[s]Alright, Primarch sheet is done. The Legion will follow within the week.[/s] All finished and ready for review. [hider=The Primarch] [b]Name[/b]: Sarghaul Tartareus. [b]Gender[/b]: Male. [b]Homeworld[/b]: Carcinus. This tranquil ocean world has had, until recently, the dubious privilege of being all but entirely forgotten by the galaxy at large. Located in the inner rim of the Segmentum Tempestus, Carcinus had once been designated for conversion into an agri-world towards the end of the Dark Age of Technology. To that end, imposing complexes of machinery were established on its small, sparse landmasses, with the goal of seeding the planet’s waters with life to be farmed. However, the process was disrupted by the advent of the Age of Strife. Rampaging Men of Iron destroyed most of the installations before being decommissioned, and the surviving ones fell into disrepair as vast Warp storms sealed the system in a nigh-impregnable pocket, preventing technicians and replacement components from reaching them. Over the millennia, the work already done has been eroded by Carcinus’ native life gradually reclaiming the oceans, alongside the bizarre chimerical beings spawned by the incomplete conversion. Of the latter, the most curious and dangerous are the crustaceans known as charybdes. Strongly resembling the crabs of old Terra by a quirk of evolution, if larger and with more numerous limbs, these creatures began at some point to grow tremendous in size and hunger, and have since been a scourge for the planet’s population, threatening the inhabitants of coastal areas and preventing them from feeding off the bounty of the seas. What little of the failed agri-world’s people survived the uprising of the automata and the following isolation thus found themselves hemmed in the hearts of the largest islands. Fortunately, the mainland soil proved fertile, possibly as a result of the ancient seeding’s early stages. This, combined with their low and scattered numbers, largely prevented them from degenerating into barbarism, instead leading to most adopting a mostly peaceful agrarian lifestyle. While charybdes occasionally wander far enough inland to become a danger, such incidents are rare, and the creatures are easily slain or driven off. Presently, Carcinus is the seat of the Abyssal Lurkers’ fortress-monastery, built in the oceanic depths. [b]Appearance[/b]: [hider=Depiction] Primarch Sarghaul Tartareus during the Conquest of Galaspar, ca. 850.M30. Note some exaggeration as to the amount of adornments on his armour. [img]https://i.imgur.com/ufY8kOi.jpg[/img] [/hider] At slightly below fourteen feet of height, Sarghaul is abnormally large and massively built even among his kind. A behemoth of a man, his proportions are perhaps the least similar of all Primarchs to those of a simple human, bearing a distinctly closer resemblance to the robust frame of an Astartes. With thick limbs, an almost nonexistent neck and a ponderous gait, there is nothing about him that can be described as graceful, but each of his movements radiates steady, implacable strength. On the extremely rare occasions it is bared, Sarghaul’s face only adds to this uncanny impression. His skin, drained of colour by the darkness of the deep, is pale to the point of being almost diaphanous, though its thickness prevents it from being quite translucent. Stretched over his sharply angular features and unmarred save for a fleeting shadow of grey hair on the crown of his head, it gives his visage an altogether deathly appearance. The slightly protruding eyes with irises so dark they blend together with the pupils do nothing to alleviate this. Perhaps fortunately, no part of the Primarch’s body is virtually ever exposed to sight. The vast majority of those who encounter him never see anything beyond the oversized suit of Cataphractii-pattern Terminator Armour he is perpetually encased in, painted in the dim colours of his Legion. Though as bare of ornamentation as that of his followers, it is nonetheless far more elaborate, being moulded with sharp ridges on its surface to resemble the texture of a charybdes carapace. So thorough is this decorative work that the entire helmet is shaped like the mandibles of the great marine beasts. In battle, and sometimes even outside of it, his hands are fitted with the Claws of Oblivion, a pair of enormous twin lightning talons where metal is joined to chitin from the pincers of the most ancient oceanic terrors of his homeworld. [b]Personality[/b]: If one word had to be chosen to best describe Sarghaul’s temperament, that word would be obstinate. Once he puts his mind to something, no obstacle in the universe, be that the most ferocious resistance of the foes of mankind or the pleas of those who by misfortune find themselves trampled underfoot by his advance, can so much as give him pause. Even the command of his father and liege, when opposed to a cause he has latched on to, cannot fully deter him. While this ironclad determination is often a source of strength, sustaining him in the face of dire adversity and granting him the firmness necessary for drastic action, it can just as well prove to be his undoing, causing him to expend his forces over worlds already devastated by his single-minded drive to claim them for the Imperium at all cost, or risk the censure of the Emperor himself. For all that, however, the Abyssal Primarch is not a mindless slave to his whims. The schemes he pursues to their bitter end are born of plodding deliberation, and, within their confines, he is certain to seek the path of least resistance. Close behind his stubbornness comes his devotion. It is difficult to say to what exactly - the Emperor personally or the ideals he champions - and he is not fully certain of that himself, though the distinction is one he deems too frivolous to ponder. The whole could appear to be something of a paradox - he reveres the Emperor out of admiration for his decrees, and in turn fights for the latter because that is the Emperor’s desire. In truth, his loyalty is founded on but a portion of the Imperium’s creed; the vision of a cleansed galaxy dominated by an ideal, unbreakable order is what stokes his faith in his progenitor. Other facets of its dogma, such as the Imperial Truth, he is largely apathetic toward, and his seemingly fanatical adherence to them is motivated solely by the command of the Highest among Mankind. That said, loath as he is to admit it, his veneration of the Emperor is not entirely pure; the castigation of his work on Carcinus has bred within him a rankling resentment, and a terrible doubt that his father may not always know what is necessary to ensure the victory all aspire to. Yet, deep as they may run, these cracks do not for now show on the surface of his spirit. Matching his terse demeanour, Sarghaul’s mind is as cold and sluggish as the abyssal waters he so loves. There is no place in it for pride, nor for compassion; nor for any pleasure beyond those of duty and the plying of his visceral craft. The only spot of warmth he permits himself, besides basking in the Emperor’s light, is the affection he holds for his legionaries, faint, but almost paternal in tone. Outside their ranks, the best one may hope to obtain is his respect, and that is something he reserves for those fellow Primarchs he considers worthy comrades in arms. The masses of humanity he is supposedly sworn to protect earn nothing but his indifference and sometimes outright contempt for their weakness and fallibility. For xeno, mutant and dissenter there is naught but a dull, insatiable loathing that will never die until the last abomination draws breath. [b]Skills[/b]: [list] [b]Deep Dweller:[/b] As a result of mutation, Sarghaul prefers being submerged over walking on dry land. His body is perhaps less than subtly warped to favour underwater conditions, finding it more comfortable to breathe saltwater, being capable of seeing keenly in the pitch darkness of the abyss, and so shaped as to most efficiently bear the crushing pressure of water. These traits make him, and those implanted with his gene-seed, capable of operating below the surface better than any human or even other Astartes could aspire to. At the same time, however, they are cause for discomfort in dry environments, requiring him to wear armour modified with additional eye protection and internal humidifiers. [b]Fortitude:[/b] The powerful build of Sarghaul’s frame is a boon for more than his subaqueous activity. While making his movements slow and ponderous, his body is, through a combination of innate resilience, colossal armour, regenerative psychic powers and sheer determination, capable of withstanding truly astounding amounts of harm and surviving to deliver a crushing counterattack. [b]Savant of Flesh:[/b] Through a quirk which may be attributed to either the exceptional mental acumen of a Primarch or his psychic potential, Sarghaul is able to gain a surprisingly deep intuitive understanding of most living creatures’ anatomy after but a cursory examination. Further, if he is given time to fully dissect and study something, the bodies of its kind will hold no secrets for him, giving him the insight to strike at their weak points, concoct viral weapons most effective against them or reshape their forms as he desires. [b]Annihilator:[/b] A combination of thoroughness and analytical acumen is a great asset for a commander, and Sarghaul lacks neither. Given enough information about a foe, he is quick to devise plans resulting in its utter destruction. Between a sharp eye for vulnerable spots to exploit to inflict maximal damage and a keen sense for the most improbable routes a defeated enemy may use to escape, his gifts make him skilful in directing sieges and decisive assaults whose goal is to wipe the opposition from the face of the galaxy. He tends, however, to fare noticeably worse when on the defensive and at a wider strategic level. [b]Chilling Presence:[/b] Though he lacks any measure of the charisma that distinguishes some of his siblings, Sarghaul is not entirely ineffectual in terms of diplomacy. His imposing size, silent demeanour and speech broken by the gurgling of moisturizers give him a sinister mien he is all too glad to use to intimidate his lessers into compliance. His unyielding advance and cold brutality stagger the morale of those who face him on the battlefield, while, conversely, emboldening his legionaries to emulate and follow him as an unbreakable tide. [/list] [b]Assignment Grade[/b]: Epsilon. Sarghaul may not be among humanity’s most powerful psykers, but he is a proficient wielder of the discipline of biomancy. Calling upon it, he can perform a number of unnatural feats, including mending the wounds of himself and others, smiting enemies with currents of bio-lightning and, most prominently, transmuting and enhancing the bodies of living beings. Beyond this, there is little he is capable of, even his precognitive potential being comparatively atrophied; the only exception is his ability to influence and even direct the minds of the simplest beasts, though he himself considers it an extension of his biomantic powers. [b]Biography[/b]: At the turn of the Age of Strife, the Warp tempests raging around the system wherein lay the world of Carcinus were only beginning to fade, and still stood as an impenetrable barrier shrouding the star from the rest of the sector. While this barrier served as incidental protection from the ravages of the Old Night, it likewise left those surrounded by it trapped and unable to either explore or contact the outside galaxy. This led to the planet’s few spaceports being abandoned as useless, and its population, constrained to small territories by the menace of feral charybdes, never truly recovering from the losses suffered during its downfall. Without external stimulation and with the memory of the old planetary order fading as its infrastructure crumbled, the people devolved into quasi-medieval farming communes, working for sustenance with primitive tools and only occasionally clashing with each other in territorial disputes. Such was the state of the world when the capsule containing one of the lost Primarchs was transported there by the agency of the Ruinous Powers. As luck would have it, it did not strike down upon one of the sparse islands that formed the sum of the planet’s dry land, as it would effectively have been improbable, but in the shallows of the global ocean that covered most of its surface. Coming to rest on the seabed, it soon attracted the attention of a curious charybdes, which evidently believed it to be potential prey. With its powerful pincers, the creature pried open the container’s hatch and revealed the infant within. It would surely have consumed him, but something, likely his burgeoning psychic influence, deterred the beast and caused it to withdraw. Left to fend for himself, the newborn Primarch, who was able to survive underwater without ill effects thanks to his powerful physiology and unique mutations, abandoned his capsule and began to crawl his way over the seabed, feeding on algae and small marine life. His psychic presence did not falter, turning away predators who sought to devour him. Though guided solely by his unconscious intuition, in but a few days he reached one of the planet’s small landmasses and was able to ascend it through a smooth coastal cline. When he emerged from the waters and made his way into the inhabited heartland, the locals were aghast. Made superstitious by their descent into an archaic lifestyle, they had taken the sight of the capsule’s fall as a dire omen, and viewed the strange child who had emerged unharmed from the sea as a preternatural being. Some went so far as to believe him to be an oceanic spirit whom they feared by the name of Sarghaul. After some debate as to what was to be done with the newcomer, since most were too afraid to even approach him and there was great concern as to what would happen were he left unchecked, he was taken in by one Ahwal Drann. This somewhat eccentric, even, some said, lunatic personage, almost a hermit, dwelt near the closest of the damaged control facilities which had stood abandoned since the Dark Age, and would occasionally venture there to rummage through the debris despite the fearful folklore surrounding the place - a man of recklessness, curiosity and taste for the bizarre, which no doubt weighed upon his decision to claim tutelage of the foundling. These traits did not, at the same time, make him much of a capable educator, and it was fortunate that the young Primarch could count on his rapid maturation and sharp intellect to keep pace with his erratic education. Seeing his charge’s unnatural growth, Drann, who had his own, more optimistic views on the common superstitions, humorously continued to call him Sarghaul, and the name stuck. Soon, the odd stranger began to accompany his surrogate father on his expeditions, though no one knew what, if anything, they found, as well as venture on journeys of his own. Feeding into the mystical cloud of rumour that had formed around him, he was seen heading off to sea and returning only days later, sometimes carrying some piece of scrap that had clearly lain under the waves for a long time. His reputation was further swelled by his strange ability to ward off the dreaded charybdes, which would pass him by indifferently or even scuttle off where he pointed. Years passed, then decades. Sarghaul, who had become a man faster than it could have seemed possible, grew to tower over anyone ever seen on Carcinus, being full as tall as smaller huts and seen with almost reverential terror by the simple-island people. Then, some time after Drann had passed from age, leaving his pupil to continue their searches alone, calamity struck. The weakening Warp storms finally dispersed, clearing the path to the planet. Yet it was not any benign force that discovered it first. The Scions of Writhing Marrow, a minor, yet ambitious Haemonculi Coven of the Dark Eldar, chanced upon its system while marauding about the newly cleared sector in search of prey to abduct for their vile experiments. Seeing that the ocean world was inhabited, however thinly, they decided to stop for a swift raid before continuing on their path, and dispatched a light force to sweep over it, a part of which landed on the island where Sarghaul resided. The locals, scarcely armed with ill-maintained archaic weaponry and unaccustomed to anything more than small skirmishes, were thrown into a panic, becoming easy prey for the xenos. However, the latter encountered unexpected resistance in the person of the Primarch himself, who used his psychic abilities and formidable physical might to combat them. Unprepared for such a confrontation, they were forced to retreat; a second attempt, uniting a few other raiding parties, was once more narrowly beaten back, as by then Sarghaul had been able to organise the population, made obedient by fear, into a rough order of battle which made the best of what equipment they had. The Eldar, unwilling to commit to protracted combat, rounded up the captives they had already taken and withdrew to inform their masters of this strange find. For his own part, Sarghaul strongly suspected he had not seen the last of the strange invaders, and was not optimistic about his chances of eluding death or capture at their hands a second time with his makeshift forces decimated by the first encounter (already then, he was noted as showing little concern for their own fates). He went to delve into the ruins he had been fond of haunting with Drann, this time with a clear goal in mind. The precise nature of what he did is unknown, but it is now believed, with a basis of strong evidence, that he had been able to find and activate a still functional archaeotech device from the days of Carcinus’ planned conversion, and presently put it to use in conjunction with Sarghaul’s powers. The giant was seen making his usual rounds between land and sea far more often than usual over those days. Soon afterwards, his suspicions were confirmed. The Scions were enticed by the thought of such an abnormal human specimen, which promised to be a stupendous asset if seized, and one of their lesser Haemonculi personally led the next expedition with an entourage of hideous wracks. Their surprise was great, however, when they found a similarly inhuman adversary expecting them. Upon landing, they were ambushed by a swarm of large charybdes, lured to a favourable spot, some of which had bizarre features such as too many limbs or unusually tough carapaces - the fruit of Sarghaul’s preparations. Surrounded, the Dark Eldar and their creations were either slain or routed, with the Haemonculus felled in combat by the Primarch himself. Ransacking the bodies of the fallen, Sarghaul was, though his fine senses and intuitive insight into anatomy, able to draw a connection between some of the substances and instruments carried by the Haemonculus and the horrid nature of the wracks. Fascinated rather than disgusted, he reasoned that by striving to replicate that process he could spawn some truly incredible beings, much like the mysterious forebears of Carcinus’ inhabitants, as well as create a fighting force with better chances of repelling future incursions. Without wasting time, Sarghaul, who had by then cemented his reputation as an almost supernatural being, sent out a call to the people of his island and those nearby, promising that those who came to him would be transformed into something beyond human imagination at a small cost. What neither he nor those hapless pilgrims who answered his summons knew was how torturous the procedure would be, but he did not let that deter him, reasoning that what he did was both bold and necessary. Thus, on the Scions’ inevitable return, they were met by both charybdes and the no longer human grotesqueries into which Sarghaul had mutated his unfortunate subjects. In truth, had the Cabal been able to commit any significant portion of its forces, there would have been little contest, and their quarry would himself have been forced to flee; however, between the power struggles of their kind and their involvement with more reliable raiding targets, they had comparatively little strength to spare. Thanks to this circumstance, Sarghaul was able to continue avoiding capture, while searching the bodies of slain wracks and grotesques - as, after the first incident, the Haemonculi themselves preferred not to risk descending to the surface - for elements to further his more and more ambitious flesh-grafting practices. To make himself a more difficult target, he began to move from one island to another. It is unclear for how long this could have continued before the Scions tired of the pursuit and either deployed to Carcinus in full battle order or abandoned the venture altogether, but at a certain moment in 844 Imperial scouts charting the sector noticed the unusual Dark Eldar activity over a seemingly unimportant world. Progressively higher ranks were informed of this, until word reached Terra itself, and the Emperor of Mankind, no doubt suspecting the work of one of his scattered offspring, arrived to personally investigate the anomaly. Once on place, he easily tracked the sizeable Warp presence on the surface. Appearing before Sarghaul, the Emperor rebuked him for his careless experimentation on the human form, before expounding his vision of a galaxy united under the Imperium. Though demoralised by the condemnation of something he had come to enjoy besides being convinced of its necessity, the Primarch was drawn by the thought of a great quiescent order being imposed on the universe, and pledged himself to his father without hesitation. While Imperial forces broke the Scions’ presence in the sector once and for all, Sarghaul journeyed to Terra for instruction, and soon afterwards assumed command of the IX Legio Astartes, which under him was named the Abyssal Lurkers. Entering the fray of the Grim Crusade, Sarghaul and his Legion soon earned a reputation for thoroughness and brutality. Despite his liege’s admonition, the Primarch was loath to abandon the pursuits of splicing and flesh-crafting, and, indeed, persuaded the Lurkers’ Apothecarion and Librarians to follow in his footsteps in the name of strength and efficiency. He augmented his forces with beasts and abhuman brutes of his creation, which, while proving effective terror weapons, did him no favours with the allies and liberated civilians who sometimes were caught in their indiscriminate rampages. It was perhaps shame for his misgivings and disobedience that drove him to avoid returning to the Emperor’s presence more often than strictly necessary, preferring instead to skulk and campaign in remote corners of the four Segmenta. Over his tenure as Legion Master, Sarghaul has thus far taken part in a number of engagements of note. An early action saw him besieging and subjugating the hive world of Galaspar, which had rejected Imperial rule. Eager to prove his zeal to the Emperor, Sarghaul was inflexible in his assault. He unleashed his troops on the planet, supporting their assault with widespread orbital bombardment and use of Phosphex weaponry. Though the hive world’s inhabitants sought to escape into subterranean tunnels and fortifications, the Lurker marines, excelling in fighting in murky depths, pursued them with ease and slew or captured them to swell their auxiliary ranks. Only a small fraction of the planet’s population survived the conquest; the forces of the Imperial Army who later reached the system were appalled by the spectacle, starting the long history of the distaste regular troops still hold for the Abyssal Lurkers. Nonetheless, the fear sown by this conflict proved a strong motivator in reducing other nearby worlds to obedience. In the 865th year of the millennium, the Lurkers fought their first major battle against the Ork menace as they participated in the conflict of Rennimar. Sarghaul was said to have described the Orks as admirable in their ingenuity and simplicity of spirit, but repugnant for their chaotic nature, and ordered extensive Phosphex and viral bombardments to wipe them out on his front of the struggle, heedless of what state this would leave the vacated planets in. Not long afterwards, while transiting through the Segmentum Obscurus on the way to join combat in the Rangdan Xenocides, the IX Legion clashed with a force of the enigmatic creatures known as the Slaugth, which had ventured out of their hidden territory to raid Imperial supply routes. The Lurkers under their Primarch’s command successfully repelled the incursion and retrieved samples of the Slaugth’s outlandish biomechanical constructs, though they could make little sense of them. This was the first reported instance of the Legion pillaging biological xenotech from defeated enemies other than Dark Eldar, which they have always done without fail, for their own uses. Up until the late 890s, Sarghaul and the Lurkers followingly took part in the Xenocides proper, their numbers being ground down all throughout by the redoubtable enemy, but managing never to plummet too far thanks to their vigorous recruitment practices. After the conclusion of the bulk of the conflict, they played a major part in the meticulous eradication of the hostile species’ remaining numbers. The Legion gained a certain infamy throughout the Imperium for the ruthlessness with which they took to the task, as well as a not wholly deserved reputation of vicious sadists who relished to ravage a helpless foe. Nor did the aggressive nature of the practice of near-conscription they had begun to adopt to replenish their ranks earn them any benevolence with the people at large. In the early years of the 10th century, Sarghaul led another purge, against a species whose name has since been lost. The known details of the campaign are imprecise and sometimes contradictory, but on their whole they paint an image of tremendously bloody war of annihilation, with no effort being spared to destroy the offending species to the last. An anecdote of the time claims that a Remembrancer attached to the Lurkers had penned a comprehensive description of these events, but the Primarch became irate and ordered the work to be destroyed, as he wished to condemn his enemy to oblivion as an example for those who would oppose the Imperium. Some suspect, however, that he may have done this to conceal the defeats suffered by the Legion itself during the conflict. Later, in the year 927, a Lurker exploratory force encountered the xenos that became known as the Keylekid. When Sarghaul rejoined his vanguard, he found that their civilisation practiced a highly ritualised form of warfare, only engaging their adversaries is specially designated conditions. Unwilling to humour the customs of reviled non-humans, he decided to instead exploit them to his advantage, ordering bombardments on the massed Keylek troops when they gathered in their traditional battlefields and subsequently having all their non-combatants put to the sword. Around the midpoint of the century, the Lurkers were deployed alongside a sizable Imperial Army detachment to reduce the Carinae Sodality, a human confederacy that inhabited massive orbital installations, to compliance. During the siege, the Sodality’s leaders activated a weapon which drove unaugmented humans, both their own subjects and Imperial soldiers, into a berserk fury. Undaunted, Sarghaul turned his Legion’s weapons and warbeasts against his former allies, slaughtering them before continuing the pacification of the void-city at the cost of significant losses. According to some accounts, he eventually claimed the weapon for himself, though others maintain it was destroyed in the fighting. While he had little choice in his actions, his readiness in attacking those by whose side he had fought but hours before only further stoked the Army’s disgust towards him when the details became known. The last major recorded campaign fought by the Lurkers to date took place in 990, when they did battle in the Segmentum Obscurus against a force of the xenos known as the Khrave, who had the ability to psychically enthrall humans and feed off their vital strength. As these beings had been empowering themselves by leeching off the enslaved population of a contested world, Sarghaul decreed he would cut off their source of nourishment, initiating the massacre of the thralls as he believed their lives to be forfeit in any case. Having deprived the Khrave of their prey and thus weakened them, he proceeded to wipe them out, completing the somewhat hollow annexation of the now lifeless planet to Imperial rule. [b]The Meeting[/b]: Rusted chain links clattered against the grimy floor as the thing stirred awake. It dragged its gnarled fingers over the ancient concrete, overgrown nails piling up mounds of dust. The scraping must have alerted it that something was wrong, for it lifted its head and slowly, almost fearfully raised its hands to its face. They hesitated for a moment, then went further, feeling the jagged plate of protruding bone that covered most of its features, the clumps of sickly muscle around its neck, the sharp ridges where its ears had been. Its mouth gaped, revealing, instead of an uneven row of rounded yellow teeth, dozens of sharp, pristine fangs. Then it screamed, and despite its visage its voice was still chillingly human. It leapt up, tugging at its bonds, but the chains held fast. It screamed again, and again, before breaking into a raucous growl. From the other side of the wide, dim chamber, a towering figure watched it impassively. A massive hand motioned downwards, and the thing slumped to the floor, but did not stop its mournful groaning. The hand tensed, and bright sparks coursed along it for a moment, then crackled and faded as the giant relaxed his arm. He reached for a pouch in the makeshift tunic stretched over his bulk, barely holding together despite being stitched from several cloaks and robes, and produced a fragment of chalk that was almost a pebble between his fingers. Without taking his unblinking eyes off the beastly creature, he traced a crude symbol on the wall to his side, wincing at the screech of friction. One in a line of many. Barely turning his head, Sarghaul threw a glance at the pale row, only faintly visible in the dusty evening rays that filtered from the door behind his back. That was, to anyone but him. He could see as no one else could, in the darkness, and walk in it without fear while they, these small things that only distantly looked like him, huddled around their lights. He, who came from the sea, was not of their kind; he knew that as he admired the wretched thing chained before him, the latest fruit of his labour. Who of them could have made anything like that? None had the wisdom, the skill to work the old machines, to use the lifeblood of the black wraiths that came down from the sky, none had that power which he felt inside himself. This was why he was the craftsman, and they the clay in his hands. If things were this way, clearly it was meant to be so. “Can you truly be sure it is?” The giant gave a start. Lost in his thoughts, he had not heard anyone approach, in spite of his sharp senses. That alone gave him a chill deeper than any he had found in the ocean - nothing had ever caught him unawares like this. He did not show it, however, as he heavily turned to face the intruder. The man before him did not seem unusual in the least. A minuscule thing, draped in a grey cloak that concealed his face. He was insignificant at Sarghaul’s feet, but something about his presence gave the colossus pause. It was as if he only saw the calm surface of the waves, but knew that underneath it there moved something vast, terrible and old. Very old. “It’s obvious,” he answered in a cutting tone, as if speaking down to any of the islanders. In his urge to raise his bravado in the face of that uncanny feeling, it had slipped him by that the stranger had addressed something he did not speak aloud. “Look upon me. I am Sarghaul, the abyssal one. I’m greater than any of you, in anything you will ever do. You know I am not of man.” “But do you know it?” Sarghaul opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. The question had struck at something he had nursed over the decades, a void he had never been able to fill. He had never known where he truly came from. The islanders had said he was of the sea, and he let them believe it, for it gave his voice weight. Ahwal, his mentor, had always shrugged and said some things lay deeper than others. Yet, delve far as he might, he had never found the answer to that, and the uncertainty had festered. “You do not,” the stranger continued, after letting his thoughts run for a moment, “Because you cannot know that which is false. You say you are of the sea, but you cannot remember. Yet you see that your face is of a man, and not a thing of water.” “How-?!” This time, the faceless one’s impossible knowledge was obvious enough that he saw it immediately. “I might have the face,” he tried to force through the dread that was creeping up his throat, “But not the body. What man can do what I do, walk where I walk?” A sound as if a low smirk came from under the grey hood. “There are many.” “What?!” the dread struggled with the mounting irritation at the stranger’s cryptic demeanour. He could know what he wanted, but he was small and weak like all the rest! Why should he, Sarghaul, who never fled from anything, fear him? “How do you say this?! Tell me! How do you know?!” He began to raise a hand, larger than three times the smaller man’s head. The stranger did not budge. “I know, for I know all.” He threw back his hood. Golden light erupted in a torrent, as if the dawn had risen in that very room. It swept away all shadows, burning, blinding, brighter than the sun had ever been. In its corner, the chained thing howled in anguish. Sarghaul fell to one knee, shielding his face from the radiance. It cut at his eyes, used to the soft darkness, so painfully that he thought his head would split apart. Nothing availed him, for through his closed eyelids, through his very hands, he saw its fearsome source. The stranger was taller now, much taller, more even than himself. His grey cloak was no more, and his mighty body shone in a carapace of gold. His face the giant could scarcely glimpse, as what drew his gaze were the eyes, eyes that were like stars come to the earth, to burn away all things in a river of wrath. “I know, for it was I who made you, Tartarean one,” his voice was so potent that the ground shook under their feet, and heavy like a thunderstorm, “Made you to serve that which I love above all things, all mankind. To be its sword and its bulwark against the decay within and the horrors without. I gave you gifts beyond what mortalkind could imagine, that you may serve it best. And yet, what have you done with them?” He pointed at the wretched, warped creature, and Sarghaul shrank under the weight of his scorn. “You turned them on those who were to be your wards! You made a mockery of my creation of you and your brethren, defiling the sacrament of birth with alien poisons! These people are your charges, not your tools or your shields!” The giant’s whole body had clenched so hard he could barely breathe. “Lord… I…” he managed to rasp, but no further sound would leave him. “But you are not lost.” The wrath in the Radiant One’s eyes faded, and its crushing grip withdrew. “You were led astray in your exile, but you can find the true path again. That is what I offer you. Come with me, and you will be the one who always bears my word. There are many worlds, and storms come over them when they deny my rule, or they are ravaged by foul things like the black wraiths. I shall show you your strength, and give you more to wield than you ever desired, and with it you cleanse the stars of havoc and disorder, bringing blessed stillness. Come, and take your place as my avenging hand - as my son.” Sarghaul had let his hands fall down his sides, and stared ahead, enraptured. Tears of ecstasy ran down his face. This being, this man - he saw all there was to see in him, and looked down on him with benevolence. With mercy. He knew the peace of darkness and silence, and did not revile him for seeking it. And he would let him be part of his work, indeed, to lead it, guide it as he saw best. Always, for as he knew all, he knew to forgive. “I will,” he whispered, as hoarse as the groans of the chained monster, “For you, my lord, I will.” The Radiant One frowned, but said nothing. [/hider] [hider=The Legion] [b]Legion Name[/b]: Formerly known as the Tempest Wardens, the Legion was renamed to the [i]Abyssal Lurkers[/i] when Sarghaul assumed command.. [b]Legion Number[/b]: IX. [b]Legion Strength[/b]: ca. 150,000 Astartes. Indeterminate number of enhanced charybdes and Infestus-strain abhumans. [b]Armour Appearance[/b]: [hider=Equipment Examples] [img]https://i.imgur.com/xxchdNr.jpg[/img] Left to right: [list] Legionary in Mk II armour, standard tactical armament Legionary in Mk III armour, aquatic combat armament Field Apothecary in Mk IV armour [/list] [/hider] Given the size of the IX Legion, it is perhaps no wonder that the assortment of armour worn by its members be varied to the point of being almost eclectic. Both the II and IV Marks of power armour are plentiful among its ranks and distributed apparently at random, though a closer look reveals that the more advanced pattern is distributed prevalently to veteran squads. Mark III is similarly widespread, and, being optimally suited for the sort of operations the Lurkers excel in, employed in far greater quantity than by most other Legions, though rarely ever in frontal surface combat. An even greater diversity is found in the equipment of the IX’s numerous Terminator units. Being the simplest to mass-produce, the Indomitus armour pattern has come to outpace all others by a significant margin, while its Cataphractii and Tartaros counterparts are mostly donned by the equivalents of specialist squads. The Legion even possesses its own distinctive design, the Scylla pattern, a variant of the Cataphractii designed for underwater combat - even more heavily fortified and stable on its feet, at the cost of being so hefty as to be nearly unusable on land. The Lurkers’ Dreadnoughts, meanwhile, are entirely a class unto themselves. Unlike the more humanoid common patterns, they are mounted on several spider-like segmented legs for greater stability and wider distribution of weight - adapting to this alien design is the ultimate test for the Legion’s ancients. Two varieties presently exist: the four-legged Flegias pattern, equivalent to the Castraferrum in size, and the six-legged Asphodel, which surpasses even the Leviathan in bulk. The Abyssal Lurkers’ symbol, marked on ever legionary’s left pauldron, is a stylized figure of a charybdes, a jagged, many-legged shape with menacing claws painted in the same dull green as the armour’s joints. [b]Warcry[/b]: The Lurkers have been known to utter a number of war cries, including “To blessed oblivion!”, “Silence be made!” and “To battle we rise!”. However, between their predilection for underwater combat and many of their numbers renouncing the use of speech, they have largely fallen into disuse. Nowadays, the Legion usually attacks in deathly silence. [b]Dramatis Personae[/b]: [u]Elder Fleshweaver Terech Ormis, Master of the Apothecarion:[/u] Apothecaries in the IX Legion, known as Fleshweavers, serve a more prominent role than in most others. In addition to elevating new recruits to Astartes proper, they are responsible for the creation of the mutated beings the Lurkers employ in battle. Terech Ormis, eldest of the Apothecarion and overseer of the Infestus Project, takes to this role with a glee uncharacteristic for his colder brethren. Outright delighting in the creation of new tools of war, he is all the same indifferent to attaining any standard of perfection, being more interested in sheer variety and efficiency of production. He has for some time been aspiring to blend his two duties together and undertake experimentation on fellow Marines and their gene-seed, but has thus far been restrained by his Primarch’s hesitation before such an extreme. [u]Chief Librarian Veryan, Keeper of the Swarm:[/u] Working in close collaboration with the Apothecarion, the Librarians of the Abyssal Lurkers, more than maintaining any body of knowledge, lend their abilities to augment and control the bestial charybdes that accompany the Legion. Their leader Veryan lives almost as a hermit, watching over the breeding grounds of Carcinus with but a few acolytes and only rarely coming forth at his Primarch’s personal bidding. Misanthropic even by the Lurkers’ standards, he claims to prefer the company of such simple animals to the disorderly and inconstant world of men. Nevertheless, possibly thanks to this lifestyle, he has achieved a singular mastery of the [i]consensus[/i], being unshakable in spirit despite the weight of the Warp on his mind, and is revered as an illuminated sage by his adepts. [u]Issnos Traal, Equerry to the Primarch:[/u] Veteran of the Third Tempest, First Vortex, Second Gale, and personal advisor to Sarghaul, Issnos has, uniquely for someone in his position, taken a vow of silence like many of his Legion-brothers. His inability to speak, however, makes him all the more prized as a depositary of the Primarch’s closest-kept secrets, and though none other can divine what he says in his personal signed code, his counsel has apparently served his master well so far. On occasion, Issnos acts as Sarghaul’s liaison and lieutenant during recruitment, which has earned his the ill fame of “the one who points” among those who have witnessed him select candidates for induction. [u]Expergefactor Summus Esvatil, Master of the Forge:[/u] Given the Lurkers’ almost nonexistent use of armoured vehicles, the greatest responsibility of their Techmarines is the preparation and maintenance of their hallowed Dreadnoughts. As the highest-ranking among them, Esvatil is effectively the one answering for the ancients’ deployment, and subsequently their slumber and awakening. Considering himself a spiritual guide of sorts, he takes the ritualistic nature of his duties to an extreme, holding solemn ceremonies for every occasion and, what is most irritating for force commanders, insisting on a rigid schedule dictating who can be woken and when. In this, he has ever been impervious to any strategic considerations, refusing to depart from his idiosyncratic scheme unless ordered to by Sarghaul himself. [u]Venerable Rethius:[/u] In spite, or perhaps because, of the Expergefactors’ rites, the Lurkers’ Dreadnoughts have an infamously tenuous connection to living reality, owing to a combination of their inhuman structure and the interaction between the practices of the [i]consensus[/i] and their oft-slumbering state. None, however, are as far gone as Rethius, eldest surviving member of the Legion and among the first to be entombed in a Flegias-pattern sarcophagus. Though his skill in combat has not degraded over time, the state of his mind leaves something to be desired, speaking as he does entirely in unnerving mantras and cryptic aphorismal pronouncements. To the Lurkers, this is but a sign of supreme enlightenment, and Rethius is considered something of an oracle, his supposed intuitions dutifully compiled by his Expergefactor handlers. [u]Herminia Tarsica:[/u] The Lurkers’ fondness of secrecy has resulted in their attitude towards Remembrancers among their ranks never being particularly positive. Nonetheless, this has not stopped the more adventurous historiographers from seeking fame in the trail of the elusive Legion, and thus far Tarsica has been the most successful. A scion of a minor Terran noble family, her adaptable, opportunistic character has led her to find the optimal position for her goal - not ingratiating herself to the indifferent Primarch, but rather remaining below his notice as she follows the Lurkers on their campaigns. Her historiographic prose is generally held to be mediocre, though she is noted for her lurid descriptions of ravaged battlefields, which have occasionally even drawn the Legion Commanders’ grudging amusement. [b]Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role[/b]: Across the battlefields of the galaxy, the Lurkers are best known, and often feared, for their thoroughly unconventional order of combat. Eschewing the use of artillery and combat vehicles altogether, they instead rely on their large numbers, ample and varied use of specialist marine squads, unusually high proportion of Terminators and Dreadnoughts, abundant deployment of weapons of mass destruction and, most famously, bio-modified beasts of war. The most iconic of those are charybdes from the seas of their homeworld, altered to grow to immense size and be encased in shells as hard as metal, and equipped with specially fitted armour, chainfists and even autocannon platforms on their backs. Even more dreaded, perhaps, are the Infestus abhumans created by the Legion’s Apothecarion; mostly human and ogryn in origin, they are spliced and injected with exotic concoctions to become freakish carapace-bound brutes, tremendously strong but mindlessly feral. This unorthodox arsenal, combined with the genetic traits inherited from their Primarch, makes the Lurkers uniquely suited for amphibious warfare. Whether it be engaging aquatic xenos in their habitat, ambushing and sabotaging naval fleets or marching across the seafloor to attack an enemy from an unexpected angle, the IX Legion is unrivalled among the Imperium’s forces in its ability to bring its full might to bear just as effectively underwater as on dry land. Indeed, all of its Marines always carry a reserve of hydro-combustible ammunition for their bolters, ready to switch between one environment and another at a moment’s notice. In addition, their deployment fleets are ever prepared to field specially-equipped troops wholly dedicated to subaqueous action. Be it above or below the surface, the Lurkers favour aggressive tactics, preferring to launch sustained assaults from multiple fronts; when that proves impossible, however, they do not hesitate to mount a frontal attack. In combat, they perform at their best in close quarters, as evidenced by their signature weapon, the Chelicerae-pattern two-pronged lightning claw. Nevertheless, they are fully capable of maintaining pressure on the enemy at all distances in order to allow the plodding bulk of their troops to advance, be it through sustained suppressing fire from Devastator squads, or Assault Marines supported by Tartaros Terminators sowing havoc with a vanguard charge. A further aspect of the Legion’s tactics that makes them particularly notorious is their predilection for weakening enemies before meeting them in battle. Most often, this is accomplished through orbital bombardment, in which the Lurkers have grown skilled, followed by waves of rabid Infestus aberrations being unleashed against the enemy’s positions - methods that are prone to causing considerable collateral damage and incidental civilian casualties. Just as callously, the Lurkers will not hesitate to use contingents of the Imperial Army operating alongside them to wear down the opposition and absorb the first wave of defenses, later gathering up the wounded as they advance to bolster the packs of their living weapons. [b]Legion Characteristics/Ideology[/b]: The main traits by which the Abyssal Lurkers define themselves in their livelihoods are austerity, discipline and quiescence. Shunning almost all pursuits of leisure, they opt to spend their time off the battlefield in isolation, withdrawing from the eyes of mortals to dwell solely among their own kind. Owing to their proclivity for water-breathing, they build their strongholds exclusively in oceanic abysses, with the sole company of their charybdes beasts, and only emerge to collect supplies from the surface. Due to this, they have come to rely on none but themselves for the maintenance of their equipment and the preparation of their meals, which are thus usually of a Spartan simplicity. Furthermore, between their rare contacts with the rest of humanity, the uselessness of speech in the depths, and their striving for greater self-control, most of their numbers take on vows of silence, only broken to utter the most solemn of oaths, and communicate through an extended form of the Legio Astartes battle-sign even when at rest. Such efforts to achieve personal discipline lie at the core of the Lurkers’ philosophy of life. It is their belief that, just as human history at large alternates between phases of war and peacetime, so must the days of an Astartes be divided between battle and repose. As the foremost exemplars of mankind, they are called to embody this dichotomy in the sharpest of ways: to the fearsome brutality for which they are known in combat corresponds a search for perfect inner balance and purity. Every Lurker is a practitioner of the [i]via consensus[/i], a discipline of meditation whose principles are inscribed on ceremonial tablets etched by Primarch Sarghaul himself and treasured by the Legion. Through its practices, the Astartes seek to cast off the trappings of their identity, be they distractions of the body or encumbrances of the mind, and achieve perfect unity with their duty and abnegation - an experience which has been alternatively described as liberating and terrifying. While novices are trained in the ways of the [i]consensus[/i] in groups, more experienced legionaries typically withdraw to secluded places to contemplate in solitude. The journey to becoming a Lurker paradoxically both reflects and is at odds with their impersonality. Like most Legions, they allow willing aspirants from their garrisoned worlds to contend for ascension by undergoing a series of trials, which include resisting prolonged immersion in the sea, spending days or even weeks alone in total darkness and silence, and confronting the monstrous creatures the Ninth breeds for battle. However, this is not the source of most of their recruits. The way by which the Lurkers manage to maintain their unusually numerous ranks, even in the face of heavy attrition, consists of selecting all remotely suitable-looking candidates from the populations of every planet they spend any amount of time on, and effectively drafting them into undergoing the trials of accession, willingly or not. Those who survive have all memories of their previous lives erased during the indoctrination that accompanies conversion into a Marine, and become from that moment onwards a son of the Legion, loyal solely to their brothers and Primarch, and through his mediation the Emperor. This combination of distance, aloofness, ironclad focus and cavalier practices towards the general Imperial populace makes the IX Legion one of the most removed from simple humanity, and it is perhaps no wonder its members have come to follow their progenitor in considering their lessers as tools at best and nuisances at worst. This attitude finds its acutest expression in the ever-ongoing Infestus Project, the Lurkers’ darkest open secret: not content with breeding crustacean instruments of destruction, they have taken to doing the same with human and abhuman prisoners, no matter of which allegiance. Drawing upon the [i]Transfigurationes Corporum[/i], a collection of research notes compiled by the Primarch and his foremost Apothecaries, they employ a variety of techniques to this end, including rumouredly fragments of archaeotech from Carcinus and technologies taken from slain xeno foes. The constant improvement and perfectioning of this grim process is one of the few activities the Lurkers draw enjoyment from, and the whole Legion makes it almost a sport to support its Apothecarion’s research in whatever ways its individual ranks allow. [b]Relationships[/b]: [u]The Emperor Himself:[/u] The apex of mankind, the culmination of all duty. The Lurkers are, at first glance, among the most devoted of the Emperor’s servants of all the Legions. Beneath the surface, however, all is not so simple: this devotion is largely the fruit of Sarghaul’s instruction to his sons, and without him would be severely staggered. Just as he venerates the Emperor in person more than His teachings, so are the Lurkers more loyal to their Primarch and his command than to any force beyond him. For the Emperor’s part, while his own stance is, as in many things, inscrutable, it is unlikely that this order of priorities and the continued horrors of the Infestus Project would lead to an entirely positive attitude. [u]Adeptus Administratum:[/u] Throughout its campaigns, the IX Legion has been a source of constant aggravation for the Administratum. While often effective, its methods have invariably left tremendous devastation in their wake, which ensued in a nightmare for efforts of reconstruction and annexation. It is thus common practice among the Imperium’s clerks to unflatteringly refer to the Lurkers as blunt instruments best kept busy far on the frontier, battling xenos and other enemies that will not be missed. The Lurkers themselves, on the contrary, have as positive a view of the Administratum as of any non-Astartes, prizing its impersonal efficiency and usefulness for logistic endeavours. [u]Imperial Army:[/u] Few, if any, Legions are as reviled by the Imperial Army as the Abyssal Lurkers. This animosity spans over entire generations, finding its roots in the disregard for civilian life displayed by the Lurkers at Galaspar, and only exacerbated by every latter conflict in which the two bodies have fought together. The Legion’s practices of indiscriminate destruction, using its Army allies as human shields, and collecting their wounded to transform into Infestus beasts, along with especially grievous cases such as the Carinae incident, have brought their relationship to a hair’s breadth away from overt enmity. Far from being considered an honour, being deployed alongside the Lurkers is broadly viewed as a punishment, and usually reserved for penal and disgraced units. [u]Adeptus Mechanicus:[/u] Although one might assume relations between the Lurkers and the Mechanicus to be strained at best, considering the former’s habit of employing unsanctioned captured xenotech for its ends, the truth is that the Legion is well aware of its reliance on the Order and its supply of specialised equipment. As such, it does its best to at least maintain appearances, concealing its use of forbidden technology and occasionally registering its artificial abhuman patterns for compliance. The Mechanicus itself, while inevitably suspicious, has thus far not deemed them worth of a thorough investigation, despite the calls of some more intransigent groups. [u]The Imperium at large:[/u] Distant as most Imperial worlds may be from each other, news will eventually travel through a good number of them. Word of the Lurkers’ ferocious practices, disdain for most of humanity, and intrusive recruitment has by now spread wide enough, and wherever they may go, there are good chances their arrival will be far from celebrated. [u]Xenos:[/u] [i]Suffer not the alien to live.[/i] The Lurkers are all too glad to enforce the Emperor’s mandate, eradicating any non-human life they encounter without misgivings. [/hider]