toad.

Edited by Quantum
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And that’s another vow completed. My original plan was to do a vow a month, but it don’t work out that way. But, I did complete my vows and so won’t bare the shame of oath breaker this year. Here’s a few shots of the completed units.



And for The Liber. I wrote up a few different stories for my Watch Captain and his tale kept getting longer and more in depth, but it felt like I was going on and on. So, I wrote a more abbreviated story in an attempt to cover his back story a bit. Hope you like it.


The Ambush


The ambush was perfect. The Drukahri raiding party had descended on the village as expected. The Archon finally exposed, vulnerable.


According to Black Shield Watch Captain Arkkyl’s briefing, this had been a plan decades in the making. Inquisitor Quiarte had committed dozens of agents and countless innocents on an unknown number of planets and systems to give Arkkyl and his Kill Team this one shot of capturing the Archon.


The ruse was simple. An artifact of Eldar origin was beneath the quiet town. It would give the Archon an enormous advantage in gaining position within his Kabal. But, Like a typical Xeno, the Archon was paranoid and feared a rival may get his prize before he could. And so only a loyal following of his must trusted had been chosen to help him recover the artifact.


The Archons retinue was comprised of two Raiders who were supported by an escort of only 3 Venoms. But the foul Xeno were as deadly as they were evasive. Even at low numbers, they could hit hard and flee out of the DeathWatch’s grasp with ease. And so the ambush needed to be perfect.


Arkkyl’s Team was modest. He would personally lead Fortis Kill Team Vacsar, composed of Intercessors and Hellblasters, to the top of the villages city hall. With his jump pack and the Beacon Angelis he would give them the best vantage point to decimate the Dark Eldars light transports and expose the occupants.


Then Chaplain Talise would lead Purgatis Kill Team Eyonar and Venator Kill Team Muyong to attack and extract the target. Kill Team Muyong would hit fast and hard. Clearing and distracting the Archons guards. Then Talise and Kill Team Eyonar would strike in their wake. Once contained and incapacitated, Talise would utilize a teleport homer to extract his team and the target to a nearby extraction zone. Arkkyl would then lead the remaining Watch brothers in a fighting retreat until reserves arrived.


Arkkyl stood at the opening of embarkation deck of his transport, his Kill Teams assembling behind him. From low orbit the target village was specks inside a sea of browns and reds. The data streaming through his visor told him a tale he had witnessed a thousand times before. The Xeno raiding party had begun its attack on the village. They would capture, torture and kill the villagers who lived there. They would use the strongest to begin excavating the artifact they desired while the weak and inferm would be taken back to their dark city.


Rage began coursing through his blood as visions of the massacre overwhelmed Arkkyl. Thoughts of slaughter and blood began the continuous driving pain in his skull. The urge to unsheathe the Relic blade at his hip and turn to cut down his brothers who waited behind him was overwhelming. Once, to kill was the only way he knew to relieve the pressure. The only way to end his suffering. The only way to feel.


For decades he had slaughtered the Xenos for the DeathWatch. Countless foul things cut to pieces in the dark corners of Imperium. All to end his suffering. All in the hope of appeasing the pain.


But every episode was worse then the last. Every kill demanded another. The drilling and burning in his skull intensified after every mission.


Often, in the quiet of his quarters, he would dream of his brothers abandoning him in a sea of foul Xenos. Left alone to slaughter for blood and skulls until his inevitable death.


But the loyalty of his brothers was stoic. Even at his darkest, when his rage drove him beyond logic. When the pain and lust pushed him deep into the heart of his enemies and beyond the parameters of his mission, he was never left behind.


As Arkkyl had felt his options for peace dwindling, and the inevitability of his damnation taking control, a light in the darkness came.


Chaplain Talise joined his Watch. Talise saw Arkkyl as a kindred spirit. A noble warrior crafted by the Emperor, but doomed by a terrible fate. At first Arkkyl resisted Talise’s sermons. But Talise persisted and, in a desperate attempt to gain Arkkyl’s trust, he exposed his own chapters dark secrets. He told Arkkyl of a curse spawned from the demise of his Primarch. A curse that eventually caused Talise’s brothers to descend into a murderous madness. A madness curable only by death.


Under Talise’s guidance Arkkyl learnt countless litanies and psalms to calm the rage. Prayers to the Emperor for serenity and incenses to steady his mind before deployment.


It took years before Arkkyl saw progress. But through constant study and decades of practical exercises, Arkkyl began to master the pain.


Under the tutelage of the Chaplain, Arkkyl discovered the ability to step outside himself. To view his actions as if from above. From this heightened form of thought, he felt no pain and was exposed to no emotion. He could guide his action with cold logic, devoid of all thoughts. All thoughts except the desire to accomplish his mission.


With the ability to numb the rage and pain crushing inside his skull, he could once again unlock the full potential of his Adeptus Astartes heritage.


The blinking sigil on his retinal screen returned Arkkyl to the present. It was time. He emptied his mind of everything but the present. The capture of the foul Xeno commander his only desire.


After a final glance at the Chaplain and his waiting Brothers Arkkyl jumped into empty space and descended upon his unaware prey.

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A bit late to the party, I thought I'd posted my vow here.

On 28 Jun 19 I vowed:

I Machine God rise to the challenge of E Tenebrae Lux VII as a Renegade and vow to complete:

1x Chaos Lord with Thunder Hammer and Plasma Pistol.

For a total of 100 pts on or before 01 Sep 19. Success will bring me eternal glory and failure will doom me to wear the Badge of the Oathbreaker until the year's end.


Which I completed on 3 Jul 19:

I Machine God declare that my vow for Ex Tenebrae Lux VII to be complete.

I am happy with the model and my progress.

Iron-Father / Chaos Lord Gneiss - Scions of Ferrus:

med_gallery_42404_15670_601219.jpg med_gallery_42404_15670_601308.jpg

I just had to work out fluff for the character. It's still very much in my head and it regards a conversation within my Chapter's HQ:

Edit: Fluff in new post.

Edited by Machine God
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Okay so I wrote a bit of fiction on the Lt but didn't like it.  I intend on doing bios for all the guys that I have painted over the course of the ETL today and submit those.  With better pics of all the guys as well.  I am going to attempt 500 words a unit, which will be... interesting...

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The Primarch's words still rang out in his head as Primaris Chaplain Benjamin and small group of Reivers under the command of Sergeant Samuel moved silently through the rubble, detached from the rest of the Blades of Vengeance. The Primaris groups were suddenly rerouted to secure secondary targets after serving besides their non-Primaris brethren with their continued distinction carried over from the Indominus Crusade. The battle logic was not sound, and their unenhanced brothers were bearing the worst of the fighting for a reason unknown to them save Roboute's words, "Trust your brothers and be as loyal to them as you have been me. They bear a burden you do not know and may never share with you. Their loyalty to the Imperium is not in question to me, but the same resolve you share with my brother they also use to shoulder this burden. They will need your support even if they will never ask for it."


These words to a special council of the Primaris Chaplains of the Lion have both reassured and bothered Benjamin. Reassured in that he has never found his brothers wanting in battle and the site of so many Chaplains in their ranks is a testament to them. But these random actions continue to gnaw on his mind, and it has become more obvious as time marches ever on that there is something that is not being shared. So, with a small detachment, he has followed silently behind the force of Unforgiven that continue to break down the defenses of a fortress unaided. The Reivers for their part were hand selected by the Sergeant from amongst the ranks of the Chapter. The Chaplain was familiar with every single one of them and agreed to their selection. 


The Terminators from three chapters had finally broken through a section of the fortress but at a terrible loss. The shattered suits of Terminator Armor from the Consecrators, Stoneburners and Blades of Alaric littered the field of battle with Apothecaries busy with their grim work. The six Primaris were able to slip by like a wisp of wind. Once inside the dense fortress walls, the site changed to bring a smile to Benjamin's face beneath his skull mask. Bodies of the followers of Chaos were strewn about like children's toys with only small chips of ceramite to mark their passage. The strongest defenses were on the walls.


Continuing on, he found a group of Terminators engaged in a pitched battle against one of the opposing battlefield commanders. The brothers of the Unforgiven fought as one, even from different Chapters. The two with shields and hammers continued to step in to take the blows from the Chaos commander who fought on as though possessed by a denizen of the warp but did not show any signs of possession. Only the Sergeant looked on as the rest of the Reivers took up positions away from the conflict. Finally, the five on one battle came to an end and the commander was utterly spent. 


With their prisoner secured, the Sergeant of the five Terminators addressed the prisoner. "Sergeant Asphodel of the 32nd Chapter, 1st Legion. You have betrayed the Emperor and your Primarch, Lion El'Johnson, and turned on your fellow brothers over the countless centuries. How do you plead?" 


"The Emperor and the Lion betrayed us all!" was the only answer the Chaplain heard before an awaiting gunship roared overhead to take the prisoner away.

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Deep in inter-galactic space just under the galactic plane of the Milky Way an Adeptus Astartes fleet thundering through the void  suddenly goes full dark and silent running.

Deep within the main Cruiser, within the Main Forge three hulking figures hammered away as they talked, the only illumination being the red glow from the forges themselves.


Iron-Father Gneiss: "Is it done?" A short question accentuated by a heavy thunder hammer blow.

Epistolary Varl: "Yes Master it is done. The Navigator initiated a short jump through the warp to our current position heading towards the Liber Cluster. The Navigator is now sleeping in cryo-stasis."

Ancient Da'Vros: "Why the Liber Cluster Gneiss?"

Iron-Father Gneiss: "We have to get ourselves time to think and adapt to the changes forced upon us by that Heretic Cawl! The Liber Cluster is a fresh start where we will be able to adapt, change and thrive in the new order. We developed the Centurian Suit in secret and Cawl stole it and disseminated it throughout the greater Imperium. Now he forces these Things upon us, primaris, pah, they are dregs, we can and have done better!"

Ancient Da'Vros: "So you are following the ancient texts then. Good they will bring us Power!

Epistolary Varl: "Hah these primaris are dregs, but the Hellblaster Genus are a good concept?"

Iron-Father Gneiss: "Yes there is room for improvement of that there is no doubt! Varl what is that platitude your are so found of uttering in your sermons?"

Epistolary Varl: "It is not mine I remembered it from a remembrancer text, 'The roads less travelled may not be the easiest path, but the ghosts of those who passed through them stand for others to brave the uncharted world' is that the one Iron-Father?"

Iron-Father Gneiss: "Yes that is the one. With the Ancients teachings we will progress far and will teach others!"

Ancient Da'Vros: "Good, good you have come far Gneiss. You show great promise in your understanding of the Xenarite Disciplines!"

Edit: Typo and a de-cluttering.

Edited by Machine God
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With many apologies to the english language, the universe of 40K, and general good taste. I present a short interlude as the conclusion to my participation in this years ETL


This Type of Thinking (Could do us in)



“Hey Quox!” came the call from outside of the Whirlwind that Brother Anthon was elbow deep inside of, he was the commander of the Motorized Armour Combat School’s Whirlwind Quox, a name he responded to by MACS tradition, that he was working on his own machine was another tradition. The voice belonged to the youngest of the MACS students and driver of the Whirlwind Grobda Brother Doylan. Anthon stopped the pneuma-Ratchet as the younger Astartes clomped his way up the rear loading ramp and continued “SNAP* traffic just came in, Forge-Wright Vanquire is calling for all hands”. Quox put down the tool and rose from the access panel he had opened, he mentally tallied the list of work still to be done. 


After their last battle against the knife ears they needed to put in for refit thanks to the levels of damage the support units had sustained. They had been coordinating with land speeder pilots for extreme range fire support, and thus were unprepared for the Wraithknight that appeared on their back lines. They had taken it down, but only after the three oldest whirlwinds in the armoury were unceremoniously kicked over on their sides. The chassis’ we’re not badly damaged, but no self-respecting Novemberine would ride around with a giant eldar footprint shaped dent in their machine. Anthon’s MACS unit was rotated out of the theater and sent to a temporary refit and rearm garrison at an OASIS* outpost on the far edge of the picket line


Forge-wright Vanquire was in command of the refit team at the facility. He was a rising star in the circle of the machine adepts, he’d been a disciple of Forge Lord Abielle, and was on the team that recovered and refit the Fellblade Unsung War and then helped build and fit Fires of Liberation. Vanquire was also younger than Anthon, it was something he was beginning to notice more and more often, and worried that he might be becoming sensitive to his comparative age. 

Anthon put that thought out the back of his mind and stepped toward Brother Doylan, “C’mon kid, lets go hear what’s so important that they sent you to get me”. 


Doylan gave him a sharp aye as they exited onto the service bay floor. Anthon's Whirlwind, the Dragon Buster Quox, was at the end of a row with its sibling machines, Steel Gunner Grobda, the Rolling Thunder of Derota, and the Helios equipped the Burning of Geldra. Anthon was pleased to note that all the panels had finally been repainted to November Standard, Yellow, and for the near future, a deep imperial blue as accent. The old dazzle scheme had been rough on the eyes but not in any productive way. This list of work left wasn’t short by any means, but was simple enough, running cable and harness, installing a new ballistics cogitator and most important of all, at least in his opinion, a well and proper sound system. He was of the opinion that blasting battle song was the best way to war fight. His crew and their service record agreed.


Across the aisle sat some of Vanquir’s projects. Three Rhino chassis sat with rear hatches open, inside one sat a nearly absurd amount of cogitation equipment, above it was a large antenna unit hung from chains on a gimbal. Cables hung loose underneath, the end of each one was finished with quick disconnect  tagged with colored labels. He was looking forward to having a Damocles to provide Command & Control support. Might even keep them from getting kicked over.


To one side sat a predator with an uprated turret assembly, and it looked like a large melta was mounted. He’d operated with the Deimos preds before, but this wasn’t one of those. Vanquire seemed to have a penchant for modernizing ancient designs. It looked the definition of function over form. It rode the same height as a predator, but sat taller and more heavily armoured, it wasn’t as bulky as the Deimos predators, but neither as sleek. The heavy bolters on its sponsons we’re an older design more related to Land Raider sponsons, but held extra stores of ammunition, and was more steady on their multi axis gimbals.


Forge-Wright Vanquire didn’t just have one project of this nature though. On the other side of the Damocles sat an unnamed chassis, it was painted the same November Standard as all the other hulls. What made it stand out was it’s launcher system. The reclamation teams had found an abandoned whirlwind scorpius that had survived in a cave on a backwater planet for millennia most of its major systems long since failed, except for the launcher. The Novemberine knew the intricacies of the Deimos pattern, and were thus able to study the launcher in great detail. Anthon knew that chassis was somewhere here, being slowly repaired. In front of him though was Vanquire’s updated Scorpius. The targeting pod was massive, and the launchers were missing the nearly ornamental armour plates, instead it was brutally solid. Whoever ended up commanding that tank, was going to have the power to level whole hab blocks at a time, and to be fair, Anthon felt a little jealous. 


Stowing that feeling, the marines walked out of their aisle and turned. Anthon could see to the far end of the facility where the walker bays stood. There was only one chassis stored there, a Deredeo that held one of the ancients that he had yet to meet. He had operated with it’s sibling chassis before, and found that he was amazed at the volume of fire it could bring to bear.


They turned down the next aisle, and there sat their CAS*, a Stormhawk Interceptor, it’s panels were opened up, and the engine was wired into a series of diagnostic cogitators. Anthon was almost surprised to see that there weren’t any outright modifications to the aircraft, but chalked it up to “why fix what isn’t broken?”.


The two marines continued towards the briefing, when Anthon noticed a pair artillery gunners arguing by their tracked gun. Another melding of new and old, Vaquire had managed to re-purpose and structurally enhance a thunder fire cannon carriage to mount a laser destroyer array. The nature of the machine required two crew members to operate, so to see a team arguing made Anthon want to intervene, until he heard the nature of their disagreement. “Shikinami is better!” the retort came “Ayanami is better”, and in that moment Anthon knew there was nothing he could say or do, as he personally was a Makinami man. 


Ignoring the escalating conflict, Anthon and Doylan walked out of the service bay building towards the briefing hall situated across the tarmac. Outside was a hive of activity, crates and pallets where being moved by Servitor and Tech adept alike.  As they closed in on the briefing hall, Anthon saw Forge-Wright Vanquire’s personal bike parked out front. Instead of tires it rode on tracks, the bolters were relocated to the fairings which themselves were enlarged to cover most of the front suspension, the rear of the bike had mag locks for holding weapons just behind the rider. Anthon was sure if any of the non-aligned Imperials ever saw it, they’d be yelling about tech heresy and how they should take his head for it. When he thought on it a bit more, they would probably call the whole of the refit facility a tech heresy. 

Reaching the doors to the briefing hall, he thought to himself, these were idle thoughts that didn’t need to be dwelt on. They had a briefing to attend.




I'm sure I'll edit in more to say tomorrow once I've gotten some sleep, for now all I can do is make sure there are no egregious spelling mistakes, and hope that this makes any sort of sense!
















Edit: Spelling, grammar, logic fault. Edit 2: Added more & better photos.


*Secured Network Alert Process

*Operations Armament Supply & Intelligence Support.

*Close Air Support

Edited by NovemberIX
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