Gender: Male.

Homeworld: The Asteros system, home to the planet known only as Asteros Primaris and none other, was a place of moderate civilization and lesser wealth, isolated from the grand galactic community through rampant raging thunderstorms and electromagnetically charged typhoons, invalidating all accomplishments that might have been present prior, and all technology which might desire to approach it. With a technobarbaric culture not dissimilar from old terra, those who made ends meet bound together underneath the grand hulks of culture's greatest and grandest achievements turned nothing more than glorified sheds and shelters. A deathworld per definition, its lethality turned the planet into a prison, the skies were nothing but distant imagination.

Unbeknownst to the men and women and children, human and animal, these conditions had not always been true. Legends naturally speak of vast swathes of luscious fertility, uninterrupted by vicious weather and darkened grey horrors looming amidst the heavens as they lash out with vicious fervor and inhumane evil upon all life below them, but few would believe these to tell of fact.

Civilization had been established upon the world due to its strategically advantageous mercantile position at the center of numerous trade routes and ease of approach, but one day the orbit of Asteros Primaris was ruptured, and a spiral which could not be interrupted entered into motion. Slowly it would then descend, until it would finally be swallowed in the sea of a cosmic furnace. Five thousand years ago it occured, and fifty years from his arrival, it would conclude.

Today there is no such thing as Asteros Primaris, instead all that remains is one solitary fortress of steel and memory, drifting the ocean inbetween stars, placed in perhaps one of the most vital junctions in the Imperium: Star-Harbor.

Appearance: The star of Asteros carved itself into his body over the many years he spent on its only planet, making all hair fall out, and due to the atmosphere of the planet and the proximity of the star, the skin to pale. Aside from this his biological development remained largely unimpeded, though without doubt mutations and uncertainties presented themselves quite early. At 13 feet of height, accompanied by a demeanour of steel, and a voice of gold; a body untouched, devoid of scars or injuries, save for one. Paired with an eye of an appearance like staring at the yellow sun paired with a clear sky is an eye of cybernetic make with a soothing reddish shimmer. Besides this, his body gives off no other extreme qualities, though his eyes were a quality massive enough for many, even himself, so he removed one, and chose to see and walk amongst both the world of mortals and truth.

Veritas Res was never an individual who garnered attention from his grand gestures, or expressive wealth of physique; his entire aura of authority stems from one thing, and that is awareness of truth. His assurity, lack of movement and stalwart motion grant those under him their souls of steel in battle, mortal or legiones astartes. He moves with slow, but unceasing, impending flow. Even when still, he always remains active, be it tapping his fingers whilst sitting, or repeatedly grasping the air whilst standing.

Personality: Veritas Res speaks in absolutes, and with short and impactful deliverance. Much like his aura of authority would expect, he is not excessive in this delivery, and will sometimes even prefer vagueness over clarity when interacting with those around him. As such he is an individual who seeks executive authority. Whilst his drive towards ever-increasing authority has always remained, how he embodied that authority has however not always been the same, be it amongst his brothers or in the galaxy at large: once he was open, spoke with intricacies and eloquence not unlike those of a bard blessed thrice with prowess, potential, and knowledge. He would speak at length on how to accomplish any and all given tasks, and would see them done exactly as predicted.

But over time his decisive, rapid, and deep truth has morphed into the slow, unceasing, and impending juggernaut which he now exemplifies with absolute comparison. Often attributed to maturity of personhood, but the true answer would be known by none other than himself and his father, whom he has spoken with at length regarding numerous aspects during their meeting and his subsequent summons and request meetings since thereafter.

Veritas Res suffers namely from insecurities regarding his prowess of futuresight, be it the untold horrors which he sees before him on his coming crusade, or those whom would suffer from his victories, even those he will lose upon his ultimate conquest. He hardened himself therefore to the plights of others, for he could not handle the trillions of lost souls and their cries yet to come, and he reckoned that the only entity in the galaxy who could harbour their despair was none other than the father, The Emperor. As such, unlike some of his other kin, brutality and efficiency of delivery are crowning aspects of his small legion, capable of competing with the largest of his siblings' armies. Neither does he shy away from lies, using them strategically and seldom, but with massive implication - a hypocrisy to some, but to him, he views it merely as a tool to uphold truth. Due to this, he is an impeccable liar of few equals: perhaps requiring foresight not incomparable to his own to discover.

As such Veritas Res is an odd companion for the more righteous Primarchs, for his accomplishments may be assured, but the delivery he uses to achieve them, and the way in which he interacts with his fellows both above and below may cause conflicts to come.

Skills:

• Psyker (See Psyker Assignment).
• Might: Veritas Res maintains an expected degree of inhumane prowess in battle, capable of delivering strokes with his sword powerful enough to deliver even immortals to mortality. This expands further into his body at large, which expectedly is almost incomprehensibly powerful much like many Primarchs, though for him it is perhaps a degree above most. Though whilst his muscle structure may be compressed beyond imagining, he is not a quick fighter, and as such he is slow to take action in a duel, though when he does it often ends quickly thereafter.
• Authority: Veritas Res is a skilled ruler of people, not because he is a person with good qualities, but because he has an often mystifying ability to use the right people at the right times to achieve the right results. He is therefore an authority on using people, and gains his aura of authority from it. This aspect of his is usually what might put him into conflict with others, but it is also the quality which is hardest for his rivals to disapprove. As such, it is equally what garners him favour amongst his followers; a divisive attribute.

Wargear:

• Damocles' Battlements (Artificer Armour with remembrances towards death and time, and sigils hoping for the death of time, highlighted by elaborate gilding and embossings and carvings).
• Sword of Damocles (A master-crafted power sword capable of embodying Veritas Res' psyker prowess and power with every motion; a time-gilded armament).

Assignment Grade: Alpha.

Though Veritas Res does not seem a psyker to any and all around him, it is undeniable that his psychic connectivity with the warp and the powers that be is of an immensity rivaled by few. The entirety of his psychic prowess, however, is somehow magnetic towards one power in specific, easily described as a metaphorical black hole ability.

This ability is futuresight, which forced him to see the future with his eyes, and it was an uninterruptable process. He had no choice but to see that which was coming. He chose then to live a life of reclusive living on Asteros Primaris, where he soon became a fabled Seer and a cornerstone of the rising civilization which would eventually dismiss their prior clan rivalries and band together to escape their planet's inevitable end. Shortly after growing up on Asteros Primaris and being taken care of by a family of mortals he awoke to his power, and saw the seas of the cosmic furnace before his eyes. After this, he strategically chose reclusion, building up favour and reputation, before eventually using it and his accumulated prestige to lead the people to the sea inbetween stars.

Therefore after joining his father, The Emperor, he dismissed himself of one eye so that he could live in both future and present, which is why the only noticable flaw with his body is the noticably dominant cybernetic eye at the left side of his skull disrupting the otherwise human silhouette.

Due to the black hole nature of his ability, it is the only one power he holds, but is of an immeasurable strength when compared with other diviners within the Imperium.

Biography: Ripped from the safety and security of his birth chamber thanks to the powers that be, much like the rest of his siblings, Veritas Res was thrown outwards into oblivion, and descended upon the world formerly known as Asteros Primaris during the peak of their turbulence. Amidst an ongoing clan war between the region's primary powers, isolated from the rest of the islands of civilization that had emerged across the planet's surface due to natural cataclysms, a shooting star fell upon the cloudy skies and parted the vapour like a blade parts flesh. As the darkened capsule had fallen directly onto the head of one of the clan leaders, the dispute was settled through divine intervention.

Unknowing of how to adequately respond to such a tremendous event, the clan leaders gathered from either side in a here-to-fore unseen display of neutrality known as the Great Confluence, the victor having brought the void-coloured object, unwittingly a capsule, with them. And as the Grand Confluence occured, the religious-scientific customs and cultures entered an odd equilibrium.

As the verdict was about to descend from the winner's chief judiciaries, steam emerged, and the black object opened only to reveal a soon-to-grow Veritas Res. Taking it as the Gods disagreeing with their verdict, the Worldseers, shamans who, through the application of rudimentary technologies who could work even in this hellscape, had augmented their minds into complex comprehension and predictive engines, reckoned that the absolute opposite of the verdict should, in truth, be the one verdict to be actualized after the conflict.

And as such, Veritas Res was gifted to an ordinary family, carrying ordinary ties, and an ordinary occupation of medicinemen.

Time then flowed abruptly, and conflict eased into silence, with what would otherwise be considered commonplace reverting into obscurity. Border-clashes ceased and communication entered into a new norme of diplomacy. Things seemed well, and the now child Veritas Res, seemed to be growing up into a prosperous future. But then was dawned his power, as abrupt as the vision which he was haunted by had come to him, he had garnered an unparralleled skill. He saw flame, and he witnessed those closest and their silhouettes perishing in screams as their bodies incinerated, and their homes became dust and particle; fueling an infernal forge of cosmic size and variance; an ever-changing surface of a sea so bright it could not be seen, only felt, and that feeling was so rapid, it could not be sensed.

Veritas Res was disillusioned then, for as he sought advise from those closest to him, he walked a path which allowed him to only gaze ruin and desolation. The ground was wrought, molten; vaporized. And as he had arrived at the inner-chamber of his medicineman 'father,' his heart would burst, and he gazed at the presence of a sickened man touched only by a pestilence incomparable to all others, and died within moments amidst boiling cysts and sick-yellow fluids.

Overwhelmed, he fled from civilization, and wandered the wilderness. Discarding all that he had grown up to believe, and all he had grown accustomed to feeling.

Through apparent fluke, but truthfully through awareness, on his travels a since matured and grown teenage-aged, man-shaped Seer of incomprehensible disposition made himself known to all who happened across him. Unlike the Wordseers of common culture, this man had neither the sacred transformation nor any obvious truth-seeing intermediary - instead, he merely knew, because he knew, and told because he could. Thus the Worldseer became truth, and pilgrimage into obscure reaches and dangerous lands were initiated merely to speak with this immense individual.

Unbeknownst to them, this was Veritas Res, known now only as The Worldseer, who through year-long deliberations had settled on a perhaps obnoxious, but equally desperate plan. He realized his predicament, and his privilege, and sought to disguise his plan in the veils of wisdom. He saw truth, and saw fact, and with it, he grew into becoming the chief authority within a soon-to-be made tribal coalition to ascend beyond confinement.

The chiefs who had long-ago decided his fate soon came to recruit him into their fold, and asking for truth, and once delivered, they shuddered the thought, but could not dismiss it, for they knew of his wit and the vileness of fact and reason. How could they not, when they lived in a world where the cold-heart of reality was the only thing that could keep cool the planet of Asteros Primaris which was soon to descend into infernoes so profound and miserable that words could not possibly describe them with adequance.

The coalition would thusly embrace all clans, and all cults, into one unity, and with that unity, they would scour the realms for artifacts and technologies to help their ascension into an unwitting paradise yet out of reach. Armed with the knowledge of The Worldseer and his wisdom, they needed not be indecisive, and purpose soon came to drive this momentary alliance into a community, and a community into a nation embarking on exodus. Through countless tribulations, and millions of perishing souls to the terrors of human inferiority and information disconnect between the truth of The Worldseer and the biology of mankind, inevitably the Worldseer would himself embark on the crowning journey across twelve continents, and once returned, would install the propulsion mechanism upon their world ark.

The Worldseer partook the quest, and on his journies, met men and women of various walks of life who followed in his steps. A fellowship was formed without a single spoken word from his mouth, for as he walked, followed by those who saw his presence as divine message, he deliberated on the future, and the meaning of his sight and wisdom. He could not see the world, but he could hear it, he could see the future and truth, but not hear it, and as such, there were many events which he could see that were mystifying, illuminating, and disheartening all the same.

He had been changed by his power, and it was apparent to himself the most. He could feel little joy, but he had an impossible drive which he could not attribute rime or reason to. Whilst he meditated, the congregation expanded, and soon hundreds of thousands walked in his wake. But he knew it, and he knew what they would experience, and he knew how they would react to the truth.

Many years later, having ascended mountains, traversed oceans, and lumbered objects, the artifact-engine had finally been returned, carried on the backs of a horde of humans shepherded by none other than The Worldseer. Their return demanded much jubilation, but Veritas Res was adamant in the necessity of the World Ark's final assembly; any form of celebration could be performed post-safety.

And such the world bound together, gathered onboard a world ark the likes of none other, carrying a visage like no other, and bearing the futures of warriors like no other into the heavens. Many were sacrificed to the fires soon to come, for it did not have infinite capacity, and assuredly rage and fury the likes of few others in the galaxy were directed at Veritas Res for it. But equally so, those who had been chosen viewed him with a reverence no other entity save for the Emperor and few others could possibly recieve.

After their ascension, and brief drifting amidst the stars, the Emperor would soon find this desperate band, and thusly Veritas Res revealed his true name, known unconsciously, to all. Joining the Emperor on his quest in the same breath and embarking on a grand galactic quest for humanity's ultimate dominion.

Events partaken since then are numerous and varied, conquests aplenty, and the ruin and prosperity of civilizations in equal repetoire to his belt of accomplishments.

But chief amongst his accomplishments is the unified defense, and subsequent obliteration, of a threat the likes of which mankind has yet to see since. The vicious Rangdan Xenocides; brought forth by the Imperium's grandiose expansion, from the reaches of the void an unknown threat had emerged and assaulted loyalist worlds with brutalities the likes of which were thought impossible. In a desperate defense, Primarchs were hailed from across the galaxy, and amongst them were Veritas Res and his Truthlayers. Having foreseen the various battles' happenings from within his command chamber, the Sanctum of Truth, aboard the III legion's Gloriana-class battleship the Absolute, his legion were perhaps the most well off legions amongst those whom had participated, suffering acceptable losses; sparking great controversy and potential conflict between him and those siblings of which had also participated without sharing the same fate as his own legion.

His presence throughout the campaign beyond its defense were largely secondary, and supportive in nature to other, larger legions and their various assaults, granting the final periods of the campaign needed momentum to finish the threat as rapidly as it deserved, ruining worlds in plentitudes and decreeing ruin upon metropolises.

The years then flowed, wars were waged, and subjects were made to submit or suffer the absolute price, aided by his abilities, he had a flow and momentum to his tasks which even his own legion had a difficult time adapting to. But in time they too would accustom themselves to the reforms and systems that their Primarch had set in motion for them, and their pride and awe at their leader grew with each foe slain and each venerable sacrifice endured for the sake of a goal no one could dare see but yet dreamed of seeing all the same. All for an ultimate victory yet out of reach.

The skills of not only his legion, but those of Veritas Res himself, were yet again put unto display for others to see as, during the Tethonus Siege, they were called in by the Primarch's brother Augor Astren lay waste to yet another dissident foe. The war was protracted, but ended in finality with the two primarchs' combined effort, the mechanist primarch of Mars building an unseen siege monstrosity, and Veritas Res plotting its firing coordinates, resulting in the final deciding factor for the world to eventually tip towards oblivion.

However, this would not be the last time that these two would meet before the Ullanor Campaign. Yet again yet would cross paths, in addition to another, Micholi of the Night Watch Legion, during the Fall of Gardinaal in the approximate 900s.M30.

Sent by the Emperor on a mission of great assault and conquest over the peoples of Gardinaal, a mission of which he had foreseen undergoing, the Primarch made perhaps his mightiest display of prowess yet. In a bout of almost surreal mysticism, Veritas Res contacted the two of them and requested their presence, outlying cryptic, yet obvious requests for their fleets and forces to follow, all the whilst himself initiating conflict with the military power of Gardinaal's solar empire. With all pieces in motion, the ultimate result would be the elimination of the nation's capital, with all other subservient settlements being brought into fold thereafter.

The campaign was swift, and frought with oddities the likes of which coincidence itself could not possibly explain.

And thus, only Veritas Res was the answer.

Though the foe had been vicious, and the response delivered hundredfold, plans were made for the system with great ambition in mind, an almost surreal product of Veritas Res' otherwise iron rule.

The Meeting: He stood silent, near motionless, surrounded by the robed, beaten, robbed, yet hopeful; surrounded by those who had followed him through oblivion into a darkness filled with light and possibility, a new beginning without destination. He turned around, facing those behind him, those smaller, weaker, and more vulnerable than him, and felt nothing, saw as some disappeared and others new entered. He saw conflicts to come, which would rock this make-shift vessel of gargantuan size to its destruction. He gazed into their bright eyes: blue, yellow, red, and green, and saw them fade and be replaced. Then he gazed at their bodies, smaller than him: muscular, feeble, weak, sickly, and injured. Saw those too flow through time as if nothing, interchangable; nothing more than dust. He saw despair, hope, ruin, and salvation in the same passing moment, with his eyes he saw the future as if instantaneous, portrayed in luscious colours of crimson. He would have felt betrayed, if he had felt anything for those around him at all. Though there was one exception.

He reflected on what was behind him, and spoke:

"My name be Veritas Res, I am the Worldseer of whom you all allowed to lead you.

We have accomplished much, and you have learned now of, and will soon enter into, the paradise which I had seen; you have all followed truth and now you shall be rewarded for it."

He spoke with a monotony which was filled with warmth only because those mortal, feeble minds desired him to be their saviour; an icon of which to attribute their own worth upon. They believed he represented them, but he had seen what is to come many times, and the awe and grandiosity of which he attributes to one entity and none other would place all others to the side. The mortals and their worth was measured merely in their living; they should live, and shall live, and he shall make them live properly. But they did not think of him in the way that he truly is, they did not hold truth, and he could not blame them for their miniscule existences. He had witnessed what is to come, and had understood its meaning. Lacking the ability to hear the future did not impede this revelation.

In a serene silence they adored him, and as he turned around yet again, he admired something even greater. The entity which, no matter how many times, how many futures he sees, cannot be less profound. An entity which holds no shape, a being of a golden glimmer which radiates through time like the sun shines through the clouds.

He was stopped abruptly, as he beheld it, him. In that moment, his mind was enslaved to the present in a surreal display of unbridled power, the future which he had no choice but to gaze into ripped from his grasp in a fashion describable in no other fashion than divine. He saw an entity bathed in a golden glow, clad in a robe of white, looking him eye-to-eye, entity-to-entity, and for the first time ever, he felt that there was something, someone, who he could connect to and follow. His unreasonable drive became clear, and the truth behind the truth became fact. The Emperor of Mankind had graced him with his presence, had graced him with his own existence. Had granted him the momentary respite from the heavy burden of truth, as if telling him that he need not be alone in holding onto its massive weight.

Veritas Res put his hands together in a customary bow, traditionally performed by the Worldseer-caste of Asteros Primaris, and lowered his head to the height of his father's chest and continued, a slight warmth of tone clearly present in his response to the truth which the Emperor had given him just prior, after having arrived to give purpose and future to his own son.

"I have seen you, yet I could not know of you, in my sight. Now I hear you, and I see, and I know what I want, and what you want."

He raised his head slowly, meeting gazes with an entity who occupied all time in his sight, for the first time ever, forcing him into the present, forcing him to see the world of mortals, and see the god who dwells within it. And that God was a God yet not, who desired mankind to not be schackled to superstition, or limited by the untruth of faith. As they connected eyes, the Emperor looked down upon him, but Veritas saw warmth, suns much like his own occupying the Emperor's eyes.

"The Truth of which you desire I shall deliver; the warriors you wish I rule I shall command; the enemies you wish vanquished I shall conquer; the nations who are unpermissible I shall ruin."

And it was then that his neural synapses roared in harmony, as if struck by lightning, a sense of accomplishment and gratitude, and all other positive emotions which he had discarded until now were reciprocated in one singular action.

A smile formed with elegance on the Emperor's lips, faint but filled with a warmth unrivaled by even the sun of Asteros, and a kindness which even the age of his childhood could not compare.

"Join me aboard the Bucephalus, son."

The words were like song, and the noise was near visibly golden; a charisma unlike any other, Veritas Res could not help but seem a child before the enormity of this individual who surely had no equal. He could do nothing but nod, for he could not possibly respond to words spoken with such perfection. All that he could do was action, and with that action he would surely deliver that which was wished of him.

And in that same moment, future returned, and the two of them moved to board the Bucephalus. In their wake, Custodes guarded the Emperor at every turn, the people whom Veritas Res would leave behind so dumbstruck by the magnificence as to not realize their own fates to come.

Legion Name: Formerly known as the Lightseekers Legion, a name borne by them in reverence of their yet unanointed Primarch and their loss without him. Upon his return, Veritas Res proclaimed the Legion as the "Truthlayers," for never again would they be lost within darkness and without vision, they would know truth and lay it down upon the soil of worlds if such was needed for the Imperium.

Legion Number: III.

Legion Strength: At the height of their numerical worth, the Truthlayers, then named the Lightseekers Legion, numbered in the 200,000s but dwindled at an urgent haste. With the return of their Primarch, Veritas Res, the strength has remained at an all-time low, but a near constant, 50,000 astartes.

The Legion maintains 5 organizational structures; 4 chapters (V, VII, IX, X. VII is reinforced), and the Ultima. The Ultima is the Primarch's senior command element composing of the legion's variety of ancients, praetorate, and banner-bearers.

The most common battlegroup utilized by the Truthlayers, is the Chapter Dulon. A Chapter Dulon battlegroup is two chapters, controlled by a member of the Praetorate, sent on campaign.

Warcry: "It is known!"

Before battle there were once two different war cries which would be heard depending on the Primarch.

"It is known! Victory!"
"It is known! Defeat!"

It has morphed over time into the more neutral version for perhaps obvious reasons.

Dramatis Personae: Important note to mention is that, within the Inner Court, their Primarch Veritas Res, does not speak unless he declares conflict. As such, most of the conversation is held by the Praetorate and various heads of their various regiments and intra-organizations; Grandmaster Apothecary and others of such stature. The removal their Primarch has on their exchanges allow the legion to maintain far less removed from the world at large, and as such, others, than their Primarch.

• PPRAETORUS ULTIMATUM Balisterus Stratama - Chief of the Praetors, the legion's strategic and warrior upper-caste gathered within the Inner Sanctum, known as the interior organizational entity, the "Inner Court." And within this court of Six, seven including the Primarch who allows self-governance of the legion to be performed by these six individuals who have been within it far before him, and thus know it far more intimately. Balisterus Stratama is chief amongst the rest of the Praetorate. Blessed thrice with strength, thought, and truth, he carried the strongest divination within the legion, so powerful in fact that outside of battle, he is often found immobile upon the 2nd throne within the Inner Sanctum. As an ancient of the legion however, having known well from the hideous rule of a legion without Primarch, there is no one as learned in catastrophy, and how to thwart it, than he is. At this moment however, it seems an odd choice for such a quality to be so well represented within the upper-most echelon. Probably tradition.
• ARTISAN FORGE LORD VENERATUS TECHNICUS Obrix Palolennaeus - Whilst there are many, far more than any could possibly believe dwell beneath the ornate hallways and amidst the intricate complexities and machinery. Whilst Tech-priests spread through the entirety of the Star-Harbour, their service did not come without risk to the self of the legion. Forced to patrol their space for them, the Forgeworld Mortisimo performed the duties requested in adequate reciprocity. Built on the planet proper by the mightiest thinkers across the system assembled for its sole creation, Obrix Palolennaeus now stands as the sole servant of the single most powerful, and profoundly ruthless weapon known to him. He is the one who maintains this machine worthy of worship, and also serves as a potent enforcer. Though he has never seen the Seven Thrones to operate in tandem, he dreams that one day it could become reality.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role: "I arrive now, and see wroth, I see fury, anger, despair, misfortune, misbegotten warriors. I arrive now and what do you see in me? I am Absolute.

All you needed to acquire victory was me, and thus, with me, what you cannot do, you can now do."
- Veritas Res, meeting his legion.

Unlike most other legions, the Truthlayers do not operate in smaller groups, and instead only engage with smaller or greater army groups. This is because the flaw of their gene-seed is the same as their greatness. The modern strata was deviced immediately upon their Primarch's return, after having been told about their failures as the Lightseeker Legion. And whilst there are none who maintain the immense psychic divination prowess of their Primarch Veritas. But those of the Inner Council, those who are then by definition the uppermost commanders and leaders within the legion, do share comparable genetically derived psyker traits.

Because of this, the Legion focuses on large scale battles, preferably with as many of their own forces as possible partaking, so as to maximize the efficieny of their combined battle prowess. And multiplying their combat effectiveness.

If the battle does not include a great host of the entirety of the legion, then a praetor-equivalent will lead the army in a much similar fashion to what Veritas would, from the immediate front, but just behind it, surrounded by a cadre of honourguard and tech-marines to manage the intricate and delicate portable digital warmaps the legion brings along with them; capable of displaying information acquired from the mapping performed from orbit upon the battlefield.

Whilst these do not hold the same importance as they would with Veritas, capable of seeing the future movements of the enemies through it as medium, the Praetors' innate psyker heritage from him would allow them fervent divinations with sudden, and common onset, with which they would use to direct their forces through their mobile headquarters carried and maintained by hundreds of servitors and lesser mechanics, lorded over by the Mechanaugur; the chief Tech-Marine within the legion.

During any mission, the establishment of the forward headquarters is most paramount, and as such, over time, the process has been simplified to the point where every astartes in the legion are equipped with a closed-system communications network, a one-way speaker between every layer of the hierarchy; As a regular astartes you can only recieve orders and communication occurs only within your enclosed squad element. Your sergeant recieves orders from the one which rules that company, and so on it progresses further upwards until the final peak; Veritas Res.

However, when Veritas Res accompanies a battle, the aforementioned "mobile headquarters" is, per definition, necessary, to maximize his combat effectivesness and increase drastically the legion's combat effectiveness. As such, when he is the leader of a force, instead of maintaining an honour guard, the Praetors serve as both advisors and attendants on the field.

Should it be necessary for Veritas to take to the frontlines, the entire advisory becomes the Inner Council, and operates not dissimilarly from a war council, merely on the field of battle as opposed to far ways from it.

Notable Combat insight of the Truthlayers at present moment include::

• Vast Veteran numbers.
• Above-standard Terminator usage.
• Utilizes shock-based tactics.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: Within the Star-Harbor they hold the only home that ever would belong to them, and the only one place they would defend with a zeal so magnifique as to even send the most nefarious entities as far away from it as possible. It is a city for which only the Astarte may gather, and a world for which nothing less is allowed entry or sanction to approach without the express permission of its master, Veritas Res. But should you be granted that extreme prvilege you would see, as you dock, a mighty harbour capable of maintaining a stellar armada too massive to comprehend, and ladened across all the piers, all the walls, and all surfaces truly, are the bones, regalia, and most venerable relics of those fallen for the true path.

As you delve future, you note the lack of sound nor thralls, servitors, or anything else which would make the location seem all the more inviting. You feel alone, and insignificant, but suddenly, it dawns on you, as you are being escorted deeper and ever deeper into the myriad labyrinthine passages, that there has never been a single word spoken, and instead, as you approach quarters and corridors far more occupied, that there is a lot of sound, merely none which is immediately comprehensible, instead they speak in signs, elaborate and circumstantial techniques with myriad meanings with an unlikely ease.

Even if you had experienced company with a mute, this was much unlike it, this seemed far more eleaborate, and far more coping in nature. I was a complex system indeed, you saw the same sign many times, between brothers sparring and cleaning the various remembrances laid across and decorating the many passages, but never did they seem to mean the same thing, or if there was a variance, you could not comprehend it.

No wonder then, that people call Star-Harbour the Ghost of Asteros.

As you enter into the royal hall, you see a gargantuan throne of steel, circuitry, and seven tech-marines, and an assortment of stationed tech-priests procuring, tending, and applying the necessary maintenance on the Legion's perhaps most important artifact; the Primarch, Veritas Res' throne, the Regis Dominatus Informatrix. You have heard rumors of it, traders love to gossip about space marines after all, so... This is where the elucidating Primarch joins his psychic mind with the eyes of the fortress, and sees through it.

"Hail, Trader," a voice boomed amidst the silence, a presence making itself known clearly, as he stood on the right of the massive machination.

"Your merchandise is validated, your cargo has been unloaded: leave."

You shiver at the tension, atmosphere, and legion of the place itself near overwhelms you, and then, another gargantuan angel of death made themselves known, but instead to force you back, it grasped your palm with relative warmth, and spoke, "You ought not spend time here, Trader. You have better places to be, better places to go, and more to gain beyond our meager system, do you not?"

...

"And that was how I, Adryminichy Akorov, of my fair vessel The Farjumper, were the only civilian vessel to ever deliver to the Barren Star Asteros. Jealous, eh?"

"Hogwash, no way that could have possibly happened!"

"It did, it did you senile drunk!"

"Then what did you deliver, eh? EH?"

"Ah, erm. Hm."

...

...

...

"I can't tell you friend, I really can't,"

____

An Example of a Truthlayer ritual.

The Truthlayer Legion maintains a strict, rigid, yet at some times loose, ritualistic lifestyle in a system which demands the use of your mouth as least as possible. All rites of invitation are done in carving, so that those newborn Astartes recieve their first shoulder plate, and before the Inner Sanctum, are told to validate that which is found carved within them. Usually to their surprise, the name of their human name is carved upon its interior, followed by the date of their arrival into this very chamber. They are then told to carve, atop their old name, their new name within the legion. And told that this ceremony was their birth. Little to their knowledge, the next four carvings within, dates, foretell their peak, promotion, and death, followed by the fourth, Date Ultima.

Relationships: "To The Emperor, Our Loyalty Sworn. His Truth is Absolute. To His Foes, We Vow Ruin."

Legion-Legion Dynamics: The Truthlayers are, truthfully, an group amongst the legiones astartes whom will perhaps partake in near-most conflicits which would demand the presence of more than one legion entity. And as such, has built up a strange repetoire of relationships amongst them. No true rival, no true allies. The reason primarily is Veritas Res, and the nature of his warfare, the nature of his presence, and the nature of walking at the wake of such an individual. Little thought is put towards the Truthlayers, they are merely the tool by which Veritas Res operates, and whilst he treats them properly, he shows no true compassion for any one identity, only a singular purpose. The myriad mysteries that he holds silenced from the world, the extent of his knowledge, makes legion diplomacy difficult in his presence, and as such, most would notably prefer to do as little of it as possible with him. Though his straight-forward approach in all things doesn't help many keep their distance for long, especially in times of war. As such, complicated is the best suited word.

Legion-Imperial Army Dynamics: The Legion does not hold any truly noteworthy relationships with the soldiers of men and the mortal in general. This being said, he treats all units under his wing with the same degree of respect unrelated to whether they be immortal or mortal. The Truthlayer warmachine is one which does not stop, and as such, to work, it maintains all elements of the engine with equal care. Apothecaries aiding humans is not unheard of, and melding of organization can occur if warranted. The battle stratagem of the Truthlayers put all things, living or dead, into equality. As such, he has become the saviour patron of some regiments, and the doomsayer of others, and even in the various corners of the Imperial Army barracks, he is a contested character for gossip.

Legion-Mechanicum Dynamics: The Truthlayer legion has strong ties with a major forgeworld in distant proximity from Star-Harbour and is supplied through it and its 8 serf-forgeworlds. Whilst Veritas Res and the Truthlayers may uphold the Imperial Truth and raze in its name, they have developed friendly relations over the past 150 years, now providing a worthwhile partnership. Thanks to the importance the legion places of information coordination technologies, and Terminator Armour variance, The Forgeworld of Mortisimo and its serf-planets are now valued equal in importance as Star-Harbour, and regularly patrol the region under the Planetary-Governor's personal requests. Though only with minor fleets, typically filled with the youngest of the legion, serving as a way for them to accustomize themselves to the culture and rituals of the legion on a 'final voyage' before being allowed into battle.

"The vileness of the Xeno is a plague which is allowed artificial life due to nonsensities."

Alternative Names: The Shrike, Lord Shrike, Primarch Shrike, Thad/Thaddy (only by those closest to him, for that matter never call him Thaddeus)
Gender: MALE
Height: 8'7" (262cm)

Homeworld: Tanasia, Abya System, Amerikon Sector, Segmentum Tempestus
Located near the fringes of the Segmentum Tempestus, Tanasia is an agri moon part of the Abya Libra interplanetary coalition. The region used to be a fresh colony during the Age of Strife and while the era of warp storms and discord severely impacted them the colonist enjoyed their bountiful system to launch a new age of prosperity. With thousands of years of history the Abya Libra had its own share of wars and reforms. They faced numerous civil wars, rebuked marauding fleets and of course fought multiple flavors of Xenos. While being an "agri world" Tanasia is also known for their martial culture and high percentage of military volunteers. Only a decade after finding the Primarch Shrike the Abya Libra officially joined the Imperium, their governance mostly unchanged. They are famed for their connection to one of the Emperor's sons as well as the Tanasian Pathfinders, an Imperial Army regiment known for their elite light recon forces. Tanasia also provides large quantity of recruits to the Solar Auxilia and of course the Void Dragoons legion. While connected to Shrike the Primarch has no particular interest of developing the Abya System as his base of operations.

Appearance:
Easily mistaken as a particularly statuesque Space Marine, Shrike is perhaps the least remarkable Primarch. With height of merely 8'7"(262cm) he is also the shortest, usually only reaching to the chest of his siblings. This is further execrated by the fact he is surrounded by some of the tallest Space Marines, making him easily lost among them. Indeed, some rumors of unknown source even claim the Primarch Shrike to be an impostor, a mere Legion Master standing for their lost father. Of course for the Void Dragoons and all who met Shrike there's no doubt, he's the real deal. Shrike is curious among the Primarchs for his refusal to be treated differently from an ordinary Space Marine. Though his armor is personalizes the decorations are mundane and hardly stand out. Furthermore, he never takes off his helmet barring special circumstances. Underneath the helmet Shrike has a handsome face with precise features,sky blue eyes, brown hair and mustache now groomed in the Saturnyne fashion.

Personality:
Shrike is an odd figure who could be simultaneously described one of the warmest and most aloof Primarchs. He frequently interacts with ordinary humans, listening to them, observing their lives and when it's within his official capability also help them. He considers his mission to serve humanity and has a particular fondness of them. At the same time Shrike is oddly distant, hiding behind his official position and has the aura of seriousness. Saving people is his mission in life which also explains the ease he parted with Tanasia in order to join an organization far greater. His name is Thaddeus yet he insists everyone to call him "The Shrike". When not hiding behind his official masks he could be fairly sociable, almost bordering on the childish. He has very specific interests like being a "gun nut" who drools over the most advanced weaponry and has a large collection of various small arms. He views fellow Void Dragoons like his family who in turn consider him a father figure and ideal. The fact he descends to the level of his fellow Space Marines does give legionaries ideas of becoming like him. While fully resigned to his duties and ideals the Shrike enjoys his life and has a joyful outlook.

Biography: TBA

The Meeting:
TBA, needs deciding on the date of my discovery and which Primarch meets me first.

Skills:
Combat
As self-proclaimed gun-nut, Thaddeus Shrike is an excellent gunslinger who could land unlikely shots. His quick wits and reflexes makes him appear like a hurricane of action that does not rest. His strike is swift and decisive, precluded with meticulous timing. He excels in flanks and ambushes, hounding his enemies without a rest. Physically speaking he's perhaps the weakest of the Primarchs yet still obviously superior to any Astartes. Shrike is a cautious fighter who prefers to keep his distance but combined with his newfound aerial mobility he actually created a form of martial arts which combines his jet propulsion with the movement of his limbs to execute quick and effective attacks.
Tactics
Shrike is an excellent tactician who excels in utilizing mobility and multi-pronged strikes to collapse the opposition. Just as his legion he likes to cripple their opponent and crush their ability to further wage war. He hates missions that write off sacrifices as neccessary and rather manipulates the outcome until he has a viable advantage. His flexible mindset and love for his soldiers define his behavior in warfare.

Wargear::
- "Lanius" Artificier Armor
The Shrike's personalized power armor crafted in Mars. It has improved Vox Casters including jammers and sensor scrambling properties. This not only protects the Shrike but also helps him isolate enemy groups and slow down the arrival of reinforcements. The armor also has built-in grenade launchers, jump packs with maneuvering thrusters, allowing the "murder birds" to fly in the skies or perform otherwise impossible maneuvers. Lastly the armor has built-in power blades in all four limbs, allowing Shrike's unique close combat style.
- "Dexter & Sinister" Accelerator Autoguns:
Pair of mastercrafted weapons manufactured in Tigris. They use the same accelerator technology as Fellblade Cannons but miniaturized to rifle size. Compared to a Bolt Carbine these guns possess incredible power while also maintain decent rate of fire. In addition they can accept various attachments including but not exclusive to: Volkite, Melta, Plasma, Multi-Laser, Lastrum Bolter and High-density grenade launcher. Obviously the latter attachment being the most common but Shrike can switch these in the heat of battle, fitting his purposes accordingly.

Legion Name: Void Dragoons
Named after the Void Hoplites of the Saturnyne Order

Legion Number: XI.

Legion Strength: ~ 100,000 Astartes directly before Ullanor, albeit only fraction can be focused in a particular theater
+
Questoris Saturnyne order of Imperial Knights who often accompany the Legion

Warcry: "Oorah!"
Lord Shrike expressed worries that Xenos and mutants may not understand the intricacies of Gothic. Instead of the mouthful that was the Saturnyne Rams' battle cry he introduced "Oorah!", something even the stupidest Ork shall get and dread to hear. This change was surprisingly popular with the Legionaries.

Dramatis Personae: TBA

Armour Appearance:

Void Dragoons used to have the color scheme of white with black pauldrons and trimmings and still use it for ceremonial purposes. On the field though they apply one of the 100 accepted camouflage patterns with only the Legion insignia remaining to identify them. While some Legions consider it cowardly or even useless given the visual acuity of most Xenos threats the Dragoons do this both for practical and moral purposes. Applying the camo paint is like a ritual preparing them for the upcoming battles.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role: TBA

Legion Characteristics/Ideology:

[To be expanded upon...]

Relationships: TBA

Name: Sarghaul Tartareus.

Gender: Male.

Homeworld: 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.

Appearance:



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.

Personality: 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.

Skills:

Deep Dweller: 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.

Fortitude: 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.

Savant of Flesh: 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.

Annihilator: 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.

Chilling Presence: 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.

Assignment Grade: 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.

Biography:

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.

The Meeting:

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.

Legion Name: Formerly known as the Tempest Wardens, the Legion was renamed to the Abyssal Lurkers when Sarghaul assumed command..

Legion Number: IX.

Legion Strength: ca. 150,000 Astartes.
Indeterminate number of enhanced charybdes and Infestus-strain abhumans.

Armour Appearance:


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.

Warcry: 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.

Dramatis Personae:

Elder Fleshweaver Terech Ormis, Master of the Apothecarion: 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.

Chief Librarian Veryan, Keeper of the Swarm: 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 consensus, being unshakable in spirit despite the weight of the Warp on his mind, and is revered as an illuminated sage by his adepts.

Issnos Traal, Equerry to the Primarch: 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.

Expergefactor Summus Esvatil, Master of the Forge: 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.

Venerable Rethius: 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 consensus 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.

Herminia Tarsica: 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.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role: 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.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: 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 via consensus, 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 consensus 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 Transfigurationes Corporum, 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.

Relationships:

The Emperor Himself: 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.

Adeptus Administratum: 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.

Imperial Army: 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.

Adeptus Mechanicus: 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.

The Imperium at large: 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.

Xenos: Suffer not the alien to live. The Lurkers are all too glad to enforce the Emperor’s mandate, eradicating any non-human life they encounter without misgivings.

Name: Prometheus The Light Bringer


Gender: Male

Homeworld: Amn

Appearance: Prometheus is tall and powerful like all Primarchs, standing at a powerful 10'6". Prometheus is olive skinned, like that of the ancient Mediterranean empires with closely cropped black hair. Beyond the impressiveness of being a Primarch he actually looks rather plain, as if someone had simply taken any mortal man and made them larger. His most distinguishing feature is in his bearing rather than appearance with infinite patience and understanding like that of a scholar or tutor. Going so far as to allow his Captains and Generals of the Imperial Army build a system wide battle strategy with mere suggestions from the Primarch.

When prepared for battle the Primarch almost always wears some of the most massive and bulky battle plate possible, Prometheus looks like a Terminator grown to monstrous proportions. The armor thick and heavy enough to shrug off all but the most destructive attacks. The armor reflects his legion closely with gleaming bronze gauntlets boots and breastplate and pure white on the rest. His helm however is painted pitch black with a large crimson crest running along the top of the helm.

His Wargear is almost always an enormous power glaive "The Lance of Sol" that is nearly on the scale of a Knight titan lance.

A modified heavy bolter is affixed to his bracer armor granting him a powerfully destructive ranged weapon.

Otherwise he carries a huge Powersword and shield, though he does not use this unless he truely needs even more protection beyong his terminator armor

Personality: Prometheus is patient, nearly infinitely so, He can and does allow strategy meetings to run for many hours listening to each idea, its justification, the following debate, points of contention and suggestions of refinement. He has the power and ability to make unanimous decisions of command and will do so if he is pressed for time and a long meeting would threaten their war footing. This patience however occasionally causes friction with his siblings when they cant get a rise out of him or bore them with the endless meetings that define Prometheus and his war efforts.

Prometheus can not admit defeat, even when it is a clear and decisive defeat. While he has so far only experienced this once at the hands of the Emperor he has more than once pressed forward dragging a battle out to its conclusion even if the victory is a phyrric one. This has partially influenced the general strategy he employs, in using a slow grinding pace he can ensure his casualties are low while slowly cementing his inevitable victory.

Finally Prometheus is extremely trusting in those around him. While this does not extend to an Imperial Army officer he has never met his siblings, officers and generals he will trust almost without question. If they declare something he disagrees with or knows to be false he would argue the point but in most cases he will believe them at their word. This has bitten him before when a general is over confident and assured of his victory guaranteeing Prometheus some prize but ultimately failing and sending his carefully laid plans into chaos.

Skills: Prometheus is a master tactician - even beyond other Primarchs, this is helped by his limited forsight but he can craft a massively complex system wide war doctrine that will fracture and fold every defense thrown against him. While there are always situations that can not be won, if a path to victory exists he will find it. In defense he masterfully counter acts each offensive thrust by his enemy making any assault costly if not futile.

His other particular skill is influence on a crowd, while any Primarch speaking has ultimate authority, Promethius can influence a group very effectively. When giving a speech to his legion, Imperial Army, or the masses he can convince them into making nearly any effort for him. He can turn a regiment in full rout into an unbreakable unit or spark a citizen revolt to overthrow a regime to join the Imperium with a single speech.

Assignment Grade: Kappa - Prometheus possesses a bare hint of psyker ability which largely comes in two areas. The first is Divination that manifests itself as a simple hunch or feeling. This is usually during planning or discussions of strategy that a plan will seem flawless tactically but he will modify the plan to counteract an unknown threat. It is understood that this is part of his psychic ability but is not something he has any real control over.

The second is an inspiring presence when he chooses to use it. He only uses this ability on the battle field to bolster his Astartes and Imperial army units around him. Its effect is to inspire heroic bravery and fervor for glory pushing even the average imperial infantryman into an unyielding fighter stubborn in the face of any danger.

Biography:
Prometheus' clone pod fell upon the world of Amn, a hellish war-torn world of dozens of mighty Hive Cities each its own state in itself. The Hive Cities fought eternal bloody wars over the territories surrounding each Hive success only measured in how many factory complexes were captured and lost, the casualties generally... cataclysmic. Prometheus fell just outside one such city, Baldar one of the most vicious and powerful cities in the system. The only method for advancement was through military success and brutal efficiency. When his pod was found and the infant pulled from it he was inspected for signs of mutation and defect, as a Primarch none was found. He was raised as an orphan taught strategy and military theory while being brought up on stories of heroic warriors and genius generals. Prometheus absorbed these theories in mere months and was placed into the military as his guardians could no longer teach him.

Prometheus was the perfect soldier and rose through the ranks through sheer force of perfection and his brilliant tactical mind, easily shifting battles that would have otherwise been a crushing defeat into a heroic victory. Once he had grown to the place of the Governor-General's right hand he simply took control of the hive. This was done simply by showing that he would be a better leader and while the Governor-General tried to keep the reigns of power Prometheus was quickly backed not only by the whole hive's military but the populace as well. In a hand full of years Prometheus took control of his hive, the world however fought long and hard against him. However in a mere decade Prometheus had taken control of the world with weight of arms and oratory skill.

A single world was not enough, after encountering a small Ork empire and a cousin human civilization Prometheus knew that his little world was not enough to make a safe empire for the common mortal to live in. So, in reply to these discoveries he grew an Empire. After uniting the human civilization and eradicating the ork empire he continued his conquest across the stars building colonies and uniting humanity sometimes through conquest. Before long Prometheus set his sights on worlds already spoken for by the Imperium. When his fleets entered Imperial space they where greeted with open arms but the Expedition fleets quickly demanded annexation of the empire of Amn. Prometheus' representatives declined and it was eventually decided to conquer this Imperium.

It took the conquest of several systems and many Imperial worlds before this upstart Empire of Amn drew the ire of the Emperor. He a truly mighty crusade fleet came to quash Prometheus and his little empire. However when Prometheus became directly involved he nearly fought the crusade fleet to a stand still even with the vastly superior power of the Imperial forces. However the power of the Emperor, Astartes and Titan Legions eventually broke Promenteus' military. Their resilience proved that a Primarch must be at the head of this upstart so the Emperor struck at the heart of the empire to finally meet his lost child. The Emperor himself landed at the capital hive Baldar requesting a meeting with the Primarch at its head.

The Meeting:
The Emperor besieged the city of Balar with the full might of his crusade, Custodes, Astartes, Titan legions all arrayed against the Hive and Primarch within. Prometheus had grown to understand these forces in the long war against the Imperium. He knew the war was lost, no cunning flourish of strategy could turn the tide in his favor now. The lines are drawn and all that remains is to have the final battle. He should surrender he knew, but his pride and honor could not allow such a thing. Prometheus had to fight to the end, when the last soldier drew his last breath was when he could finally admit defeat. So there was only one other option. Rather than allowing the city to burn and his people die in their millions the Primarch and his army would sally forth and fight this Emperor in the field so he and his forces could die like heroes and the city would survive.

He called the army and collected what little might remained, the soldiers where little more than conscripts called now after his veterans where killed on far off worlds. Even still the battle must be joined. Nearly 1 million men and women gathered in the great streets before the gate of the hive city equipped no better than the Imperial Army troopers surrounding the city. Prometheus standing with his back to the gate surveyed the soldiers before him and the civilian onlookers. as he begins to speak the gate begins to roll open.
"My friends! My Sons and Daughters!" the Primarch shouts "I see fear, fear that would take even my spirit. A day may come where the world of Amn falls, a day of ruin and blood.. But that is not this day! This is a day of heroes! Your strength will be tested but you are the Warriors of Amn! And you my Warriors! my Knights! will strike awe and terror into our enemies and bring this Emperor to his knees!" with a final boom the gates stand fully open "Our deeds this day will echo in Eternity!" he shouts with finality and turns to charge out the gate on foot with the million of soldiers cheering behind him prepared to charge into certain death and more than willing to do so.

The guns of the Imperial lines stay silent though more than able to shell the entire force into oblivion. The Emperor stands directly opposite the charging lines his great blazing sword sticking from the ground before him with his Custodes guard and the Entire 5th legion at his back. Just before the lines came to firing range the Emperor spoke.
"HALT"
The word was not so much a command, but a fact, as the word left his lips it was carried across the battlefield with his power bringing the charge to an instant stop dispelling the fervor granted by Prometheus and bringing most to their knees in supplication there and then. Even Prometheus found his muscles rebelling against him halting his momentum. The Emperor strode forwards accompanied by a single Custodes carrying a banner. Prometheus watched the Emperor approach but was at a loss, if the Emperor could simply have stopped the fighting with a single command, why was he allowing any of this charade? he could easily destroy Prometheus and the rest of his army at a whim.

When they came to a few dozen yards of each other Prometheus exploded forward lashing out with his blade, engaging the Emperor in a duel of blades. They seemed evenly matched blazing around the area in a furious trade of blows. It took only moments however before Prometheus realized this was not a battle per say, the Emperor was trying to converse with him. The fight dragged on for a full minute with the Emperor pointing out each strategic mistake by Prometheus of their duel with swordplay alone. The fight stopped when the Emperor disarmed Prometheus by cleaving the hilt from the blade of the Primarch's sword.
"You must be the leader here," The Emperor said not even winded from the duel "none other could be leading this empire, how else could you have taken so many worlds, even many of my worlds, and fought my legions to a draw."
Prometheus stared in fascination, Their duel had been furious and oddly educational, but the Emperor spoke now as if the duel had been a series of introductions of names and honorifics before the actual conversation could begin.
"I did not personally take any of your worlds, my generals had full autonomy to wage those wars."
The Emperor blinked, though none save the Primarchs could have seen the surprise written on his features.
"I see" the Emperor said as if finally working something out he was unsure of "I knew one of my children was here, and I am pleased it was you." The Emperor said as if stating he knew one of his children was here but only now realized which one. "Come my son, we must speak."

It was then Prometheus' turn to blink, for an instant he did not think it was likely or even possible but something he could not explain made him realize it was true. It may have been some psyker influence by the Emperor or a flash of insight through his own abilities but something told him it was true. Prometheus nodded and looked around at the forces around his hive "I suppose we should" he said finally. The Emperor strode through the prostrate army and into the Hive, the pair went to the top of the Spire locking themselves into Prometheus' private residence. The two were there for several weeks. Nobody knew what they spoke of and the pair never revealed the content of their meeting, when they emerged they did as father and son.

Legion Name: Knights of Awe

Legion Number: V

Legion Strength: 85,000 Astartes
1,500,000 Astarte Auxilia

Armour Appearance:


Warcry: "And the ground shall tremble" (reference to a speech by the primarch before a colossal artillery barrage)
"Now for wrath, Now for ruin, For the Imperium!"

Dramatis Personae:
Lord Strategos Arghan - A Lord commander of the Knights of Awe, Arghan a terran born Astartes and one of the eldest Marines in the legion and among the highest ranks. This rank however is well earned as a strategic mastermind that had been honed by years of working with the Primarch. Arghan commands a large portion of the legion and attached forces almost entirely autonomously being trusted to command the forces with little input from the Primarch. The commander has his own quirks but they are seldom seen as he often emulates his Primarch as the patient leader. When caught up in battle however he sometimes forgets this patience and becomes a rabid glory hound, driving his forces a little harder to be the first to claim entrance to a citadel or the enemy general's head.

Strategos Gaalus - Gaalus is the commander of the Primarch's elite guard and shocktroops. While he proves to be a middling strategic level commander he is an excellent battlefield leader and will often be found directing the battle surrounding the Primarch while he is distracted directing other aspects of the war from a field command vehicle. Gaalus being the field commander of the Primarchs elite guard and shocktroops makes him a brash and direct leader, often leading the charge Power Glaive held high. Unfortunately this role has also trained him to be somewhat uncreative but having a large force of Terminator Astartes means this is also generally unnecessary due to sheer destructive potential.

Commander Illan Haen - Commander Haen is theoretically the commander of the Astarte Auxilia though the fact that his forces are more or less under the command of the Astartes he actually does very little commanding. He functions as more of an official representative for the Auxilia in relations to other Imperial Army regiments, the Mechanicus and occasionally other Astartes. This is useful however as he was an uninspired commander who would be doomed to languish in lower officer ranks if it where not his Terran noble heritage. This position is an excellent one for him as he is a brilliant politician who forges friendships in other Regiments and with the Mechanicus to ensure smooth cohesion and supply.

Strategos Arlym - Commander of the Siege, He is the commander who directs the complicated system of artillery and armor for war. When Arlym lauches an attack it is with the full weight of the Imperial Army's artillery, armored regiments, and Super-heavy tanks along with Astartes heavy armor and artillery. Arlym is the hammer of the Legion that will shatter the enemy defences for the rest of the legion to flood into and finish the war. While his orders are often to complete fairly simple tasks Arlym is a cunning commander masterfully using his forces to deliver annihilation. This immense power has made the commander rather arrogant, but when commanding the power to level hive-cities with mere ordinance it is often understandable.

Ancient Deckard - Deckard is the defacto leader of the Knights of Mourning, A force of Dreadnoughts and Dread-Sentinels that are the legions mightiest 'surviving' heroes. Deckard was the Legion Master of the Knights who was mortally wounded in one of the early engagements in the legion's history. Deckard has watched over the legion from his dreadnought casket for over 100 years offering valuable council and advice to the legion leadership. While the ancient has no command authority the immense respect the legion has for him means his word is nearly as valuable as the Primarch's. Even Prometheus gives a great deal of weight to the dreadnought's words. However due to the nearly proto-type nature of his dreadnought casket and complications during his entombment Deckard can not utilize the full extent of his warmachine without being in mind shattering pain. So he is strictly a ceremonial part of the legion and does not go to war any longer.

Baroness Flavia 'Blood Raven' Atma - Baroness Atma, more commonly known as the Blood Raven, is General of the Astarte Auxila continget attatched to the Primarch's Elite guard and Shock troops. Hailing from a lesser noble house on Terra her rise as the barbarian general of the Astarte auxilia is a curious one, She is a savage and brutal commander often standing on the front line next to Astartes Terminators in her own power armor. Her name is derived from her battle lust and near constant desire for the Primarch and the Elite guard to take the field in direct, and bloody, frontal assaults. For all her savagery however, she is an excellent and intelligent commander inspiring those in her command to feats of bravery that are unheard of for any other Imperial Army force. All that said, she is a singularly terrible politician and diplomat, she has no respect for any person who is not a warrior of some kind and even casts skepticism towards any Imperial army that has not proven themselves, even some young Astartes have found themselves the subject of her ire.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role:
The Knights of Awe are a unique Legion whom works very closely with the Imperial Army, To the point that the tactics they most often employ require the Army's assistance. Each Marine is assigned to a squad, usually 10 troopers, whom he helps train and educate. While the Marine is not always with the army squad he spends a great deal of his time with them and in battle the Marine generally fights along side the squad. However the Legion fields larger units in most cases and will have a squad of Marines leading a large Platoon of Imperial Army. If squads are dispatched away from the primary battle the Marines assigned to them often join granting valuable firepower and a heroic example to inspire the troopers. While this tactic makes the Knights of Awe are less powerful alone, with its Imperial Army support it is an unstoppable force that simply rolls over any opposition. The Marines simply adding a sharp edge to the immense hammer that is the Imperial Army.

Due to their relationship with the Imperial Army their tactics have bled into each other's so that the Legion utilizes slow and grinding trench warfare and siege tactics to colossal effect. The trench line with its vast array of heavy weapons and artillery makes an unyielding phalanx for the enemies of man to spear themselves upon.

On the offensive units are given very general orders and allowed to accomplish the orders however they see fit. The general belief being that the officer on the battlefield can read and plan the specifics better than an officer back at the command post. This has been highly effective, even when the overarching battle strategy is simple this offers soldiers the flexibility to add masterful flourishes of prowess.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: Most of the legionaries when not dedicated to their own training or in battle are more like scholars and educators rather than soldiers. They are often found with a unit of Imperial Army training them and teaching them advanced tactical theory. Though mortal limits dictate how much the Astartes can train them and outside of that they are generally found in libraries or private rooms discussing different tactics and strategies. Even though the Legion more often than not finds itself in grinding trench warfare they are each masters of small unit tactics as individual squads are given nearly complete autonomy in how to accomplish their orders. At each level of command one would find them conversing among themselves the finer points and subtle strategies of their size of command, however many officers bring their subordinates into the same debates as an education grooming each for command.

Relationships:
Prometheus holds a comfortable relationship with the Forges of Mars, his siege tactics require a great deal of munition and material to sustain and having a friendship with the forges helps supply his particularly hungry warmachine.

The Imperial Army and Navy are profoundly loyal to Prometheus and the legion, many regiments have passed through or fought with the Knights of Awe which has carried word out among the Imperial Army. The reputation the Knights of Awe have is not only their Astartes prowess in battle but their use and friendship to the Army as well. It is not uncommon to see Apothecaries helping medics on Army troopers or Astartes warriors carrying wounded from the battlefield if they can. These sights and more have shown that the Knights of Awe are not Astartes divorced from mortal affairs but soldiers just like any trooper who will fight and die in the same trenches. This has also resulted in the Primarch's fleet to frequently bloat with Imperial Army units simply tagging along until sent to join other expeditionary fleets.

The legion is contemptuous of those who uphold the Edict of tolerance, the regions of space that are the foothold of the edict have not seen the Knights of Awe except when there is no other alternative. Those who have requested the Primarch or legion representatives more often receive an Imperial Army officer or are simply ignored. Outside the Xenos territory Prometheus and the Legion are professional and simply fights the war but do segregate themselves from xenos whenever possible. Unfortunately this has filtered down to the Imperial Army and any regiments attached to the knights of awe often have trouble being stationed along side a wholly or partly xenos regiment with mischief at best or las-fire at worst which is generally ignored except in the most extreme or public circumstances.

Gender: Male

Homeworld: Rasena was the original 'capital world' of the three-hundred worlds that would eventually come to make up the Rasenan Republic and the Latrurian Sector where they are located, a planet that was found and then settled in the Segmentum Tempestus during the earliest days of the Age of Technology by Terrans that bought with them records of humanities earliest endevours, as well as their failures.

An age of strife and planetary warfare between nations and worlds was concluded by millennia eighteen, the three-hundred worlds becoming nominally united under the Rasenan Monarchy via a series of treaties, laws and obligations, most worlds allowed to retain their own languages, traditions and so forth, indebted worlds required to tithe the Rasenans and their core worlds a portion of their manpower, natural resources, foodstuffs and on.

In the twentieth millennia the technologically advanced city-states of the homeworld were thrown into civil strife, the people no longer wishing to be ruled by one powerful figurehead, each girding their populations for war and eventually sending their assorted militaries against one another.

Centuries of destruction and then rebuilding would follow, the firm end of it all being an extermination of the royal line and the implementation of a republic in its place - thus the Rasenan Republic was born.



Rasena itself is a blend of civilised world and one which is far more advanced - columned buildings of marble blended with shimmering metallic agri-domes and terracotta tiled villas, whirring and rotating defence batteries nestled among fortifications taken from the ancient days of Terra, and surrounding the planet a never-ending swarm of vessels from across the sector.

Much has certainly changed from the days of the founding, technology and rulership included, city-states remain dotted over a tapestry of landscapes with climates varying from temperate to scorching, but their populations of citizen-warriors have become much more with the arrival of first the Primarch and then the Emperor himself.

Appearance: There was once an ancient Terran artist named Mikélanjalo, a sculpture who carved a seventeen feet high statue of a mythical figure, this figure was named 'David', and it is said that it was one of the most perfect artistic depictions of the human form ever crafted by mortal hands; how true or not this tale is is largely irrelevant, except to say that when the Emperor and his gene-crafters formed Kaelianos they not only did the same but far surpassed his work.

The being, the demi-godlike creation, called Kaelianos by his initial owner - a name of no special importance, but one that he has always been known by - is in no uncertain terms one of the most perfectly formed 'mortals' to ever tread the Milky Way, arguably one step lower than the Emperor himself in heart-aching and tear-inducing physical make-up.

From his head to his toes he is of perfect proportions, standing straight-backed at a height of twelve feet, his broad (but not too broad) shoulders narrowing down to a lithe yet muscular torso of sculpted flesh, unmarred and hairless skin of an olive tone covering asymmetrical limbs of a length neither too short nor too long, then continuing down legs clearly formed from a being as close to a deity as one may get.

To look upon the face of Kaelianos is to look upon a visage of a gigantic human youth in his prime - a smooth forehead above neat brows of chestnut colour, but below a curling mop of similarly coloured hair, his squared jaw tapering down to a strong chin, and his aquiline nose placed a precise distance from his full lips.

It is rare for most to be able to meet the dark-brown gaze of the Primarch, only those of strong will - fellow sons or daughters of the Emperor for example - able to do so without having to look away after a few minutes.

Out of battle he garbs himself in an enlarged version of the tunic worn by his sons, with colours ranging from deep crimson, to purple, to undyed white bordered in numerous colours.

When Kaelianos takes to the field it is in a suit of artificer armour to match his person, constructed and formed by the finest armourers he could find, made up of numerous pieces of shimmering bronze sculpted in the most precise way to his body.

It makes him look less like a living being, and more like a statue that moves far too fluidly to be one.

The final item is a high-crested helmet that encloses his entire head, a mask in a snarling likeness of his face able to slide down in the manner of a visor should he need it.

As for weapons, due to his upbringing he wields two Primarch-suitable gladii, blades crackling with energy and the end for many when set to deadly purpose.

Personality: Perhaps the most glaringly obvious thing about the 'young' Primarch is his inability to remain still, even when he is stood doing nothing at all; while he may not be moving psychically, there can be no doubt that an almost ethereal energy fills him from head-to-toe, Kaelianos always seeming to be permanently on the verge of mental or bodily movement, as if constantly on the edge of snapping into a blur of speed or a lecture of one sort or another.

This force can be seen and felt in almost every aspect of his being, as well as in everything he chooses to do, his joyous demenour and charismatic bon ami palpable in the very air around him by the psychically blunted - but almost like a hammer blow to those most attuned to the Emperor's mental gifts.

Such energy has turned the ever-youthful Primarch into an intellectual virtuoso, an orator of impeccable skill and verve, and a writer and author of innumerable works - primarily focusing on his own life and the campaigns of he and his fellow legions in the Emperors service.

Even before meeting his father and his sons he was ambitious, this only grew with knowledge of his origins, lending him somewhat of an arrogant air, but one that he could easily back up with either blade or the written word.

Now Kaelianos has turned himself toward the goals of his creator, taking his own pocket empire as an example, and wishing to recreate a universe - a human universe - in the image of the Age of Technology. Mankind managed it once, and he believes that they can become that great again, the Great Crusade of his progenitor being the primary step toward it.

Skills: Kaelianos employs skills that he has learnt throughout his life, made simpler by the very nature of his essential nature as one of the Emperors sons.

Starting life in the Rasenan fighting pits and arenas, training day-in and day-out in the ludus of the man that had first found him, he slew his first man when he was only ten years old - yet already as large as a full grown man, though he would grow larger still - specialising in the use of two blades at a time and caring little for the wounds which, until much later, he did not realise were unlikely to slow him down, let alone kill him.

With his skill as a duelist and combatant came the initial sparks of a charm that would see him become the autocratic leader of a three-hundred world spanning empire, casting uneeringly potent influence over the crowds before which he fought, the officials and politicians sat in their high seats and boxes, and eventually over the man who's death would make him semi-divine in the eyes of some.

Being allowed access to materials hailing from the earliest days of humanity, from scrolls of preserved papyri mingled with dataslates of gathered knowledge, to weapon schematics and the military treatises of geniuses, only formed Kaelianos into an exemplar of a warrior-scholar of the old school - a being as capable of planning a logistically challenging campaign as he was at taking to the battlefield at the head of his warriors.

Every skill was sharp before the arrival of the 'true eagle', his fleets of warships and his golden warriors, but the Princeps of Rasena only became razor sharp in light of texts from within the Imperium (as well as those of conquered and compliant worlds).

All-in-all he is a warlord at home in both court and killing field, more than prepared to do what he considers to be best for the Imperium, a Primarch as proficient at counting the corpses of his slain enemies as he is at sketching the supply routes for and organisation of his next military exploit.

Assignment Grade: Kappa – Kaelianos is void of almost all psychic ability, what little he does have manifesting itself in overwhelming prescence and force of personality.

Biography: Ergalisus had always been a greedy man, even his own parents had ejected him from the family home for the amount he ate, the citizen of Rasena having a craving for currency and a fine nose for good flesh - something that he had put to good use, better use than his parents and their stupid agri-farm! - becoming one of the principle lanisti to the sneering senators and military leaders, supplying them with all the creatures and all the lives they could ever want.

He was not a cruel man, no, just greedy... and it was just business!

This is what he told himself when he abducted a cherubic child, and a spine-chillingly silent child, from some manner of incubator. It did not appear to be asleep when he came upon it by a riverbank, dipping his scarred but strong arms into the broken glass and lifting the child free, those eyes... those deep eyes... he had known then that this child was different. He had just not known how different.

Even stranger was the urge, as was natural to him, to simply leave the child where it was - exposure not entirely uncommon in these parts - but somehow he just couldn't.

Time moved on, the young Primarch given to a wetnurse to be suckled but seemingly needing little in the way of sustinence, and always those deep, dark, eyes watched everything and everyone...

By the age of five Terran years the boy-child had grown to the size of an adolescent, able to speak the tongue of Rasena and often spending his time speaking with or observing the various fighters and trainers-of-fighters surrounding him in his 'fathers' training school.

No one understood why Ergalisus had shown up with a child, then proceeded to treat the boy like his own offspring, while simply ignoring the unnatural rate at which he grew and learnt, least of all the school owner himself, but it was apparent to all that no-one seemed able to dislike him unless in the grip of an extreme emotion - anger, grief and so on - which would explan why none of the pit-fighters dispatched him in his infancy.

By the time he was ten years of age he was training with the other fighters, besting most of the rawest offerings with little effort, once jovial veterans turning sour as he progressed at some speed - many complaining that their master played favourites and doted on the outsider a little too much.

During one incident he was opposed by a fighter known widely as 'the Reaper', a huge offworlder who had dispatched dozens of opponents, the larger man spitting venomous words at the growing Primarch and asserting that he would take his head and pleasure himself with it.

Needless to say, it was the thus-far unnamed 'son' of Ergalisus that came away from the fight, wounded and bleeding from five-dozen knicks and cuts, but carrying the head of his attacker.

In the decade or so that the Primarch, eventually named Kaelianos by the man who coveted him most of all, fought before crowds of Rasenan citizenry and allies of the three-hundred worlds - dozens at first, thousands by the time of his freedom - he earned a reputation as an undefeated but magnanimous fighter, never killing unless he needed to, and gaining the largest civilian following of any pit-fighter.

While he had been growing up, unbeknownst to one who had spent his entire life in relative isolation and knew nothing of wider Rasenan politics, a former consul had slain his appointed opposite and proclaimed himself dictator for life - something that the senate were powerless to do, as he held the military in his grasp; this had sparked revolts and conflict in the wider sector, allied worlds erupting in bloodshed when they heard the news from the capital planet, a campaign set up by the tyrant was planned to go ahead but he had one thing to do first.

In his thirty-fourth year, though he appeared to have stopped aging much earlier, Kaelianos was granted his freedom by Antius Esdras the Imperator of Rasena. His erstwhile master and father-figure slipped into obscurity as soon as the final contest was over, Antius having him slain, his school sold off, and Kaelianos bought to him the space of two days.

Now began a new phase of the Primarchs life, one of ease and leisure where he had known only hardship and competition, months and then years spent in the libraries and record-houses of Rasena nurturing the mind of the man as food and drink did not. All the while his new patron, the tyrant having semi-adopted him into his own household as a ward, went from world-to-world out in the stars of the wider sector, he said to bring order when he bought more than enough death with it.

While Kaelianos marvelled at the splendid works of the Rasenan people, the blend of high and feudal technology allowed by their unbroken lineage to a bygone age, as well as their mercantile pursuits, glittering metal towers and blue-veined marble temples and buildings, Esdras was returning to his homeworld in triumph.

With the revolts over and most things now as they once were the sector may have gone on much as it always had, but something had touched the Imperator as he fought his battles, and upon his return to Rasena he was different. Oh he had always been flamboyant, deceitful, even sadistic, but now he began proclaiming himself a living God and parading through the streets in garments of shining gold, and history turned swiftly against him.

What happened next, and for exact reasons, are known only to Kaelianos, but suffice to say he slew the former legate-turned-tyrant and through political and military means reformed the republic into a different creature together; now it was an autocracy in all but name, though Kaelianos respected the senate and invited representatives from two-hundred-and-ninety-nine worlds of the sector - he representing Rasena itself, of course - to play the dutiful servant of the state.

Reforms swiftly followed in all tracks of life, treaties being altered and ratified seemingly by Kaelianos alone, military reforms taking place at an alarming rate, and an insistence being made especially on the allied worlds to provide auxiliary forces for the Rasenan war machine.

It was in the midst of these sector-spanning upheavals that a single vessel appeared on the fringes of Latrurian space, a ship - nay, a fortress - bristling with weapons and larger than any in the navies available to Kaelianos, one that honestly he knew could not be contended with, and so he took a small guard and boarded his least impressive vessel and thus did he come face-to-face with his father and his creator.

The Meeting: Kaelianos had watched with ever increasing dread as it transpired that reports about this unknown vessel had not been completely accurate, the construct of clearly alien origin had grew larger and larger as he neared it, at times he had even thought of turning back; yet with two-hundred-and-ninety-nine warriors at his back, clad in segemented suits of gleaming armour, high-crested helmets framing their dour faces, it was clearly an option taken away from him as soon as he thought it.

They had landed in one of the many openings, in a hangar large enough to envelope the entire Latrurian ship, disembarking into a highly illuminated... cave?

It had seemed like a cave, with a ceiling so high that the top could not be seen, weapons far ahead of his own seemingly primitive ones tracking the movements of he and his praetorians as they made their way into the light and assembled themselves in serried ranks.

Kaelianos had always thought them so ferocious, eagle-topped standards held before each cohort of them, stoic centurions in 'sophisticated' suits of powered armour, tall plumed helmets framing the faces of the tallest and broadest warriors Kaelianos had been able to find and train.

Compared to the golden being that advanced toward them from the other side of the hangar-cave, and the ranks of giants clad in grey armour that followed in perfect step, they were but children.

At the sight of them the Primarchs heart began to quicken, and it was said in later years that he became as hard to look directly at as his gene-father.

"My son."

It was not a greeting but a statement, the blindingly bright figure coming forward to stand before Kaelianos, his own men shying away and more than one of them immediatly kneeling to the floor in his prescence. He could not deny that he too felt the need to kneel, forcing himself to remain where he was, intent on performing such a ritual of submission only if and when he desired.

In that moment he noticed a standard that one of the grey-clad warriors carried aloft, the banner showing an unknown scene upon it while at the top... at the top... his breath caught in his throat as he looked through squinting eyes at the two-headed form of a shimmering aquila.

"Who are you?" He managed to say eventually, dragging his eyes back to peer at the 'man' before him.

"I am the Emperor of Mankind, your father."

He wanted to reject this claim, wanted to call this shining beacon a liar and a false emperor, wanted to do anything but accept that he was who and what he claimed - of course he could not do it, such a notion was comical!

Kaelianos had grown rapidly, learnt more than any scholar or sage on Rasena, taken leadership of hundreds of planets from a senate of peers with nary a word spoken against him and no weapons raised.

How, he asked himself honestly, could he have achieved these things if he were like any other man? Any other mortal?

No, the Emperor could not be lying.

"And them?"

"They are my warriors, my Astartes, my Space Marines."

A gesture bought one of these strange warriors forward, a word of command from the Emperor disengaging a helmet with a hiss, the face that confronted Kaelianos like looking in a slightly warped mirror; this Astartes was beautiful as any mortal would measure it, the face so different and yet so uncannily similar to his own, the dark eyes assuredly containing within them a portion of the Primarch himself.

"These are your own sons," continued the ruler of Mankind almost casually, ignoring the look on his progenies face, "Astartes of the Eighth Legion created in your image, their former lives beginning across Terra, now they are here."

"And... this?" Asked the Primarch, gazing at their meeting place in wonder even as he absorbed every detail of the Space Marine beside his father.

"This? This is a fortress taken by your legion from my enemies, an action that earned them their titles. It too belongs to you."

Kaelianos allowed himself further moments of contemplation, the Emperor allowing an amused expression to appear on his face before it vanished as quickly.

"I-I cannot leave Latruria undefended, there are worlds that need rebuilding and..."

"My son," said the Emperor, cutting him off, "I would not ask you to abandon so many worlds of Man. No, the crusade I lead is to forge our people into what they once were. I ask that you come with me, lead your sons, join me and your siblings."

"There are others?! Others... like me?"

"Yes, Kaelianos, your brothers and sisters."

The chuckle that followed was like the peeling of a thousand bells, and made Kaelianos forget about asking how this being - his father he reminded himself - could know his name.

"I place what worlds and warriors I possess into your hands, father. I shall come with you to the stars and help you forge anew a future for Mankind."

Only now did he kneel, the image of the Palatine Aquila and the face of the Emperor both burnt into his psyche, his eyes finally cast down at the deck of the monstrous vessel that would soon be his.

Legion Name: The Eighth legion has never had a previous legion name, having been straightforward and wary of names and titles even before being gifted to their Primarch - as such they retained only their number from founding, to reunion, and beyond.

Legion Number: VIII

Legion Strength: Approximately 180,000 Astartes, shifts often due to legion combat doctrines, as well as nearly innumerable auxiliary formations of the Imperial Army.

Warcry: "We bring death, that man may thrive."

Not so much a war-cry, the Eighth not being generally fond of such 'barbaric displays', but more a reminder and affirmation of why they fight, typically said prior to an engagement.

Armour Appearance: The armour of the Eighth is by and large uniform, gunmetal being the colour of the masses, with brass/bronze trimming; of course, differing ranks require different accoutrements – Centurions with transverse crests etc – and more ornamentation.

One quirk of the legion due to their Primarchs adoption of Rasenan military equipment and stratagems, these being chiefly frontal assaults, is the overly high amount of Mark III power armour – the so-called “Iron Armour” - and the adoption of the scutum (a breacher shield in most respects) by Marines of nearly every rank and the infantry masses for certain. If it is not one of these, it is likely to be a prototype 'Storm Shield', a smaller version currently in development.

The legion symbol is the encircled laurel wreath, a sign of victory taken from Terran history as well as Rasenan athletic feats.

Dramatis Personae:



Favoured Tactics/Battlefield Role: In spite of how it may appear to some, and although against most enemies the Eighth does favour the straightforwardness of an aggressive forward push, they truly do not specialise in anything and possess an inclination toward the old adage of a river-rush that bends in the breeze but never snaps.

The organisation of the legion, and the utter discipline prioritised by Kaelianos that runs through it, allows the Eighth to flexibly adjust themselves as-and-when the situation requires it of them.

In general the Eighth Legion uses little in the way of vehicles (at least for their Astartes, the auxilia are another matter!), with the exclusion of bikes and airborne transports, putting most emphasise on the simple foot-soldier on the ground and supporting him with mobile batteries of Quad Launchers and Rapier Carriers especially.

Jack-of-all-trades and masters of none, Kaelianos and his legion pick and choose from other legions, capable of building fortifications that fall just short of the standards of the Nineteenth Legion, of launching boarding actions that would make the Dread Lords smile, or even of intelligence gathering that may be but a tad less inaccurate than those drawn up by Micholi and his sons.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: Kaelianos and his legion come from a realm that bore little of the brunt of the Age of Strife, a unified and technologically adequate pocket-empire that is becoming more advanced as time goes by, the Primarch wishing to see a unified mankind once more under the leadership of the most exceptional human – for he retains the belief that the Emperor is simply a super ordinary man, albeit the pinnacle of their species – that is may return to the Age of Technology once more.

Outside of this there are a number of things that drive the life of an Eighth Legion Space Marine, perhaps the highest being adherence to the Fifteen Rasenan Virtues, fifteen aspects of personal and mental development and fortitude required of every Astartes of the legion. This is combined with a professionalism and discipline seen almost nowhere else in the Crusade, everything from trigger discipline to internal competition between singular marines to entire formations, every aspect tailor made to produce a generalist soldier, rather than a warrior, who acts in concert with his peers.

One Remembrancer commented that watching the Eighth train was akin to viewing 'drills like bloodless battles, and battles as bloody drills.'

Adaptability and always learning in and away from the fields of war, loyalty, fidelity and espirit de corps in all they do, constant striving to excel at ones craft for the betterment of the unit, the company, the legion and the Imperium as a whole, these are the markings of the warrior-scholar par excellence and what the Eighth embody in their trials and tribulations.

Relationships: There is honestly not much to be said for the ins-and-outs of the legions relationships, Kaelianos more than understanding of his brothers and sisters, and always willing to try to view things from their own ways of thought and action.

His loyalty to the Emperor is absolute, though he is not a mindless drone, and his legions links with the Mechanicum are significantly more stable than most others, giving them the respect they require and receiving what he wishes in return. It is mutual and it is beneficial to both, as it should be.

As for humanity in general, and the bureaucracy of the Imperium, Kaelianos long ago decided to wield them as one might wield a blade, his innately born charisma coupled with a mind as keen at diplomacy as it is at war has allowed he and the Eighth to never truly come to blows with either the administrators of the burgeoning realm of man or those citizens within its borders.

Those that defy compliance and xenos races specifically, well, they should expect no mercy from Primarch or legion short of outright surrender for the former and outright extermination for the latter. Man is the true inheritor of the Milky Way and beyond, Kaelianos having no time for the Edict of Tolerance by which he nevertheless will abide because it is the law of the land and will of the Emperor... for now.

Name: Demervan Laranak
Gender: Male
Pysker Grade: Kappa
Homeworld:

Appearance:

Demervan stands at an average height for a Primarch and on the surface appears slimmer without his armor. Exceptionally well groomed, his black hair is sleek yet silky while he beard is trimmed and smooth. His light bronze skin is without blemish and only the most fashionable of scars across his left eye and a nick on his right cheekbone, both giving off equal parts an attractive aggression and a mysterious mark.

Personality:

Demervan is a man of bold speech and bolder actions. He feels no need to hide his Primarch superiority, no apologize for his actions which he has absolute confidence in on the level of ancient Greek hubris. Feeling right at home with the underworld of any society, he openly engages in the vices of drink and dice as well as women, seeing it as completely acceptable so long as he completes whatever tasks he is given.

However, beyond simply confident bravado and sins, there is one other thing which Demervan holds dearly and that is the concept of Honor Among Thieves. Politicians and nobles are not to be trusted as they are only capable of looking after themselves and their own careers, but to be a part of a criminal family is to be one of many who look out for each other. This honor is so sacred that he has personally ensured to brutal execution of well over a dozen of his best lieutenants who broke the sacred laws of honor.

Demervan cares little for the formalities and “noble customs” that other Legions and Imperial society as a whole focuses so much on to the point he has a disdain for those who have gained their ranks purely through family connections and nepotism. The Primarch of the 20th Legion prides himself on meritocracy and is willing to accept anyone into his fold so long as they prove their worth and aren’t a pompous git.

He is a many surrounded by mysteries and lies, some of which were created by him. He is unfortable with anyone knowing too much about him, likely a self defense mechanism honed over years of ruthless underworld politics. While not exactly a habitual liar, Demervan's relationship with the truth is often very fluid.

History:
There are some dozen versions of how Demervan landed upon the world of Salott and how he rose to power. Some versions claim that he was picked up by a major gang and adopted by a Mob Boss. Others say that he was raised by normal parents but fell into crime where he excelled. Others say that he was once a pit fighter who broke his own chains and formed his own gang. Whatever the reason for it, Demervan has never once told the same story twice in its entirety, preferring the anonymity and confusion it generates to ensure that no one really ever figures it out.

What is known for sure is that at some point he created his own gang called the Black Flag Battalion, either from combining other gangs or raising it from nothing. In time, the BFB would spread its influence until it became the single entity which controlled organized crime upon Salott. There wasn’t a street in a city under their control, a police department on their payroll or a drug sale that they hadn’t permitted. In a highly ironic twist, once they became masters of the underground, overall crime decreased on the planet as the gang warfare and bloody street fights had all but disappeared.

With his power absolute, Demervan shifted from simply being the master of the underworld into something else to help cement himself: a pop culture icon. Through legitimate business practices, the BFB spread its imagery on everything from t-shirts to strippers, decorative stickers to billboards, jewelry to tv shows. With his own unnatural charisma, Demervan lead ran for the head of multiple nations, even forcing many of them into his own super national organization: the Salott Syndicate. Proving that he could lead soldiers and civilians as well as he could criminals and gangers, the Syndicate became Salott and Demervan, the Crown Prince of Crime.

The only thing known for a fact about Demervan personally is that he had fell in love with a woman although that is as much as is remembered. Some say she was an underworld princess, others a one night fling that became serious, or a prostitute that caught more than the Wolf's eyes. What is known is that this woman was named Illya and she took Demervan's last name in a grand ceremony the whole world watched. But Demervan was always going to outlive her by several life times; unlike so many other things, he stayed by her side until she finally passed. He has never quite been able to move on from his Queen, wearing her locket around his neck and not taking lightly when someone speaks ill of her or her memory.

When the Emperor came to Salott, it was under disguise as a single lawful vigilante who began to attempt to dismantle the empire Demervan had built. When the One-Eyed Kerberos finally figured out who was behind it, he personally set out to find this “Golden Virtue” hero who was destroying everything he built in an incredibly short amount of time. After a highly dramatic final confrontation at the top of Demervan’s own skyscraper, the Emperor revealed himself and dueled the Kerberos King. Their battle went on for a day and a night until the Emperor finally pushed Demervan over the edge, leaving him hanging. Offering his hand in exchange for submission and fealty, the only recorded incident of Demervan kneeling before someone else occurred and he was given the 20th Legion, the Storm Guard, and full Primarch regalia in exchange for granting the Syndicate control of the entire Salott System.

Since taking command, Demervan has brought a number of worlds and stellar empires into compliance, often by exploiting local criminal elements and using them as proxies to ensure as few casualties for his own legionaries. However, he hasn’t “gone soft” as the 21 Banners’ actions during the Siege of Taratoru and the Battle of Endicele Bay proved.

Skills:



Wargear:

LEGION NAME: The 21 Banners (formerly Storm Guard)
LEGION NUMBER: XX
LEGION ORGANIZATION:
The Legion is organized into 21 "Banners", each of about 5000 marines for a total active fighting force of 105,000 marines and around about one million normal humans serving in the Free Companies that follow the 21 Banners. Each Banner is also sometimes called a "Family" who is led by a Don and is broken up into Syndicate of 1000 marines. Each Syndicate within the same Banner tends to follow a theme, be it color, animal, weapons, etc. Dons have a great deal of power over their Banners as most of the heavier equipment in the 21 Banners is put in the Banner level and assigned as needed to the Syndicates and Squads.

The inner circle of the 21 Banners is the Koza Nosra, an advisory council comprised of Dons handpicked by Demervan.

ARMOR APPEARANCE:


WARCRY:
"Do your worse!"
"Don't even try!"
"Watch us/me now!"

ROLE/SPECIALTY:
The 21 Banners is a fast attack and orbital shock legion, specializing in rapid assaults on ground or drop pod assaults from orbit. Favoring a slight lean towards melee and close combat, they also make use of various forms of psychological warfare and combat stims. Their psychological combat can range from sowing doubts or enticing enemies to straight up using terror and torture to terrify them. The wide variety of combat stims and “battle brews” the legion creates have also become a specialty and have become so renowned that the apothecaries are instead known as Alchemists.

HONOR GUARD:
The Legion’s Honor Guard is called the Golden Guard Oathsworn who wear very distinctive armor and typically are armed with a variant of the Reaper Autocannon known as the Blitzer Autocannon or the “Salottic Typewriter”.


IMPORTANT PEOPLE:



LEGION CHARACTER:

The 21 Banners takes heavily after its criminal roots on Salott in obvious and subtle ways. Most obviously is their much more lax discipline on the surface compared to their sibling legions and their individualism. Almost all of the legionaries have some form of self-stylization or personalization through paint, marks or trinkets.

Despite their fairly verbose and boastful nature, they are actually a pretty insular Legion, seeing themselves all as "honored family" and trying to get any information about them is extremely difficult without concerted effort. They take the maxim "honor among thieves" extremely seriously; while they open admit that they are black sheep, they aren't snakes.

To many of the poor, downtrodden and outright outcasted criminal elements, the 21 Banners is something akin to a patron saint. Wherever they go, they find no shortage of people wishing to join their free companies or even try to become a marine themselves.

RELATIONS

Stemming from their own history, it comes as no surprise that much of the Imperial Authority does not approve of Demervan and his Legion. The man swings around his primarch authority willy nilly with only the faintest of regards for protocol. Orders not from his siblings or the Emperor are taken as suggestions and the Kerberos King doesn't even hide his disdain for the upper class of aristocrats and noble elites. Much of what he does appears to be entirely dependent according to his mood if you listen to the bureaucrats and generals.

To those lower on the social ladder, Demervan is considered "one of their own" with his legion preferring to mix with the troopers and the gangers than the officers and politicians. He is seen as a sort of beacon of hope, an affirmation of their life style yet also having the chance to get out of it with the Free Companies who are often less rigid than the various Imperial Army units. Where ever the 21 Banners go, the stock rooms seem to be a bit lighter and causality lists are a bit longer, not because of additional deaths but because officers can no longer find their soldiers as the Free Companies welcome some new, entirely unrelated members.

Name: Eiohsa izva Bronakavh.

Gender: Female

Homeworld: Kayaamat

A vast super-earth hive world, Kayaamat is a blasted, toxic hellscape of acid rains, toxic oceans, volcanic ash swept plains, and sprawling hives. Unlike many hive worlds of the Imperium, its hives are not skyscraping spires but dense, multi-tiered slabs of plascrete that can span tens of thousands of square kilometers. It lay at the center of a small stellar empire, a great industrial monolith of endless Manufactora, belching forth endless streams of material. Kayaamat’s industrial output is sufficient to rival that of many forge worlds, and its population is an innumerable throng of humanity, with even Xenos present amidst its vast population. The vast expanses of ash wastes, almost uninhabitable by the standards of normal humanity, are dominated by enormous gangs that trace their origins to the hive cities. Those who did not follow the Primarch Eiohsa into her army were expelled from the underhives in which they had previously dwelt. They now roam the ash wastes, warring with one another in vast fleets of vehicles - many curiously constructed from the aged, scrap-plated chassis of various tanks and armored personnel carriers - in a manner curiously reminiscient of the Daughters of Iron’s tactics of mechanized infantry and armored warfare.

Appearance:
Height: Variable

WIP Art:


Eiohsa has no true form, possessing an ability to modify her physical being to an extent nearly as great as that of the Emperor himself.

Personality:
Eiohsa izva Bronakavh is an unusual figure for a Primarch. Posessed of a jovial, amicable disposition, a curiosity for the universe and its nature, a kind heart, and a deep concern for the wellbeing of even the lowliest of citizens in the Imperium; she strikes a radically different figure from the likes of many of her brothers and sisters. Her beliefs and actions influenced and informed by a religious faith she stubbornly defends, despite the disapproval of the Emperor, Eiohsa’s crusades are marked by acts of great mercy and compassion to the fallen enemies of the Imperium. Beneath the kindness, however, there is the capacity for rage. Woe betide those who have earned her ire, and just as there are those who know her for the humanitarian works erected in the wake of her passing there are those who know her as an annihilator of all, subjecting entire worlds to the oblivion of Exterminatus. When pushed to such measures, it has every time exacted a great toll on the Primarch, who would seclude herself from her Legion for days after. Inevitably she would emerge, resolute once more to resume the crusade.

She has accepted the cruel reality, and cold calculus of war, as have all of her kin, but even so Eiohsa strives to minimize the casualties to the forces under her command, thrown into brutal meat grinder campaigns though they often are. A near fanatical loyalty to the Imperium is among her greatest virtues, one she shares with the Kayaamatian elements of her Legion. Enshrined as among the noble virtues of the Aspects Kherhl and Myldal, Eiohsa strives to cultivate loyalty and perserverence within herself and her Legion. Though she doubts the Emperor, defies his Imperial Truth, and mourns at the great suffering his orders bring her Legion, she accepts no question of loyalty and permits no doubt of their allegiance to the Imperium, no matter the brutal warzones into which she and her legion are thrown, no matter the grueling attrition, no matter the loathing of her kin.

The faith of the Primarch is surely the most polarizing, divisive element of her character. Raised from discovery in the faith of the Universal Creed, or Veravselennya as it is called in the native language of Kayaamat, the faith has provided the Primarch with a guiding hand throughout her years. While it is far from the dominant theme in her life, her faith and her adherence to its tenets are a key piece of her character. The faith worships a “Universal Being”, known in Kayaamatian as “Sushestovselennya” or more simply as Dev, or “divine one”. This Being is further represented by four Aspects, each representing their own values, virtues, and flaws to be overcome. To follow the Aspects in their good forms is to practice the philosophy of “Good Thoughts, Good Words, and Good Actions” with respect to each of their domains, while taking care to control and excise from one’s soul the vices and failings that together represent evil - known as “The Malevolent Forces.” Upon a soul’s achievement of enlightenment, when they have followed the creed and its teachings well and cleansed themselves of failings, the soul will ascend from the mortal realm and unite with the grand gestalt of Dev. The soul rests among trillions who have come before, a distinct part of the greater whole and sharing in the euphoria of divine existence.

The Aspects are listed thus:
Kherhl: To be strong and defiant in the face of adversity or threat, yet to never bring harm to the innocent. To fight and vanquish that which would harm the Good, and to never be tempted by the allure of power and war.

Tazirn: To pursue knowledge, change, and enlightenment without scheming, cruelty, and deception.

Myldal: To be resilient and stand together against threats to life, but not to be stagnant and unmoving. To cherish life and its blessings, and to strive for life’s beauty to be untainted by suffering and depression.

Salayna: To love and take pleasure in life and its joys without excess or doing harm to others.

The Omnissiah: A controversial fifth aspect adopted recently by elements of the faithful, the Omnissiah represents the virtue of technological progress and the great benefits it can bring to humanity - while warning of the threats it can pose, and the responsibility that comes with such power. The exact nature of this fifth aspect, and its domain, is one of intense debate and argument. This new interpretation is neither encouraged or discouraged by Eiohsa.

The Emperor: An even more controversial, rarely seen potential sixth aspect, upon discovery of the broader Imperium, the truth of the Primarch Eiohsa’s nature, and the knowledge of the superhuman being that created not only her but 19 more like her, the instinct to worship him as a god is one many humans throughout the Imperium have doubtless felt. It is frowned upon in Kayaamat though, for a corporeal being is no god, merely one of the many countless souls who must wage the good fight. This interpretation is strongly condemned by Eiohsa, for she knows the Emperor to be a man, perhaps the greatest man to have ever lived, but a man nevertheless. Her personal dislike for many of the Emperor’s views notwithstanding, she finds the concept of worshipping him a weak, servile gesture, one not reflective of reality.

The faith holds that, as the faithful grow stronger and as their prayers, thoughts, feelings, and actions fill the mortal plane with good - then heaven will reflect this. The Malevolent Forces must be defeated and driven back, their corrupting elements excised from life and temperance and self control established in all, for the good of not only the temporal world but of the Heavens too. In an age of the ruthless, of the cruel, Heaven will lie in turmoil and so its effects will bleed into the realm of the living. With the triumph of good over evil, prosperity will follow; and with the prevalence of evil over good, the fate of all is that of misery and violence; such is the burden upon humanity and all life that follow the good path.

This is the philosophy of the faith that plays a large role in guiding the actions of the Primarch.

Skills: Eiohsa is neither the greatest tactician to ever live nor the wisest strategist, she is not an unparalleled master of logistics, a peerless leader and politician, an unrivaled guerilla, an unequalled master of artifice and technology, the most skilled at use of a blade, or any such feats her brothers and sisters might boast of. Eiohsa is a Primarch, one of immaculate skill in myriad fields, many approaching true mastery - but she knows there is always one better. In logistics and management, she is outshined by her brother Wolfram. In her skill with words, the power to sway those to her side through speech alone, her brother Micholi surpasses her. At sheer brutality and skill in close combat, Sarghaul is her superior. At the swaying and bending of populations to her will, she is outdone by Veritas. In understanding of technology and works of the forge, she is far outdone by Augor. But she is an exceptionally skilled orator, a wonderfully gifted artisan, possesses a burning curiosity and thirst for knowledge, a leading commander of military affairs at every scale, delights in the perfect distribution of resources, rules with a kind hand and is beloved by her people, and is a ferocious personal combatant in her own right. Eiohsa represents a blend of many of the best attributes for a being such as herself to hold, even though she is not the preeminent master of any.

Assignment Grade: Alpha
Eiohsa’s abilities as a psyker, though potent, are significantly limited in scope. Whether this is due to some restriction placed upon her by the Emperor, a natural limitation, or merely the product of ignorance of her abilities, her powers manifest two broad categories: control over her own physical form and detection of warp phenomena.

She possesses a keenly sensitive ability to detect and analyze various warp phenomena. The Primarch, when gazing upon another human being, sees not merely the corporeal vessel of their body, but their very soul glowing in the warp. Upon death, she can see and feel the soul of the fallen as it leaves its body. She feels the agony of trillions of souls trapped within the eye of terror while in proximity to the gaping rift in reality. For the Primarch, the Immaterium is not an intangible, imaginary thing, but something she herself witnesses daily. Almost all living beings contain a soul, and each soul is a distinct individual - and the Primarch can gaze upon these souls as though they were bright beacons of light.

Much like the Emperor, she possesses a potent ability to modify her body and its capabilities - the Primarch can shrink herself down to the size of a normal human and cloak her being, going unnoticed by normal humanity except by powerful psykers. She can grow herself to gargantuan sizes, crushing tanks beneath her armored foot and seizing aircraft from the sky. She can multiply her already prodigious strength, smashing through the hull of a tank with ease or crushing power armor as though it is nothing. She can harden her skin, increase the speed at which she moves, and augment all other already superhuman physical capabilities of a Primarch. Furthermore, she can use this ability to change the very appearance of her form, shaping her body to her will, able to take on the guise of almost anyone.

Legion Name: Daughters of Iron (formerly known as The Wolves of Terra, which many of the Terran marines still refer to themselves as)

Legion Number: XVI

Legion Strength: Currently at a strength of 250 thousand Astartes, countless more support personnel and non-Astartes augmented humans

Armour Appearance:


(Original - Unable to find artist

The Legion does not use a predefined set of colors or insignia, instead painting their armor in varying camoflage patterns for use on campaign, adapting it to suit the environment and conditions they are expected to face.

Warcry: “Ura!” (New Astartes), “By the Emperor’s Will!” (Terran Astartes)

HYPERION AIGLEOS

Name: Hyperion Aigleos
Titles: The King of Lions, The Golden Giant, The Second Sun
Gender: Male
Height: 14'1"

Planet: Hemera
System: Ashvinium
Sector: Vesta

Hemera is the only habitable planet of the Ashvinium dual star system. The yellow giant Sulis is orbited by the red dwarf Orcus. Also called the planet of everlasting daylight, every portion of Hemera is illuminated by at least one star. Rather than the usual day-night cycle Hemera is defined by white, yellow, orange and red shifts. It's a knight world home to House Lucienus who also also formed the ruling class of Hemera. The planet itself is under constant peril of the Orchinates, a mysterious breed of techo-biological creatures that are especially active under the pure shine of the red sun Orcus. As the former capital of the Vestan League and later the famous birthplace of Hyperion the planet underwent a rapid growth and became something akin to a Hive World while still being admninistered by House Lucienus. One of Hemera's curious elements are the extensive orbital structures left behind from the Age of Strife. Astrum Vis Conligitor, a gigantic archeotech solar collector array which got reactivated and now powers wide range of orbital structures.

Hemera is where Hyperion grew up yet his seat of power was relocated to the artificial fortress-moon of Heliopolis. Used to be an abandonned archeotech megaconstruct found by Hperion he eventually made the artificial planetiod the new capital of the Vestan League and later the Vesta sector. The surface is dominated by defensive emplacements and sprawling hive cities, having untold miles of ceramite and plasteel as their foundation. The middle levels on the other hand feature an artificial ecosystem with vegetation-rich soil, hydrophonics and residence for the affluent. Some of these levels also act as the Lions' personal training grounds ranging from exercise places to wildernesses made to simulate dangerous environments. The innermost levels are the heart of Heliopolis, featuring engineering rooms and wide range of technological marvels which needs constant care from a legion of Techpriests. Though has its own power source and even capable of erecting void shields Heliopolis is incapable of locomotion, limited to only maneuvering engines needed for orbit corrections.


Hyperion is a statuesque person known to possess an imposing physique even by Primarch standards. He's known to have auburn hair but occasionally it can change anywhere between the shades of platinum blond to deep crimson. His piercing eyes have a sky blue tint but they can be also overtaken by a golden glow. His well-kept mustache is an iconic part of his face. In terms of body shape Hyperion is known for his wide shoulders and frankly overdeveloped upper body. Even compared to his already towering stature his chest rivals that of an Astartes Dreadnought. Even moreso than the other Primarchs he has a difficult time to go through narrow spaces. Hyperion usually needs transport custom fit for his dimensions in order to board them. His brass colored shining armor is accented with blue, its high polish often makes Hyperion a truly radiant giant. Its multi-scaled construction rattles with a distinct melody which broadcasts his approach.

Hyperion is a boisterous yet entirely dignified giant of a man. He's warmhearted and generous person who approaches others lovingly even if he keeps them at arms length. Hyperion rarely uses indoor voices and wherever he's the place almost resonates of his presence. And yes, he has a superiority complex. He consider himself the pinnacle of humanity and second only to the Emperor. There's practically no end to his confidence and he remains positive even when facing grave adversity. Hyperion doesn't look down on other people yet he does pity them for their inferior birth. This extends even to fellow Primarchs, although Hyperion would never make this apparent. Given his complex it's given that Hyperion has a constant desire to prove himself and reaffirm his place in the world. He loves challenges and competitions, sometimes even treating combat like a game. He is a gracious loser who treats failure as something he could learn from to be closer to his ideal self. Hyperion is honorable and dislikes unfair challenges that favor him. On the other hand he is not repulsed by the other side trying to stack the challenge in their favor. He believes the increased adversity and stacked odds only give him more to strive for.

His life philosophy is rooted in texts of Hemeran sages, the so-called Inner Sun Theorem. According to the sages one's inner bastion can be likened to a blazing sun which enriches their life. One has to identify their own sun and kindle it to true radiance. Like the changing shifts of Hemeran day cycle, one's sun has many faces. Discovering new faces to one's sun lead to fulfillment. Hyperion has found many faces to his own sun yet the most radiant facet of it all is the Emperor himself. As the very personification of his sun he serves the Emperor with almost blind faith. Hyperion considers the Emperor the only person worthy of his devotion and unconditional trust. In addition to following this difficult yet dignified path he made sure to teach his interpretation of the Inner Sun Theorem to his own legion and even government officials he had particularly lasting relation with. Hyperion has firm beliefs yet he does not force people to share them. The essence of the Inner Sun Theorem is about self-discovery and Hyperion follows this almost religiously.
Hyperion is a mighty warrior known to fight with unparalleled ferocity. Like a whirlwind on legs the giant's swings mow down masses without leaving options to approach him. His bulky build may not make him the fastest warrior but the sheer strength behind each blow leaves no room to exploit before the next strike comes crashing down. Upon analysis the reason behind his whirlwind nature becomes apparent, he never strikes with his full power. Hyperion has an overdeveloped upper body which grants him phenomenal strength even from his arms alone. He does not need to strike with all his might. Nor it's wise for him to do so. Hyperion's body is unbalanced with his huge upper body being barely supported by the comparatively smaller legs. He has a weak foundation and must hold his strength back to avoid being caught flat footed. If he were to deliver strikes with his full strength it'd be devastating yet it would also give a massive opening for his enemies to exploit. Thus Hyperion must fight conservatively. This is the curse of his inhumane strength. On the outset Hyperion may appear to be a simple fighter who relies on their pure muscle to overcome obstacles yet deep down his technique is refined and very nuanced. Normally his body build would make Hyperion a questionable duelist but combined with his unique style he can actually dominate in mock fights against his fellow siblings.

His imposing body and boisterous confidence also lead room to charisma. He's an awe-inspiring figure whose presence and words could be like something spoken by a fierce god. He's a dignified and glorious leader, always capable of commanding respect. Be it in governance or out on the battlefield, Hyperion is a person who could rally people behind him. He may not be the best speaker, nor an absolute genius in tactics but those he interacts with burn with fire likened to thousands of suns. He isn't perfect, nor he pretends to be such. Yet his men cannot help but admire Hyperion, viewing him as their ideal. His faults don't mar this radiant existence, rather complement it.

For those unfamiliar with Hyperion outside his reputation may be surprised to learn this shining giant does not merely revel in war. Hyperion derives the most enjoyment from seeing his work in its destined glory. He's a builder, both of wondrous crafts and whole nations. He has a keen eye for management even if he prefers to leave the paper work to his subordinates. He has eyes to see greatness in people and nurture that to fruition. He likes to surround himself with great people rather than trying to take on a task on his own, appointing the right men for the right jobs. All the while Hyperion is open to new experiences, always ready to improve.

Alpha-class Psyker
Hyperion is a massively powerful psyker, taught by multiple disciplines even if never mastered any. His most famous ability is the so-called "battle aura", a mysterious instinctual forcefield which reinforces his body, protects him and can be even expelled as raw psychic energy. When his battle aura is at its height Hyperion's body grows while his muscles bulge even further. More importantly his unseen aura bursts into psychic flames and his body radiates dangerous heat. Obviously maintaining high levels of aura and using large amounts of psychic energy will tire Hyperion out hence needs to use this in moderation. A psyker's mental fortitude can fluctuate but for Hyperion this is extreme. His beliefs are rooted in the Sun and he's remarkably weaker during the night. Conversely his power rises dramatically during the day and reaches its plateau during the noon. It's said that Hyperion is second only to the Emperor during the noon. When the Sun shines the brightest, he is the most radiant.

Hyperion had learned psychic arts from multitude of places yet his foundation originate from his mother, Agamadea's witchcraft. This unconventional method straddles the line towards sorcery yet never quite passes it. Her mother may had been a sorcerer but Hyperion possesses the iron will to resist the charms of tainted power. One of his unique abilities involve the absorption of raw heat and radiant energies, turning these sources into his personal power. For example he could breach plasma reactors and use them like batteries. Very rarely and with preparation he could also convert some weapons fire into power but this is far less reliable. Aside from that he inherited some of Agamadea's healing talents and has relatively decent expertise with elemental fire or setting up psychic wards. As a psyker he also has premonitions on occasion as well as the capability to communicate telepathically. Yet as far as proficiency goes neither of these are Hyperion's forte.

- Tuagh Solais:
One handed axe crafted out of Nemean Lion's very heart. A massively powerful force weapon imbued with Nemea's mysterious xenotechnology. Like any force weapon Tuagh Solais stores, amplifies and directs Hyperion's psychic power which makes it very handy both for combat and also controlling his innately large psyker potential. Tuagh Solais is famously so powerful any mortal it cleaves burst into flames from the raw immaterium. When fully charged with Hyperion's psychic powers the axe is known to be an immeasurably destructive device. Bound to Hyperion the axe at times appear as if it has a will on its own. For example once struck in the ground only Hyperion is worthy to lift it. The axe also flies back to Hyperion once he had thrown it, be it however many miles.

- The Promethean Gauntlet:
A giant power fist worn on Hyperion's left. The main body is made of auric-adamantium alloy, the only material assured to never break under Hyperion's strength. Its sheer size allows the gauntlet's wrists to hide a trio of Lastrum Bolters. Over the years the gauntlet was adjusted and upgraded by multiple artisans and even Hyperion himself. The current variant holds only one of the original Lastrum Bolters, a Volkite Blaster a Nova Projector. Power is supplied by a Nemesis Force Bracer replacing the comparatively weak generator and turning Hyperion into the gauntlet's battery. The end result is a very versatile equipment which can be used at all ranges and could even temporarily project refractor fields for protection.

- Orichalcum Scale Mail:
By using an extract made from slain Orchinates to cure the steel they can create Orichalcum. The process is labor-intensive and requires a supply of Nemean beast carcasses. In addition the Mechanicus only gave provisional sanction to its production. As a result only Hyperion has permission to wear armor made of this new material. Orichalcum is about on par with high quality personal armors yet when it comes to maintenance the Orichalcum scales are easy to replace even in the middle of the campaign. Another important feature is that they react to Hyperion's psychic power, allowing them to stretch and enlarge as needed to follow the Primarch's temporary size changes. The armor is kind of heavy, almost twice the weight of artificer armor yet provides the same protection. The scale armor flexes better than solid breastplates which gives him a modicum of speed yet also tires him faster, turning Hyperion into a deliberate and well-contained tornado of power.

While Hyperion is well-known for his might he also has some less-known yet still understood weaknesses. For starters his imposing physique has a sorts of Achilles heel, it's largerly unbalanced. With the combination of restrained strikes and psychic assistance he manages to keep himself upright but in case he'd need to deliver a strike with all his power it'd unbalance him enough to take painful seconds of recovery. More skillful fighters may also take advantage of his comparatively weak legs to rob Hyperion from his anchor to the ground. Of course the King of Lions may expect your trick but this doesn't change the fact he has a physical weak point in a sense.

His second famed weakness is psychological in nature. He grew up on Hemera of the everlasting daylight and developed a philosophy rooted in the sunlight shining down upon him. As a consequence he feels weaker when caught in the darkness. Depending on the extend of dark and the length of exposure this could sap his strength considerably. Although this weakness is only psychological and Hyperion has shown to occasionally harness alternative sources as his "Sun". The Inner Sun Theorem considers everything that gives meaning to a person their "sun" and by that extension Hyperion considers the Emperor his ultimate sun which always shines upon him. In case he's in a bind Hyperion can use his faith as a sudden burst of power although this forced state may not last indefinitely. Overall it's a wise advice to not poke the Lion unless you are prepared to get burnt.

Early Life
Hyperion's capsule drifted to Hemera of the everlasting daylight. His foster parents were the witch Agamadea and the giant mutant Phoronestor. While abominations by the Imperium this pair seemed to be an exception to the rule. They were of upstanding character whose corrupted nature made them ostracized from society. Hyperion spent the next 10 years in the wilderness. He slept among lions, foraged food, competed with Phoronestor and taught witchcraft by Agamadea. Eventually he had learned of his foster parents' sacred duty: they were guardians watching over a wellspring of immense power. The energies of the well permeated the forest which attracted Orchinates and unsavory individuals alike. Once old enough to fight Hyperion patrolled the forest alongside Phoronestor to ward off trespassers. This is around the time when he met Lykourgos the Great, esteemed errant knight. Hyperion mistook the knight for a malicious individual and attacked him, only to be disarmed and forced to yield. Realizing the youth's potential Lykourgos then offered to train him in knightly arts and promised to warn every soul to avoid the woods. The friendship between these two lasted a lifetime. Yet this serene and almost idyllic situation soon shifted for the worse. Agamadea became ill, afflicted by the strain of suppressing the well for so long. Without her input the power of the well only increased, drawing in hordes of Orchinates on the weekly basis. Worse, the forest began to take up frightening shapes and the once peaceful animals gone crazy. One day a horde of unparalleled size assaulted the fortress lead by a giant Orchinate resembling a lion-chimera. They battle was hard fought but the exhausted Phoronestor could not vanquish the lion. With all hope lost Agamadea used the last ounces of her power in a heroic struggle only to end up within the lion's maws. Hyperion just barely escaped with his life yet swore revenge.

Facing the Nemean Lion
The forest of Nemea soon became a new nest of Orchinates and the once huge lion-orchinate turned into a borderline invincible beast of colossal size known as the Nemean Lion. The delicate balance between knights and orchinates broke immediately and numerous villages fell prey to the beast's ire. Even when the combined might of the noble houses gathered to face this creature it only produced a standstill. The Nemean Lion was seemingly unstoppable. During this time Hyperion was a wanderer who slowly elevated to the status of a folk hero. He was neither a knight nor a noble, only an enigmatic commoner who fought beasts. Four deadly years passed under the crisis in which time Hyperion's might and skills only grew. With his preparations complete Hyperion was determined to end the Lion of Nemea for once and for all. Hyperion approached the lion's lair, the resting place where the colossal orchinate is kept away from the White Sun Sulis. Carrying an arsenal of mighty weapons Hyperion began his ambush. Yet the creature proved to be beyond his wildest imagination. Weakened as it were the beast still seemed impervious to all mortal means of harm. The fight went on for long hours during which every single one of Hyperion's equipment broke down. He had nothing left. Yet his concentrated efforts managed to break off one of the lion's claws. Capturing his price Hyperion took it for the exit, still chased by the lion. Even if by instinct the Lion of Nemea knew if it loses sight of Hyperion it'll die. The Primarch was counting on the beast's tenacity and so a 7 day long battle of attrition ensued. Hyperion will strike the beast with fervor during the White Sun and will hide in shelter during the Red Sun when Orchinates at the height of their power. Both sides were at their wits' end when the lion's impenetrable armor finally gave out. Using every last ounces of his power Hyperion leaped forth and delivered a vicious series of blows, ending the lion's reign of terror. With the beast vanquished the creature lost its form, turning into a massive puddle. Within the center of this puddle Hyperion saw a pulsing organ, the lion's heart. More than that Hyperion had recognized the wellspring's power. Using the strange amorphous material Hyperion then forged his legendary weapon, Tuagh Solais.
[To be continued...]

TBA

Official Name: Lions Illustris
Other Names: Suns of Hyperion, The Lion's Pride, The Lion's Legion
Old Names: Imperial Suns, Nova Vanguard, Astral Claws, Bronze Dragons, Celestial Champions
Legion Number: XIII
Primarch: Hyperion Aigleos
Legion Strength: exactly 120,000 active Legionaries at all times
Warcry: "Praise the Sun!"

Armour Appearance:

Lions Illustris are known to possess the largest supply of Mark II armors. The early cooling issues of the Maximus Armor and the Lions' traditional views made the upgrade unpopular and instead the Vestan armorers began modifying old equipment to meet the new standards, named Mark IIa. This introduced new ceramite plates inspired by the Mark IV, rearranged cabling to reduce exposure, replaced old systems where appropriate and numerous other minor alterations. These changes were quicker than producing new armors but still have drawbacks compared to just equipping the new Mark IV armors thus it's unpopular with other legions. The Lions are easily recognizable for their shiny and highly polished brass and bronze colors, meant to represent the Sun. For more visible accents they use neon blue metallic paint which gives them a will-o-wisp visage while illuminated by fire. While advanced sensors render typical camo pointless there's something to be said of the bravery of the Lions to brandish shining equipment easy to see even with the naked eye. And to be watched they shall. Their old Mark II power armors are known to be highly customized and often feature decorations to awe people.

The Lions Illustris recruits exclusively from Sector Vesta, Hyperion's own realm. As part of the Tithe every male child is mustered in the sector, seeing if they could offer worthy candidates. Those found worthy will be taken to Heliopolis at ages as early as 6, welcome to the Brotherhood of Sun. Unlike most the Lions' geneseed is preferably implanted in the preteens, leaving plenty of time for growth. During this time the children candidates undergo training, education and constant tests. Aside from learning to be better soldiers they are also taught Vestan arts and philosophies, craftsmanship and skills that are commonly associated with Hyperion. Many of the tests themselves are in a sense recreation of Hyperion's deeds. Of course with such standards not a lot of candidates succeed becoming full Astartes but depending on how far they got these individuals from the Brotherhood of Sun could achieve various heights of prestige in Vestan society. Unlike for many other legions the Astartes also retain their memories and has a vague yet existing connection to their old families.

The Lions Illustris are warrior poets who value both martial prowess and wisdom. They consider life a journey to self-perfection and their ideal being Hyperion. While many Primarchs have strong personal cults what Hyperion established is very much over the top. Lions are nurtured to be staunch atheists but they view their Primarch almost like a walking deity, their unquestioned Sun. They are constantly inspired by Hyperion and consider his words to be law. They all groom their mustaches in the fashion of their Primarch and some even dye their hair or change their appearance in other ways to resemble Hyperion.

Lions are rather sociable yet also keep outsiders at arms length. They are considered prideful yet not unreasonable. Many are eager to compete yet not afraid of actually losing. To them a defeat with the knowledge is almost more valuable than triumph. Yet this changes completely when it comes to the legion as a whole. While the individual legionary is brimming with optimism the entire body of the legion has a certain reputation which they must maintain at all costs. As a group the Lions Illustris struggles with a centuries old superiority complex. They must be better than anyone, the alternative is almost unthinkable. On a good day this could serve as a sorts of inner fire, galvanizing all the legionaries to action. Worst case scenario their wounded pride could send the Lions into an unexpected frenzy and they are willing to do almost anything to remedy it.

The Lions Illustris is considered an assault focused legion which methodically tears apart their opponent. Most of their equipment is colored in highly polished brass which denies camouflage for sheer intimidation factor. They put the enemy forces into disarray before conducting precise and timely strikes to collapse the enemy's ability to fight as a group. To do this they gather lot of intelligence and give fair degree of initiative for individual squads. They rarely fight in full strength, preferring to keep reserves in such state they could be deployed rapidly. The discipline of the Lions is perhaps their most remarkable aspect, able to coordinate to such degree the enemy has little time to adapt. Their flexible chain of command further capitalizes on this, allowing them to mix and match soldiers from different units when necessary. For example they can immediately merge two under strength squads or even chapters which then would continue the relentless assault. Alternatively they can absorb reinforcements rapidly as if the unit never suffered any loses, a characteristic they share with the Immortals. The Lions Illustris rarely attacks from the same direction as other forces of the Imperium. It's believed that the erratic nature of other armies would only disrupt the Lions' own maneuvers. The only exception are Solar Auxilia and Questor Imperialis from the Vesta sector who trained alongside the Lions.

Equipment-wise the most obvious quirk of the Lions is their preference for fire. They have a large stock of Volkites which they maintain excellently. This allows them to carry Volkite Charger as their standard weapon rather than the Bolter. Be it flamer, volkite or melta it's likely the Lions use an obscene amount of them. They associate the flames with the Sun and are outright exhilarated when surrounded by fire. Their own craftsmen and rock-solid relations with the Sollex cult of Mechanicum also provide them with some weapons unique to the legion. Most notably the Drakon Casters that can expel their content of Prometheum either as tongues of flame or intense streams of Melta. In melee the Lions chiefly use their Labyris, a more compact chainaxe distributed for all legionaries. On the other hand the artificial gravity of Heliopolis makes grav-vehicles unstable and as such the Lions Illustris uses little if any hovercraft due to the poor training environment.




Lykourgos, The Younger: Son of Lykourgos the Great he's one of Hyperion's closer confidants. Being too old to undergo the full Astartes process he only carries portion of the Space Marine enchantments but regardless a valiant fighter and worthy to stand beside Hyperion. Currently he's tasked with the protection and governance of Vesta during Hyperion's absence.

Escanor the Giant: Towering Space Marine and one of the mightiest among the Phoenix Guard. His imposing 10 feet height and customized Saturnine Terminator Armor renders him a complete juggernaut, a champion who's said to never lose during the noon. Hyperion is impressed by Escanor's prowess and personally spars with him on occasion. As mighty Escanor might be he's hardly wise and known to be somewhat bullheaded.

Brother Cassiel: Venerable Dreadnought serving the 13th Legion for over two centuries. He fell during the Unification Wars after saving the Emperor's life. In return for his service Cassiel became the first ever Astartes to be entombed within a Dreadnought sarcophagus and he loyally serves the Imperium even to this day. The procedure was experimental and compared to other Dreadnoughts his mental state is in a constant flux. One moment he's sharp as he were in life when another time he's hallucinating and relives visions of the Unification Wars. In such fantasy state Cassiel usually grasps his surroundings but reimagines them as other characters. Orks may become techno-barbarians, he starts babbling terms nobody understands anymore and his actions take a strange turn. This usually doesn't degrade his combat prowess, may even provide him with newfound fury. Yet for fellow legionaries this is a sad reminder of Cassiel's broken psyche.

The Lions Illustris are a popular legion and their tales spread across the Imperium. They are considered noble and powerful which is exemplified with their towering Primarch. They are borderline idolized by the masses and considered the very example of what the Astartes should be. As the Celestial Champions they strived for universal appeal but since their reorganization to Lions they bravely show what makes Legio XIII unique, only to awe the people further. They are considered heroes and if possible Imperial censors are even more zealous to strike at sources attempting to beschmirk their name. Criticizing Astartes is already a crime which may result in capital punishment but with the Lions' support one's loose lips could quickly cost an entire family. That being said for being so noble and respected, beneath the surface the Lions have a much more complicated web of relationships.

The Emperor, Hyperion and the Lions: The Lions' Primarch is revered not just personally but also spiritually. Though the legion is atheist they view Hyperion as an entity closest to god. This is particularly troublesome since Hyperion is devoted to the Emperor and would want his legion to feel the same. They don't, they only follow Hyperion and do everything else to respect him. The only exception are the Eclipse Watch and other small groups of Terrans who have this relation reversed. They are loyal to the Emperor first and consider Hyperion to be their superior and somebody like their "esteemed elder", not even a father figure. Hyperion knows this and even appreciates their behavior. Weird as that may seem.

Other Legions: The Lions Illustris consider themseves to be the best of all the twenty legions and would not shy away from proving it. They are fairly competitive and have a high opinion of themselves. Yet they are also indoctrinated to view other legions as their distant brothers, though with mixed effect. Another large group pays respect to fellow legions to not displease Hyperion, a similar reason as how their "loyalty" works for the Emperor. Then there are the occasional bad apples who pick fights and have to be reigned in by their comrades.

Imperial Administration: As a "popular legion" the Lions requently have interactions with the imperial governing system. In general these relations are positive although a strong minority of Imperials beleive that Hyperion is carving out his own personal empire. This could keep officials more wary of him or even perform actions to undermine the legion. The Eclipse Watch itself actually has their own separate relationship with the Administration, a rather shady one. The Eclipse Watch occasionally works in ways that is contradictory to the Lions yet serve Imperial intentions. They are loyal to the Imperium, not Hyperion, afterall.

Imperial Citizens: Hyperion wants to guide humans to prosperity, that is his grand duty. He beleives in mankind's great destiny. He is widely regarded as a just ruler beloved by his people. Yet when it comes down to the individual Hyperion may get oddly pragmatic about it. The life of a single human is inconsequential to the whole. While he's amicable in his interactions the Primarch doesn't really care of lowly people's lives. His gaze is fixed on the future while almost being blind to the present. His legionaries have varying stance on regular humans. Some can form personal connections with them while others are completely incapable of empathizing with humans. They prevent causalities to please Hyperion or to maintain the legion's image but when nobody sees them the Lions could be downright cruel.

Vestan Sector: Though Hyperion respects all of mankind it's obvious he has a very soft spot for the Vesta Sector. After joining the Imperium the region flourished like never before. In some sense it became an experiment from Hyperion to see if he can create his perfect nation on a small scale before trying to apply it on the galaxy as a whole. As for the legionaries they of course have a lot of connections to Vesta, bordering on patriotism.

Cult Mechanicum: The Lions have a bit odd relation to the Mechanicum. In general it can be regarded as positive but there are some obvious strains. For starters the Mechanicum is troubled over the Lions' usage of technology with questionable approval. While they don't disrespect the Mechanicum the Lions were treading a fine line on the eligibility of some of their equipment. Another stress point is Sollex, a Mechanicum sub-cult which has a tendency to shelter factions who were falling out of favor in Mars. The fact the Lions keep a very close relationship with Sollex members only make this more problematic. Regardless, compared to other legions where actions bordered on tech-heresy the behavior of the Lions is just mildly concerning.

Xenos: The Vestan League fought off numerous Xenos threats and this early experience shaped Hyperion's thinking about them. He has pretty sour experiences with most alien races and his title "Orkslayer" was not just earned for show. That being said he doesn't close up to the option of negotiating with Xenos. As a ruler he has experiences in making practical deals and for that matter he considers the Edict of Tolerance as such. While mankind is superior the xenos are good "fertilizer" for humans to grow upon. He has little intention of establishing cordial relationships with aliens but he will be delighted to use their xenopower as subjects and workforce for mankind's future. In his eyes the Edict of Tolerance is nothing less than an expression of mankind's imperialism. Xenos are inferior, treacherous beings yet there's some merit in subjugating them. The very least it's more productive than wasting power on exterminating docile aliens.

Psykers: Hyperion is a born psyker and raised by a witch. He views psychic powers like a crude gun, devastating but delicate. Hyperion is aware of the Immaterium and that malignant creature lurk within its depths yet largely obvious of demons, not to mention the nature of Chaos. What he is aware of is the dangers of sorcery. His adoptive mother was a sorcerer and Hyperion saw the terrible price of such powers. He considers psychic powers an useful tool, one that should not be ignored. At the same time he takes up a cautious stance and this is the main reason he does not completely trust the current Librarius even though he was one of the founders.

Gender:
Female

Homeworld:

Ixhun - The Serpents Emerald

A dense jungle planet located in the Segmentum Pacificus. Originally colonized in the later stages of the Age of Technology, Ixhun was to be used as a major exporter of wood and exotic animals among other jungle related goods.

As the planet received a handful of STCs and more colonists began to bolster its population in preparation for the exploitation of its resources, great warp storms cut the entire system from the rest of mankind even before news of the Men of Irons revolt was able to reach them. Ixhun, like many other planets, was plunged into a state of disarray. For millennia Ixhun remained cut off from the greater whole of mankind. The population of Ixhun finding itself split almost down the middle as the Warp Storms influence began to corrupt the jungle, animals, and even the populace themselves. At first the change was subtle on Ixhun, animals migrating enmasse for unexplained reasons, great blights upon the jungle, and eventually, the loss of contact with the city-states of the Eastern hemisphere.

When the war began it was without warning. In the dead of night the combined forces of the now corrupted Eastern city-states had fell upon the pure states of the West. The fighting was brief, and several smaller cities fell to the sudden onslaught, but as quickly as the attacks had begun they had ended just before sunrise. This pattern continued as night after night the Eastern states attacked only to withdraw before dawn in the event of unsuccessful sieges.

In desperate wars for survival, the loyalist city-states in the Western hemisphere of Ixhun warred with the savage and unrelenting corrupted city-states of the East. Over time the warring took its toll on what little infrastructure and industry existed on Ixhun, causing the planet to slowly revert back to a nearly feral state of technology and knowledge. Weapons slowly moved back to melee focuses as the STCs were one by one lost or simply unable to be maintained by the loyalists.

As the wars raged, the loyalist city-states found themselves pushed ever further back by the (unbeknownst to them) corrupted city-states of the East. Falling back into great walled cities of stone the Western city-states would continue their nightly fight against the East from behind their walls for the next several centuries. This everlasting conflict saw the populace of the West recognizing the Easts apparent disdain of the sun, and in time the West built great flat topped pyramids to perform rituals closer to the Sun, adopted symbology and a mythos that revered the Sun as their ardent protector, a God that kept the night at bay.

The fighting as well gave rise to a great warrior culture, placing emphasis on ones combat ability above most other forms of intellectual pursuits and seeing the ascendancy of great Priestly Warrior Kings within the city-states themselves. Seen as the chosen of the Sun and the protectors of its light, the Kings were worshiped on the level of a deity, and ritual sacrifices of captured enemies were offered to them just before nightfall in order ensure their protection from the encroaching dark lest they fail in their duty to their cities.

Following the discovery of Ixhun by the Imperium, the planet was allowed to remain in its feral state of existence, it's warriors providing ideal stock for the XVII Legion now united with their Primarch. Along with being allowed to remain feral, the war has not ended on Ixhun. The Imperium, and specifically a small detachment of Serpents of the Sun serving in recruiting duties take up periodic culling operations against the Eastern nations to ensure that the West, and their stock of viable recruits, is not over run and destroyed. This has perpetuated the war on Ixhun which has continued to remain at status quo as it has for centuries.

Appearance:

Coming in at 9' 2", Nelchitl is on the smaller side of her brother Primarchs in size, but is relatively even with her sister Primarchs. With dark brown eyes known to deeply entrance or unsettle most mortals Nelchitl looks upon and black hair to match, she is a strikingly beautiful Primarch stirring great emotions in all mortals who gaze upon her. Though her beauty flickers and falters when compared to her sister Primarch Nimue, her beauty is yet undeniable. Possessing a far more lithe figure than the majority of her brothers, Nelchitl is not lacking in strength despite this apparent size difference.

When not in her power armor, Nelchitl opts to wear rather standard Astartes robes and a body glove beneath it.


War Gear:
-A set of custom armor directly drawn from the lessons learned in creating armor for the Sisters of Silence. It provides far better protection and ease of movement than her Legionnaires standard Mk II and Mk IV armor sets.

-A massive, single handed, double edged chainsword. Likened to the simple but brutal teethed weapons of Ixhun before the arrival of the Emperor.

-A custom made, master crafted plasma pistol. Larger than the average plasma pistol, this variant possesses the ability to fire further than standard plasma pistols and can fire up to 18 plasma bolts reliably before a risk of overheating.

Personality:
While Nelchitl's brothers and sisters are patient strategists and calculating logisticians, naval genius's and thousand year empire builders, Nelchitl is none of these things. The tedium of war councils do not suit her, the endless numbers and data sets of the logistics of war bore her, the complex navigational and firing data of naval engagements mean little to her mind, and the finesse of diplomacy required in empire building fails her. Impatient and ever wanting for the next burst of excitement in her life, Nelchitl is very much the antithesis of the vast majority of the children of the Emperor.

Possessing a lust for excitement beyond simply thrill seeking, Nelchitl often places herself at the forefront of her Assault Squads actions much to the horror of her veteran Captains and officers. With a tenacity practically unrivaled among her siblings, Nelchitl is relentless in her pursuit of that which she craves. Be it the next hill in thick combat, a planet teeming with xenos filth, or man and material to sate her Legions unending thirst for resources. She pushes forward by what means she has along the path most open to her victory until the victory is hers to relish in.

Nelchitl is by no means a blind war crazed Primarch. She understands that not all battles can be won and is more than willing to withdraw a failed bid for the chance at victory another day. Though she possesses a mind more suited to battle than the planning surrounding every engagement, she is more than aware of that fact and leaves the majority of planning to her trusted war council.

Skills:



Assignment Grade:
Nelchitl's Assignment Grade is Kappa. She possesses no ability to actively harness and unleash her latent psychic ability, though it manifests regularly as miraculously lucky events.

Biography:
Taken by the warp, Nelchitl spent several decades of real time in the turbulent tides of the immaterium until finally her pod exited the warp and fell to the surface of Ixhun. Her pod had landed just beyond the walls of the city-state of Ocotopec on a day wrought with unnatural thunderstorms. It is said by the priesthood that the pod carrying Nelchitl traveled to ground on a lightning bolt sent from the Sun Above, though those that actually witnessed its entrance would say it more so just appeared a dozen meters off the ground before striking the dirt at speed.

Taken in by the priesthood of Ocotopec, Neclhitl's peculiarities soon became apparent. Just a handful of years after her arrival to Ixhun she was nearing the size of an adult and possessed an intellect that far outstripped the best the priesthood had to offer. Through her raising in the priesthood Nelchitl was brought up to be a devout follower of the Sun worshiping religion on Ixhun, even achieving full priesthood herself at the standard age of just seven.

At the same time that her religious zeal was being instilled into her, it became apparent that the girl from the storm possessed a strength, speed, and reaction time that far surpassed some of the best among the warrior caste of Ixhun and at the behest of the priests she was to be trained in martial ways, for to protect ones city was to give the ultimate service of sacrifice to the Sun Above. As her training progressed she quickly outgrew the capacity for her teachers to show her the way of fighting on Ixhun, leaving only true combat to further her skills as a warrior.

In her first battle with the Easterners she learned what it was like to truly use her abilities to their fullest. Where as she trained she had been limiting herself, against the unending tide of the East she could let go of her mental chains and funnel herself into the violent, instinctual nature of combat. Within only a month of fighting for Ixhun she had been seen as fit to lead at first a small unit of men, her ability to rally and inspire the men with even the slightest of words and her actions alone invaluable to the defense of Ocotopec.

As Nelchitl quickly rose in glory on the battlements of Ocotopec more and more men were trusted to her command. Though at first she accepted she became hesitant and even wary as it became clear to her that commanding every troop movement and deployment on a battlefield just fell outside of her range of interest despite the fact she was more than capable at accomplishing them. Denying near continuous offers to take more and more control of the warriors of Ocotopec and the surrounding city-states, Nelchitl found herself content to lead a smaller group of hand picked veterans from among the cities warriors.

After the meeting with the Emperor Nelchitl was quickly ferried off world to the behemoth void ships waiting above. Though the entire experience was jarring to say the least, it did not distress her as much as it would have a normal human. In only a matter of about two weeks Nelchitl was fluent in High Gothic, almost completely read up on the history of the Crusade to date, and a veritable master of a host of melee weaponry from the armorers inventory.

Since her acquaintance with the XVII Legion she has led the Legion in the successful conquest of dozens of systems, the annihilation of several xenos races, and the reconstitution of a handful of lost human colonies to the Imperiums control. Along the way she has earmarked feral and feudal jungle worlds as she has come across them as recruiting planets for the XVII.

Legion Number:
XVII

Legion Strength:
105,000 Astartes
Countless Imperial Army, Mechanicum and other supporting units

Armour Appearance:


Warcry:
Upon Nelchitl's assumption of command of the legion, the warcries quickly changed to reflect the adoration and respect the Legion held for its new Primarch. Specifically the Legions warcries are based in the mythology of their Primarchs homeworld.


Dramatis Personae:
(Will expand as needed)

XVII Legion
• Xipil Nenetl - Captain of the First Company
• Itzel Mayalen - Captain of the Second Company
• Atl Yaotl - Captain of the Third Company
• Gabriella Fernandez - Captain of the Seventh Company
• Maya Garcia - Chief Apothecary
  
  Non-Astartes
• Sofia Di Fabrizio - Mistress of the Fleet
• Mandred Leben - Lord Commander of the Army
• Hayden Andradez - Master of Astropaths
• Octavian - Mechanicus Representative

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role:
The major emphasis of the Serpents of the Sun is on maneuver warfare and combined arms during the daylight hours. With nearly a third of the Legion made up of Devastator Squads, the Serpents prefer to lock an opponent in place at key locations in a battle with overwhelming fires from these squads before sending in Tactical and Assault Squads to maneuver on and destroy the pinned down force using a combination of Dreadnought and mechanized armored assault carriers vehicles to close the distance.

At the same time, the Legion relies on the support of the Imperial Army in this tactic. Specifically it is the Imperial Army that must engage with and delay larger portions of a battle front in order for the Serpents to successfully take key positions and key leaders to ensure a swift resolution to all battles. As the Imperial Army holds a pivotal part in the Legions battle strategy, most of the Legion Sisters hold an above average level of appreciation for the role the average Imperial Soldier plays in the Legion, and the Imperiums successes.

Though the Legion prefers to assault during the day, it is still perfectly capable of night fighting.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology:

The Legion itself is rather unique in the fact that it's Primarch believes the Emperor to be the manifestation of the Sun, the one true God. Many among the Legion adhere to their Primarchs claim of the Emperors divinity, though not all within the Legion have been so keen on following in Nelchitl's reverence in the Emperor. Many of the initial Veteran Founding Marines that remain and the new Aspirants that have been recruited from the jungles of Ixhun have been quick to take up the torch of their geneseed and follow Nelchitl in the worship of the Emperor. But recruits from jungle planets other than Ixhun have been harder to bring to the light of the truth of the Emperor. This has caused a healthy amount of issues among the Legion. Despite this, Nelchitl allows these opposing views to persist, confident that it creates an air of rivalry among the Aspirants and new Astartes that is required to grow their martial prowess and better the Legion.

Majority devout followers to their Primarch's new faith, the Legion has a reverence among them for all things Emperor related. Be it His name, His past actions, or His orders to the Legion. Everything about the Emperor is approached with a devotion to its every word. Though much of their Primarch's religion before her rediscovery has been left on Ixhun, parts have been carried over to the Legion and stuck quite well within it's already set in warrior culture. Particularly the Legion has taken a great liking to the iconography of the Sun so common in the Sun-based religion of Ixhun, adopting a sun with a halo of light as the center piece of their Legion Standard. This icon has become the emblem of the Legion itself, visible clearly on the left pauldron of every Astartes in the entire Legion.

Taking a great reverence in the idea of the Suns protection, Nelchitl and the majority of her Legion see it as a vital duty in all of their battles to fight in the light of the Sun. This is to ensure that the Emperor can watch as they wage holy battle and claim glory in his name. When forced to fight at night, the Legion takes a far more somber mood and appears vaguely upset at the fact that the Emperor will not be able to "see" the glory carried out in his name.



The Serpents have a sour relationship with the Imperial Soldiers that work alongside them. Though it is not their choice, as many among the Legion would be more than grateful to be revered as many soldiers of the Imperium do for the Legions they work alongside. It is in fact the fault of their Primarch that the Imperial Soldiers dislike the Legion. Many claim her a bad luck charm behind closed doors, a heathen, a cannibal, and a worshiper of the Emperor going directly against his own words. As such, though the Astartes of the Legion have a good deal of respect for their Imperial allies and the role they play, they are seldom able to interact with them. There are well documented cases of past disagreements and foul words toward Nelchitl leading to unnecessary deaths. Nelchitl has issued a general order for all Astartes to keep interaction with the Imperial Army to strictly business matters.

The Serpents place a great deal of respect in the members of their Assault Squads. Being seen as directly following in the footsteps of their lauded Primarch, Assault Marines are not simply chosen based off of standard metrics. Instead Assault Marines are chosen through a number of daunting and deadly trials, many of which involve completing these trials during combat against a true enemy of the Legion and not just some wild animal on Ixhun as Aspirants might be required to. Though it is not expressly stated, it is barely a secret that in order to enter the ranks of the Assault Squads the Astartes in question must adhere to the truth of the Emperors divinity. Due to this elevated respect, many Assault Marines are sought after by other members of the Legion as mentors and trainers, with Veteran Assault Marines being in charge of the recruiting and training of all Legion Aspirants. With all of this in mind, Assault Marines enjoy elevated privilege with their Primarch and are the most veteran among them are held in close confidence.

Relationships:

• The Emperor: Regarded as a God by Nelchitl and the majority of the Legion. The Legion takes no pride in the fact that they constantly ignore the Emperors claims that he is not a God and to stop their worship, but instead undertake their faith with a solemn devotion that it must be done in order to one day force the Emperor to admit to his divinity.
  --
• **NO LONGER STANDS**
  Primarch Nimue Arcadia: Of all the Children of the Emperor, none more closely resembles the godhood of their Father than that of Primarch Nimue. Revered by Nelchitl as the closest among her own kin to godhood, she is looked upon by Nelchitl and the majority of the Legion as something of a demigod even among her own brothers and sisters. Though not following in Nimue's vanity, the Legion holds great respect for Nimue and the VI Legion, with several Astartes of the Serpents harboring regrets that they were not chosen to serve alongside the lesser god Nimue.
  --
• Other Primarchs: Complicated beyond good reason. Though all the Primarchs are without a doubt her kin, rivalries and bad blood exist nonetheless.
  --
• Other Legions: Despite her less than ideal relationship with her Brothers and Sisters, Nelchitl and the XVII Legion are more than willing to work with them to achieve victory for the Emperor. Whether other Legions are willing to work with the XVVI is up to the Legions in question.
  --
• Imperial Army: Though wanting to have better relations with the IA, the Serpents have had little success in converting the common soldiery view of the Emperor to their faith and have in fact only widened the divide felt between the two entities. Despite this they are always willing to work with the IA in the name of the Emperor and take no real offense to any words that the unenlightened mortals have. For one day, they shall know their folly and seek the truth of all things.
  --
• The Mechanicus: Though Nelchitl is wary of the many hidden agendas of the Mechanicum she can not understate their importance to the Crusade and her Legion. In a move quite out of her own character, she has tried her best to foster a mutually beneficial relationship with the Mechanicum in a bid for greater support and the much desired addition of an Adeptus Titanicus Legio to her Expeditionary Fleet.
  --
• Xenos: Xenos existence is an affront to the perfection of the God Emperor.
  --
• Chaos: Not yet known to the XVII Legion.

Name: Anton Jager. Primarch of the Imperial Pathfinders and High King of Sorus.

Gender: Male

Homeworld: Sorus. A feudal world with a single continent. The western half of the continent was of a temperate climate, and was once dominated by three kingdoms. The eastern half was wild and alien, with dense jungles, poisonous flora, monstrous fauna, and roving bands of orks. Protecting the western half of the continent was a single mountain range which split the land in two.

Before Anton’s arrival, the three kingdoms - Talendria, Daralt, and Gara - had been at each other’s throats, frequently engaging in border skirmishes over territory. From time to time, orks would attempt to send raiding parties over the fortified mountain passes, but these rarely succeeded. Seafaring exploration was rendered all but impossible, due to the several large and hostile beasts which dwelled in the planet’s oceans.

The dominant religion on the planet was the Church of the Four. “The Four” were in fact the Chaos Gods, worshipped under different names and in more benevolent guises, though obviously Anton and the rest of the planet are unaware of this.

Technology was mostly at the gunpowder era, though each kingdom did have at least one old spacefaring vessel and a small arsenal of high tech weaponry at their disposal - most of it no longer functioning.

Between the arrival of Anton and later the Emperor, all this would change. The three kingdoms have long since been unified under one banner, and a fourth nation - the island of Republic of Naris - had been rediscovered and brought into the fold. The inhabitants now see themselves as Sorusian before Talendrian, Garan, Daraltian, or Narisian. The Imperium’s advanced technology had been introduced to the world, greatly improving its economy, industry, and quality of life.

The worship of the Four was banned. Although many were outraged, some had been swayed by the Imperial Truth’s logic, while others were simply relieved to no longer have to pay church tithes or “mandatory donations.” Worship of the Four still persists to this day within underground cult movements, but the majority of the planet has long since moved on.

With the Imperium’s support and leadership, the locals underwent rapid expansion over the mountains, driving back the orks and taming the harsh land, so that they could now harness the rich resources underneath.

Appearance: Anton is eleven and a half feet tall, with short blond hair and bright green eyes. He has a light skin tone and a rugged face, with a scar above his right eye and another along his left cheek, and some short stubble in the way of facial hair. Like all primarchs, he possesses superhuman strength and agility, although he tends to favour the latter over the former.

The armour he wears is a dark green - almost black - with a silver trim. His legion’s personal emblem - a beheaded black serpent over a white background - is painted on each pauldron. He carries a vicious straight power sword with a black blade, a single bolt pistol, and an advanced high-tech sniper rifle that is similar in design to the Exitus Rifle (which doesn’t exist yet.)

Personality: Anton can often come across as distant, stoic, and grim. The Primarchs who were found early on in the crusade, and those Legionnaires who had been with him from the beginning, remember a time when he was friendly, cheerful, and affable. No longer. The losses he had endured over the years and the things he had witnessed weighed on him. They did compromise his ability to do his duty, but they have left their mark.

Despite this coldness, he cares deeply for the lives of his legion and the men placed under his command, and will become enraged if they betray him or are sacrificed needlessly. He also has a deep interest in the history and culture of the planets he comes across, and will sometimes order his men to salvage particularly fetching works of art, which are then sent back to either Terra or Sorus as gifts, or to his flagship to serve as decorations. Anton also retains his aristocratic manners, holding meetings with primarchs and his underlings over cups of tea, taking pains to be courteous, and disapproving of vulgarity.

Although he generally tries to avoid needless sacrifices of human life, he understands that death is an inevitable part of war, and sometimes thousands must die in order to save millions. There was once a time when he would have hesitated, or questioned it, but no longer. If it comes down to it, he will harden his heart and do what needs to be done for the greater good. He is a staunch believer in the Imperial Truth.

As for his thoughts on the Edict of Tolerance… there was once a time when Anton would have supported it. Unfortunately, the two instances which he did invoke it were failures, with the latter resulting in heavy casualties. While he does believe that some species are capable of co-existing with humanity, he has yet to encounter one, and he’s not willing to put the lives of his legion or his fellow humans at risk in order to uncover one.

Lastly, it should also be noted that Anton holds a disdain toward psykers, believing that meddling with one’s mind is extremely immoral, and that widespread usage of the Warp will eventually backfire.

Skills: Anton excels at ranged combat. Compared to most of his fellow primarchs, his accuracy and vision are unmatched, capable of landing shots with pinpoint accuracy from seemingly impossible ranges. This is his preferred method of combat, leading some to doubt his skills as a warrior, but those who have seen him in action know he is just as skilled with a blade.

His arsenal consists of a power-sword with a black blade, a pair of bolter pistols, and a high-tech long-ranged sniper rifle of his own design (it more or less looks and functions almost exactly like the Exitus Rifle.)

From a tactical standpoint, he is a master at small-unit tactics, making him an excellent commander of skirmishers, raiding parties, and strike forces. He also excels at inspiring and motivating his men.

Off the battlefield, Anton possesses other skills. Although not a master diplomat, he is a reasonable and level-headed man, well-versed in the powers of persuasion, with a tendency to try diplomacy when hotter heads might attack. He is also a skilled gunsmith, designing custom-made weapons for himself and his legion. In fact, the rifle he uses is one of his own design.

Assignment Grade: Kappa.

Biography: Anton arrived in the feudal world of Sorus, landing in the countryside of Talendria. The nearby village, in awe at this mysterious child which fell from the sky, decided to take him in. He was put in the care of a local rancher, who named him Anton.

Eventually, word of this strange child from the stars spread. A group of travelling scientists, who had come to investigate the the fall of his capsules, visited him a few days later. They took his ruined capsule to study, and wished to take the boy as well, but the locals refused to give him up. A group of monks arrived a few weeks later, also wishing to take the boy in - believing his arrival to be of deep religious significance - but they too were refused.

Then, finally, three months after his discovery, a company of soldiers arrived directly from the capital, with orders personally written and signed by Talendria’s King. The boy would go with them, and this time the villagers could not refuse. He was taken to Talendria’s court, where the royal family took this strange miraculous child as a ward.

Like the rest of the Primarchs, he grew at a rapid pace, reaching the size of a fully grown human within three years. He excelled at everything he was taught and always craved more. However, as he studied within the safety of the Palace’s walls, debates soon sparked in the outside world as to his significance.

The local clergy claimed he was a gift from the Four, and cited his miraculous growth and superhuman feats as proof. They claimed he was destined to unite the Sorusian people and lead them to greatness.

The local science communities, however, took a far more rational approach. They claimed his existence was not divine in nature, and that he instead hailed from a planet of humans that was more technologically and biologically advanced than their own. They pointed to his high-tech capsule as evidence, and expressed a concern that whoever sent or lost him might one day come to claim him.

The young Anton was sheltered from these debates at first, but it was not long before he was eventually made aware of both sides of the story, and it left him deeply conflicted. If he was sent by some divine force, then it was his duty to guide and direct these people as much as possible. And yet, his homeworld’s religion had left a bad taste in his mouth, because he couldn’t help but find a number of small logical inconsistencies, or make note of the self-serving undertones, which made him question the validity of the religion’s doctrine as a whole. He became agnostic, though he kept these thoughts to himself.

Meanwhile, if the other theory was true, then wouldn’t his duty instead be to find a way to return home? To reunite with his true family, or whoever had sent him here in the first place?

Yet there could also be a middle option. He was not sent here by any divine power, but he was sent to serve these people nonetheless. It was this internal compromise that Anton eventually made peace with, and although stating these beliefs publicly did not fully halt the debates, they did quiet them. But the question remained: in what manner was he to serve people?

The answer to that was obvious. He had always been especially gifted in the art of war. Even as a boy, no man on the planet could match him with a sword or pistol, and his understanding of the academic side of warfare was on par with most generals. Only his size and age had prevented him from entering military service. But now he was taller, stronger, and smarter than any other man. None could deny that he was ready.

The King was more than happy to grant him an officer’s commission in the Royal Grenadiers, the royal family’s personal guard and Talendria’s most prestigious infantry regiment. He quickly worked his way up through the ranks, because with the King’s patronage and his natural talent, the only obstacle that stood his way was the availability of commissions. He reached the rank of Major and could rise no higher, for all the Lieutenant-colonel posts were currently occupied, and he was not going to offend the man who was both his royal patron and adoptive father by transferring to a less prestigious regiment.

Meanwhile, Anton had also come to realize just how broken Talendria’s military system was. In times of peace, commissions could only be acquired through purchase, and only in war were they granted on merit. Additionally, there was no formal military training or education system. This meant promotion was determined not by qualifications, but by who had the most wealth or influence. It was a sobering revelation, because he quickly realized that without the support of the King, he might never have become an officer at all.

He raised these issues in person to the King, and although the King agreed with most of his points, he nonetheless refused to reform the army, citing political and economic concerns.

Meanwhile, it soon turned out that a Major in the Grenadiers on “active duty” had very little to do during peacetime, beyond shuffling papers behind a desk or standing as a glorified bodyguard.

Naturally, that was not enough for Anton, so in every moment he could spare he sought out other ways to occupy himself. He spoke with men from other branches of the military: cavalrymen, marines, naval officers, engineers, and artillerymen. He then sought out people from outside the military, but were just as vital to its maintenance: gunsmiths, blacksmiths, stablemasters. Such men were considered beneath the notice of a highborn aristocratic officer, but by seeking them out, Anton expanded his mind in ways that his formal education and training hadn’t. Especially with the latter groups, for in learning how exactly muskets were designed and crafted, he soon wondered how to improve the weapon’s design.

The musket was a notoriously inaccurate weapon. Battles often came down to who had more men or could fire more quickly, because if enough shots were fired, some would inevitably find their mark. There was a weapon that was more accurate, however: the rifle. Unfortunately, most rifle designs were unsuited for large scale warfare.

Anton resolved to fix this, and with his natural intellect he eventually came up with a new design. One that was lighter, more accurate, and easier to maintain than any other rifle design at the time. He then considered how such a weapon would be used in battle, and concluded it would be better utilized in the hands of dedicated skirmishers and marksmen in support of the main body of the army, which would still be armed with muskets. He then wrote an in-depth book on light infantry tactics which would serve as the basis for such a force’s doctrine.

Anton proposed this idea directly to the King, who eventually came around to the idea. Not only did he agree to adopt the design, but he also decided to fund a new regiment… with Anton as its Colonel. And thus, the Royal Rifle Regiment was founded. Its men were handpicked from the ranks of the rest of the army, based on their ability to shoot accurately and think independently, and each officer who wished to join was scrutinized heavily by Anton himself.

Although many were doubtful of the regiment’s necessity, especially since the King had to raise taxes in order to create it, it would soon get a chance to prove itself three years later.

The Orks on the eastern half of the island were a series of divided warbands, constantly fighting with one another, whilst occasionally attempting to break through the fortified mountain passes of Gara and Daralt. All of these attempts had been beaten back by superior fortifications and weaponry of the human defenders. So long as the Orks remained disunified, they would never break through. And it was believed that the Orks, barbaric savages that they were, were never capable of such cooperation.

Which is why it came as a massive surprise when the Orks did unify, under the leadership of the Ork Warlord known as Groshab, and led a massive WAAAGH! through the northern mountain pass. Although they took heavy casualties, they were able to overrun the defenders through sheer numbers, before spilling into the countryside of Gara. The Garan army attempted to repulse them, but was slaughtered.

When news of this defeat reached Talendria, the King immediately mobilized his forces. If Gara fell, Talendria would be next, and they had no fortified mountains or natural defenses to keep out invaders. The Orcish incursion needed to be dealt with quickly, on the field of battle. And so the King personally led his army northeast, into Gara itself.

When the time came to meet the WAAAGH! in battle, the King chose a very conventional means to fight the enemy. The artillery was placed upon a hill, with the infantry lined up in front, and the cavalry would circle around to strike the Orks in the flank. Anton and his riflemen were to be deployed ahead of the enemy, with orders to pick off as many warbosses as possible before retreating to the safety of the infantry formations.

Warlord Groshab, seeing the humans arrayed in such a manner, did not bother with intricate tactics. Believing sheer numbers would be enough to break through the thin Talendrian line, he ordered a frontal charge.

It was Anton himself who fired the first shot of the battle.

It was not the custom for an officer to carry a longarm such a musket or a rifle, but Anton did; a decision which was regarded as more than a little eccentric. He scanned the approaching horde, and with his incredible sight, he was able to identify the leader of the WAAAGH!: Groshab himself. Shouldering his rifle, he took aim and fired, shooting the Warlord through the eye, at a range which have been considered almost impossible even by riflemen standards.

As their leader fell, the Orkish horde paused. Never before had they seen one of their own fall to a human firearm at such a range. Their own leader, no less. The pause lasted only for a moment, and then another Warboss stepped up to take Groshab’s place.

Anton shot him as well, with a second rifle passed to him by one of his own men, who was now reloading the first rifle. Anton traded the second rifle for a third, and then killed another Ork leader. The horde soon fell into chaos, as warbosses began fighting each other on the field over who would get to take command. One warboss would kill another, only for Anton to kill him, and then his underlings would begin feuding amongst themselves for command of that one individual warband. It is said that Groshab survived the first shot, and eventually tried to stand up to retake command, only for Anton to shoot him through the other eye.

Then artillery shells began to rain down upon the Orks, killing hundreds. Finally, they came to their senses, and instead of fighting over who would hold the title of warlord, the individual warbosses all ordered their warbands to attack at once.

When the Orks approached, the rest of the Riflemen did as they were ordered, firing well-aimed shots at those who seemed to be in charge. Then they fell back, fleeing for safety behind the infantry. Anton himself joined the battle line, and as the Orks came approached point-blank range, the Talendrian army unleashed a thunderous volley.

The surviving Orks came running out of the smoke, and a desperate melee ensued. They were just about to break through a section of the line when Anton led his riflemen back into the fray, joining the melee with fixed bayonets. It was said that Anton personally slew half a hundred Orks during the fighting. Then the cavalry struck the Ork horde in the flank, which is what finally broke them.

The Talendrians emerged victorious, but at great cost: they had lost a third of their army. The Orkish army, its leadership removed, scattered into roving bands in the countryside. While men were deployed ahead to recapture, repair, and refortify Gara’s mountain fortress, the rest of the army remained in Gara to deal with the Orks who had escaped the battle. Once more, Anton and his riflemen proved their usefulness, using their skills at hunting and skirmishing to track down and destroy the savage warbands. Anton himself became something of a folk hero to the Garan people, with tales of him singlehandedly defending entire villages.

But even after the Garan countryside had almost been swept free of Orks several years later, the Talendrian army remained, and it soon became apparent that they had no desire to let the country retain its independence. This might have sparked rebellion, but after nearly being annihilated by the Orks, the people were weary from war and feared what would happen if the Talendrian soldiers within their borders suddenly withdrew.

Additionally, the King of Talendria had appointed Anton as the Military Governor of Gara, tasking him with rebuilding the region and hunting down the remaining Orks. It was due to this reason that, when Daralt declared war on Talendria a year later - ostensibly to liberate Gara and put Talendria’s influence in check - Anton did not accompany the rest of the army south, and instead turned his attention to administering the lands.

He soon proved to be an effective administrator as well as a soldier, rebuilding roads and infrastructure, and finding ways to pay for it despite the increasing war taxes. He toured the region and personally inspected the areas most heavily affected by the war, while taking the time to cozy up to prominent nobles. Tales of his mysterious backstory had spread to Gara as well, and the local church quickly adopted the narrative that he was a gift from the Four, which did much to boost his image. Although some Garans resented him, very few made attempts at open rebellion.

The war between Talendria and Daralt ended two years later in a stalemate, with neither side able to gain much ground. Anton continued to serve at his post with diligence, until eleven years later when he was called back to the capital.

The King was dying.

On his deathbed, the King spoke to Anton alone. He revealed that he had always wanted to see Sorus unified, and regretted that he may die before that wish was fulfilled. He then went on to say that Anton had proved a capable leader in both war and peace, and claimed that there was no one else more fit to rule a unified Sorus. After that, the King called in his courtiers, and before two dozen witnesses, claimed that Anton was to marry his daughter, and the two would rule jointly. This was a controversial decision, as it set aside the King’s presumed heir, Prince Willard.

Two years later, King Anton marched on the nation of Daralt with a combined army of Talendrians and Garans. With his superior numbers and generalship, he bested their army in the field and quickly laid siege to their capital, taking it by storm. But after the battle had been won, his army broke discipline, and began looting the city, inflicting countless horrors on his populace.

Anton was ultimately forced to build a gallows in the city center, and threatened to start arresting and hanging looters if they did not cease. Although they stopped, Anton’s eyes had been opened to a harsh reality of war he had not previously been exposed to.

The rest of the country soon capitulated. Yet despite the nobility issuing a formal surrender, the commoners were displeased. In Daralt, Anton lacked the heroic reputation he had earned throughout Talendria and Gara. To the Daraltians, he was nothing more than a foreign conqueror, who imposed his soldiers onto their households and stole their food.

The men and women of Daralt fled into the countryside, becoming partisans, and Anton was forced to fight them. It was a type of warfare he had waged against Orks, but never against fellow humans. Infuriated by the constant attacks on their patrols and supply lines, some of his men even began to take their anger out on local villagers and townspeople, who were believed to be aiding the rebels.

Anton did his best to reign these attempts in, but as high up as he was in the chain of command, there was little he could do to directly intervene. Meanwhile, repeated assassination attempts were made against him, but he survived every single one.

There were many nights when he was tempted to withdraw from the country altogether, but he knew that wasn’t the best solution. If he withdrew his soldiers and left the locals to pick up the pieces, there was no guarantee Daralt would be able to pull itself together again. And what if they faced another Ork WAAAGH!, or some other threat? Order had to be brought to this land one way or another.

So instead of attempting to stop the reprisals, he began ordering them. With his masterful deduction skills, he was able to correctly identify which villages and towns were aiding partisans, and deployed his men to deal with them. At first, these brutal measures only caused the partisan attacks to increase, as the partisans became more furious and the local civilians became more sympathetic to their cause. But eventually they became too much for the partisans to bear, and the attacks began to dwindle, until eventually they ceased.

Finally, Anton could return home.

He spent the rest of his time in Sorus continuing to administer his new kingdom, making a number of social and military reforms while attempting to repair the damage he had wrought during the pacification of Daralt - partly of guilt, and partly out of a need for efficiency. Daralt made another attempt at rebellion, but it was half-hearted, and Anton easily crushed it.

In his spare time, he also tinkered with some of the old pieces of advanced tech stored deep within Talendria’s vaults, becoming intimately aware of their designs, and even repairing some of them to become functioning again. The means to reproduce such weapons were not currently within his grasp, but it had rekindled his desire to learn more about the universe beyond his one small planet.

Then, in M30.837, a visitor arrived.

The Meeting:
The crown was heavy on Anton’s head. His wife looked to him uncertainty, from the smaller throne next to his, but he gave no indication that he had seen; his gaze was fixated on the long figure who stood before him.

The visitor stood before the throne in shining golden armour, the likes of which had never been seen before. He was tall; almost as tall as Anton himself. His vessel had appeared in the sky of Talendria’s capital without warning. The landing craft had descended into the city’s square, and he had been allowed an audience at once, bypassing all the waiting petitioners. None dared complain.

When the court herald asked the stranger how he was to be announced, he had asked to only be announced as “The Emperor.” Who was this man, to claim such a lofty title, but no name to go with it, and no additional titles or achievements beneath it? The herald had been reluctant, but ultimately did not question him.

The ‘Emperor’ approached the throne, and the courtiers unleashed a collective gasp when he did not kneel. He did not even speak, and instead looked Anton directly in the eye. By all rights, Anton could have ordered him thrown out of the palace right then and there.

But he didn’t.

Because, as Anton looked upon the stranger, a sense of recognition filled him. Slowly, he removed his crown, and laid it on the armrest of his throne. Then, he rose to his feet, approached his father, and knelt before him.

“You know who I am?” the Emperor questioned.

“I do,” Anton nodded, “but I do not know why you have come.”

“It is time for you to return the fold. For you, this world you have united will be just the beginning. The Great Crusade is underway. Join me, march alongside your brothers and sisters, and aid me in my quest to bring order and prosperity to all mankind, as you have brought it to this planet.”

There were several long moments of silence, as Anton considered the Emperor’s words. Then he stood up, and dismissed his court. The guards remained, so he dismissed them as well. Once the room was clear, he turned back to his creator.

“You mentioned brothers and sisters?” Anton asked, with some apprehension.

“You are not alone,” the Emperor told him. “There were nineteen others like you. All were lost, and scattered across the cosmos. You are the fifth to be found, but before this crusade is over, I will see all the others returned to me.”

“And what is this crusade?” Anton inquired, taken aback by the revelation, but still wishing to move on to the more pressing issue.

“Long ago, humanity once built a star-spanning Empire. That Empire crumbled, and the technology of its planets was set back centuries if not millennia,” the Emperor explained, and Anton nodded, for he knew this firsthand.

The Emperor continued speaking. “I intend to reunite humanity. By word, or by force. I will cast aside all delusions and superstitions, and replace them with science and logic. I will put a stop to humanity’s infighting, and destroy those who would destroy us, so it can achieve its full potential.”

By word… or by force. “Millions will die,” Anton realized. “Countless worlds will burn.” The thought of going back to war - war on a galactic scale, no less - gave him pause. He had thought he was done with war, but clearly he had been too hopeful.

The Emperor frowned. “Across the stars, mankind slaughters itself in the name of false idols, and lives in needless poverty or isolation. Your world’s struggles were light compared to the rest. Millions will die regardless of whether this Crusade will happen or not. The difference is, we will be preventing further destruction in the long-term.”

It was a daunting task, and one that carried an immense burden. It would have been incomprehensible to a lesser mind. But Anton was a Primarch. And as the Emperor spoke, Anton instinctively understood the scope and sense of his vision.

More importantly, he had also heard the conviction in the Emperor’s voice, and he knew that refusal was not truly an option. His planet now belonged to the Imperium. If the Primarch did not yield it, then the Emperor would take it.

So without another word, the Primarch nodded his assent.

Name
Petros Kaladar

Gender
Male

Homeworld
Karaj is a large, habitable planet orbiting a relatively cool star but significantly closer than Terra orbits Sol. Temperate regions exist in the far north and far south but the majority of the planet is dominated by vast savanna and pockets of desert interspersed with low-lying coastal jungles and salt water marshes. The humans inhabiting Karaj were in the late iron age when the Emperor arrived on the planet but it had not always been this way. Once the planet was home to vast mining networks that supplied shipyards in orbit with raw materials to fuel human colonization of space. Warp storms engulfed the systems around Karaj’s home system without warning and without mercy, but somehow the planet was spared. No one could explain what had happened only that anyone who tried to to leave to find help never returned. In the centuries that followed, the humans began to collect into tribes and fought one another for scarce resources.

In a few short years, the ships and structures in orbit around the planet fell back down to the surface. This period became known as “Al'iielk’no” literally translated as “The Proclamation”. The years long period of these massive structures falling to Karaj is now believed to be the gods making themselves known and showing their might by bestowing the people shelter and fortresses to protect them in exchange for worship and praise. The wrecks that were intact enough to live in were soon populated by surviving humans along with mining infrastructure and converted into city states who each devoted themselves to a particular god. To call many of these structures city states would be correct but misleading. Some of the largest were more akin to kingdoms that in habit vast networks of mining tunnels or the corpses of capital ships many kilometers long. Hundreds of these states exist, but the most famous and powerful of these states are “Frig”, “Ilmac”, “Vo’ek”, and “Carr”.




Appearance
Tanned with a square, scarred face with close cut hair blacker than pitch that flows into a full but trimmed beard. His face naturally comes to rest in a stern, contemplative expression which makes his frequent smiles all the more prominent. Like his brethren, he stands unnaturally tall and muscular as a true icon of a being well beyond humanity. Even in light of his super human nature, he deviates little from the standard appearance of his gene sons’ armor despite the extra adornments. He sees himself as one of them and he refuses to pretend otherwise.

War Gear
Armor - Standard Mk 4. Astartes armor adorned to the level appropriate for someone of his status. Other than the decoration and custom fitting, the armor is no different than what legion veterans would use. What is good enough for his men is good enough for him.

Weapons - His primary weapon is a force spear large enough for the primarch to effectively wield and his secondary is a force sword he uses when he must discard the spear.

Shield - A storm shield of standard design if being larger than average but purely for the sake of accommodating Petros’ size.

Personality
Your Primarch's character traits, their positives and negatives, their highs and lows, where they excel and what their flaws are. Remember: the Primarchs are human, and yet far beyond humanity, capable of far more intensity than any mere mortal in all of their emotions. In other words, they're almost literally larger than life, and should be portrayed as such.

Skills

Perhaps as a consequence of living in a state of perpetual war that forged Petros and his gene sons, their bodies have mutated to accommodate this lifestyle. Under the rigors of combat and strife, humans gain muscle mass to a certain degree. The people of Karaj experience almost explosive muscle growth from even moderate exercise and maintain muscle beyond what is considered reasonable even under such constant physical strain. The other side of the coin, however, is they also suffer from accelerated muscular atrophy. Astartes of the Xth Legion regularly stand a full head taller than their peers of other legions, but just 2 days without physically exerting themselves can lead to loss of muscle tissue and bone density. Prolonged periods without exercise (a month or more) can cause deterioration of immune and cardiovascular health as well as frighteningly rapid weight loss. In summary, Karajians are literally allergic to peace.

Assignment Grade
Gamma

Petros possesses a high level of psychic ability that manifests itself in his ability to project telepathic fields and sense those around him with psychic potential. Adding to this, the majority of The Immortals’ Astartes possess a small degree of psychic ability similar to their primarch. An individual marine is only enough to give a vague feeling of optimism but an entire squad amplifies each individual member’s sphere of influence and they often overlap, feeding into one another. Those who fight beside Petros and The Immortals describe feelings of being able to take on entire armies alone, and a complete lack of fear. In fact, many report they felt a sort of manic joy at the idea of dying such “glorious” deaths on the field of battle. This effect may linger with those affected by it for hours or even days after being removed from the presence of an Immortals unit.

Biography
Petros’ journey across the cosmos would end in the farmlands outside the city of “Ak’lel”. His home state was of moderate size and power, but of little consequence to the greater politics of the land. The young primarch joined his city’s military without hesitation would prove himself an adept combatant and brilliant leader at a young age which proved to be a great boon in a world constantly at war through a complex network of alliances and pacts. He soon grew in power such that he overthrew the king of Ak’lel and claimed the throne for himself. Within a few short years he amassed a kingdom and helped his allies grow their land as well to encompass multiple tribes and cities. Things were good for many years after this, wars were fought, alliances forged and broken, all was as it should be.

This balance was not to last, however. Traders from the far north brought with them tales of a massing empire led by a man calling himself God King Sadanius. He proclaimed peace for all he joined him and an end to what he called “pointless wars” and all those who stood in the path of progress and peace would be cut down. As much as this outraged Petros and his peers, they soon learned his words carried weight. The result was a meeting of kings as brothers in arms on a scale not seen in a hundred generations. No false god would bring them to their knees, bring peace to their lands and let their people grow weak in complacency. In all, more than twenty kings came together under a single banner, led by Petros himself to rage, rage against the death of the warrior. They would not die gently and fought so their sons and daughters would not have to face the horrors of slow decay. War culled the unworthy and they refused to let anyone chain the strong to the weak.

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In the century or so since the Emperor’s arrival, technological progress has turned the primitive societies on its surface into prosperous, if not at all peaceful republics that regularly tithe soldiers and materials mined from the mountains near the poles. Petros regularly checks back with his home to make sure they’re doing well and nudge them toward progress and unity should they be led astray. War is a feature of humanity, not a bug, and thus the constant state of war between rival nations on the planet is actually encouraged by Petros. He refuses to let his people fall prey to the temptations of serenity.

The Meeting
For this section, you’ll RP out how your Primarch met up with the Emperor, and the events surrounding that. The Meeting should be written as though it were a proper RP post, and as such at least two or three high-quality paragraphs should be put to paper. Please do not write from the Emperor's perspective at any point - though, given that he presents himself more or less however the beholder wishes to view him, you may retain the freedom to characterize him as you feel is most appropriate for the situation.

Legion Name
Originally named the "Void Hounds" Petros renamed the legion "The Immortals" after his most elite warriors from which the vast majority of the initial recruits were drawn.

Legion Number
X

Legion Strength
77,000 Astartes


As well as assorted IA artillery and mechanicus personnel

Astartes are divided into squads of 5 collectively refereed to as an Immortal in reference to the way they seem to fight as one mind. 50 Immortals make up a War Party, 50 War Parties form a Chapter, and the 6 Chapters form The Immortals Legion.

Armour Appearance



Warcry
“The Eagle’s claw be upon you!” - in reference to the imperial eagle
“Together!”
“Even Death knows fear!”
“To the death of peace!” - a common phrase used as a victory cry after a battle

Dramatis Personae:

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role:
Nothing brings The Immortals greater joy than fighting beside their battle brothers in melee combat. Few legions can match the prowess shown by the tenth at sword's length. Still, the modern battlefield requires one to adapt and so the Immortals have taken to wielding ranged weapons in their off hands while wielding a variety of melee weapons in the other. Ranged weapons are used as a method to minimize incoming fire and keep enemy gunners pinned down long enough for The Immortals to close to melee distance. Man portable heavy weapons are also exceedingly common as a means of countering enemy heavy weapons while on the move.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology:
The manner in which the Legion acts outside of battle, as imposed upon them by the Imperium itself, the geneseed of their Primarch, and their Primarch's direct actions and directives. Maybe they're a highly progressive group, or maybe they're extremely traditional. Do they take any cues or inspiration from animals, or from real-world civilizations such as the Romans or Vikings? Do they act like the angels they're often mistaken for, or are they of a more devilish attitude?

Relationships:
How does the Legion interact with other groups in the galaxy, such as other arms of the Imperium and fellow Astartes Legions? Are they on good terms with the Imperial Army, or perhaps they have a rivalry with another Legion, friendly or otherwise? Have any particular xeno races drawn their ire previously? To date, the only major xeno races presently in the galaxy are the Orks and the splintered groups of Eldar, though countless other civilizations exist that pose just as much threat to the Imperium as these more well-known aliens. The Legion may also be aware of Warp-spawned threats, though if you’d like to have some connection to them, I’d recommend discussing it with a GM first.

Name: Usriel Andredth

Gender: Male

Homeworld: Vion 5
A world that seems to be part fortress-world and majority forge-world as littered throughout the vast factory complexes of the planet are the Fortresses and outposts loyal to Usriel and his Legion. The great complexes, while managed mostly by the tech-priests of the Cult Mechanicus, are jointly controlled by Usriel, whose Astartes and Neophytes patrol the planet where local enforcement cannot fight effectively.

Appearance:
Usriel has been described as twelve feet tall, looming over others with his mauled and otherwise scarred body on his body. These scars are all different in nature, though many are from combat and others from ceaseless work. His head shaved and kept clean, his pale body a mass of muscle built as if he were a very wall that he aspires for his legion to be. It is perhaps, that this is why his tired eyes continue to look on, ever vigilant of a threat against the threats of his legion and the Imperium itself. It is perhaps, that the endless vigilance leaves him somewhat thin, at least to the standard of primarchs. It is perhaps, the raising of tech-priests that his back is burned with the mark of the Omnissiah, the Cog Mechinicum.

Personality:
The Primarch Usriel’s mind is less focused on its devotion to his father and the Imperium and more upon the paranoia of a rebellion or sudden attack from one of the Imperium’s enemies. He is less driven by faith and more motivated by the understanding that he is required for the survival of humanity. He is less driven upon the belief that life is precious and more understanding of the cruel nature of the Imperium and the tech-priests are needed upon worlds in order to ensure that the war machine does not fail. It is through this that he is seen less angry or more calloused against the unexpected and the cruelties of reality.

Through this, Usriel has become seen to be a cold individual, uncaring for the independence of man or the creativity brought behind it. Though his body is largely unchanged by the likes of the Cult Mechanicus, his psyche has been changed as he grew upon the forge world. When as a child he may have smiled as he listened to stories so long ago stated on Mars, now he only gives a cold expressionless look as he wonders how best to carry on his tasks. He sees humans only as beings to produce the endless need of weaponry and as a source to recruit further Astartes from. Then, when someone falls or his own men are felled upon the battlefield, he does not mourn and instead thinks of how that may affect the efficiency of their operations.

Though, under this cold and otherwise heartless exterior is the lust for knowledge instilled into him by the priests he had served as knowledge was divinity and it was through that divinity he could find some happiness or relaxation from the endless burden of constant defense. He seeks to understand how things, not just machines, operate and how to create weapons to drive back the enemies of man.

Skills:
The focus of Usriel Andredth is less upon the matters of charging and forth and taking the enemy position as quickly as possible and more allowing the enemy to waste their resources upon a fight that they could not hope to win. As such, he is a master of designing fortresses and a master tactician in the area of defense, allowing him to drive off attacks that other primarchs may have trouble against.

Additionally, Usriel is a master in the use of plasma weaponry, the greatest weapon against those who try to use their armor to advance, and equally as good against standard infantry. While he has had plasma weaponry overheat in his hands, he now knows the precise means of using the unstable weaponry. When he shoots it shall hit its target, and when he continues to use such a weapon it shall nevermore sully his own hands for he knows its limitations.

Finally, Usriel has become a savant of the state, a man who knows how to properly manage and otherwise keep a state held together in the face of adversity. His people know that to rebel is to mean certain death and to stray from their lives of production is to endanger the very fabric of their only protectors. While perhaps not inspirational, his pragmatism allows him to look past the emotions of the populous and use their bodies to keep the very society continuing. It is his rhetoric and vision that allow him to rally people behind him.

Assignment Grade:
Beta

While a powerful psyker, his abilities are unrefined and untapped for the most part, though he is known to react very quickly to sudden changes in a battlefield. As far as the more strange aspects of this nature, it is said that he can drive the machine spirits from enemy weapons and vehicles and that he can crush men with a wave of his fist should he have the need to do so. Though, none of these can truly stop an enemy's attack unlike his ability to make sure that enemy munitions cannot reach his men and that explosions hit something in the air that cannot be seen by the likes of mortal men.

Biography:
Vion 5, a world colonized by the Mechanicus from Mars, has known much in the way of rebellion since becoming a proper forge world, not through lack of trying of course. It had seemed that the colonizers of this planet had taken humans of a particular heart, those wanting a life that they could dictate on their own and a life that was not forced to be horrid in the name of efficiency. It would be those humans that would become the first family of Usriel, his pod crashing into a residential district and otherwise being taken on by a man that had been a part of a scavenging crew that had gotten to the pod before the tech-priests could get their hands upon it.

This man, Ike Andredth, and his wife, Leasah, took in this child in secret, hiding him from the wandering eyes of the tech-priests and what law enforcement that were loyal to them. Unto him did they bestow the name Usriel, and they would bestow unto him the curiosity of what every child would have. Unlike their other children, Usriel would not know what it would be like to be quantified at birth and what it would be like to truly work as he was not known outside of his family. It was a slow “childhood”, one filled with boredom and reclusiveness within the family's living space though he was loved and doted upon by his adoptive parents in every way imaginable. However, he was a very large child, a child far stronger and quicker than what any normal child should have been, and one with latent psychic abilities. Not to mention the accelerated growth he had as a primarch.

Due to this, Ike and Leasah thought him to be a gift sent from the Omnissiah himself and brought the child forwards to their overseer who in turn brought him to the tech-priests. It was these tech-priests that looked upon the child, only a year old and already showing great promise, and would praise him as a gift from the Machine God. Upon his back did they mark him with the Cog Machinicum, branding him as divine. However, when they asked him what it was that he would want to do while upon the forge world of Vion 5, they would be disappointed as he merely stated that he wished to be with his family. This request was refused, for surely one sent by the Omnissiah would seek to do more than mingle with mere fully-organic humans. Twice more would they ask, and twice more would the child of Ike a Leasah seek to be with his parents.

Reluctantly, would the cultists of the Omnissiah allow the child to leave but he would be sent to work if he so chose to stay with them. He had been assigned menial work out of spite, specifically by order of the Fabricator-Technis, the planetary governor, despite Usriel’s talents being clear and his psychic potential noted and monitored. Usriel would work as a specialist alongside his adopted kin to manufacture the radium weapons that the Skitarii enforcers use in order to quell the rebels deeper within the world itself. He quickly learned how to manufacture these weapons, and for him, it was almost too easy to meet the quotas imposed upon him much to the ire of the Fabricator-Technis who wished to change the mind of the gift. Yet it would not be until nearly a year later that the Fabricator-Technis would have his wish granted.

Rebellion had spread from the heart of the planet, festering its way through the cracks of the skitarii that tenaciously fought to quell. The residential district in which Usriel would have called home had become a warzone, Skitarii had limited the rations being given out of fear of giving food to enemy insurgents and he would regularly see suspected traitors being dragged from their quarters and killed, innocent or not. This had little effect on Usriel who now looked to be a teenager, as he focused on making sure that his family was safe and unaffected, overall attempting to lead a normal life amidst the rebellion. This was not meant to last as during one particular attack the rebels had broken into the families home to use as cover in a firefight and, upon seeing the one mythed to be the sign of the Omnissiah, attempted to kill Usriel to lower the morale of the planetary leaders. They only managed to kill his parents and two of his siblings before meeting their own end.

Out of anger and fury, Usriel would take the plasma weapons of the traitors and rally those of his remaining kin to fight off the enemy attacks from their home. They exacted a great toll upon the enemy, though his kin died due to weapon malfunctions and he suffered great scars upon his hands and body due to his own weapon barely being held together by the machine spirit that inhabited it. It is said that Usriel had killed thousands in the defense of his home, but that is an over exaggeration by the local populace and in reality, it was probably a figure only in the hundreds.

Regardless, the next day when Usriel would ask to meet with the Fabricator-Technis and when he would be asked to state what he desired to do while on the forge world, Usriel would answer simply, “To lead an army against this rebellion.” Pleased, the tech-priest would grant him this wish and forge for him his weapons and his armor, armor similar in design to the Skitarii and made from the same material. When asked of what he would like his soldiers to consist of, he merely answered, ”I would lead those who are not needed to forge our weaponry.” This would be the birth of Usriel’s army, one consisting of conscripted humans in their late teens, already convicted of petty crimes, that would be basically trained but used to terrifying effectiveness of the morally complicated rebels, who would go out of their way to merely scare these units. While this tactic would have worked, Usriel would use the Skitarii to act as pseudo-commissars in order to keep the squads in line.

Usriel, would go on to wage a bloody war of attrition against these rebels for nearly thirty long years, allowing the rebels to relentlessly attack the heavily defended positions on Usriel as he began to block off the entirety of the lower levels, disconnecting their pathways as insurgents and making fortresses around the planet purely to block off concentrations of rebels forces before slowly advancing them and backing them into their respective corners, and when the last sheet of metal be laid for his fortresses, the most would have surrendered. However, due to the Cult Mechanicus’ ways of dealing with traitors, those that continued to fight only grew in resolve, not wishing to have their minds and bodies taken from them. This would ultimately lead to the final battle of the war, named “The Massacre-Charge”.

The Massacre-Charge, dated to have taken place 797.M30, was the final desperate attempt of the rebellion against the combined forces of the Tech-Priests’ Skitarii and Usriel’s army, charging from their makeshift fortress in the depths of Vion 5. In a final charge numbering in the tens of thousands, the sounds of fighting could be heard throughout the lower sector as men charged into their deaths, meeting their end but others managing to overrun certain lines where Usriel’s men retreated from battle. This did not spare them, for Usriel himself would slaughter many, gunning them down out of the anger for their killing of his family and ultimately for them taking away the life he had wanted. It was said that Usriel had gone through thirty different guns that day, each one unable to keep up with the demands he had placed upon them. Yet, in the end, the rebels were defeated and the survivors converted into servitors.

The Fabricator-Technis looked upon the now man and offered him a choice, he could go to Mars and meet the Fabricator-General or he could stay on Vion 5 as its protector and enforcer. Only wishing to live a life of peace, Usriel chose to stay in the forge world and for it, he was venerated as being the champion of the planet. He would live in relative peace, sitting in his personal fortress where he managed it as though he were managing a state and for most intents and purposes, he was. For the army he led had not been disbanded and instead, would live across the many fortresses built across the planet.

As such was his life until the Treaty of Mars had reached the Forge World, ushering in a new age for the planet as it was subjected to the Imperium of Man’s law, though the Fabricator-Technis remained in charge. When news of this treaty reached Usriel, he wondered who could have been the avatar of the Omnissiah could have truly been. He wondered if there was any connection between him and this new power, and so he asked for his presence to be notified to the Imperium and send a formal invite to Vion 5. When this Emperor of Mankind arrived, Usriel knew of his immense power without any words being spoken between in their meeting. And when Usriel received command of Legion XIX, he would rename them to the Steel Sentinels and he would use the legion to overall replace the humans of his fortresses, though allowing the humans to live within them as loyal servants, though in time they too would be replaced by the likes of the Cult Mechanicus.

However, there were merely not enough Astartes to garrison the fortresses and proceed on with the Great Crusade as the Emperor willed. As such, he began to integrate the future Neophytes into his legion, using them to fill out the ranks that they would need in order to continue the Crusade.

When he first made planetfall on a resisting planet, it became a quick battle as his legion dug into the planet and established its outposts before waiting for enemy attacks that would always come in waves, and they would always fall. These Astartes proved useful and Usriel would use them as living bunkers, felling enemy troops out in the open and drawing out into no man’s land before these Astartes squads would counter attack and take whatever objective he set them upon. He knew that if the Astartes had been available to him during the days of the Vion 5 rebellions then it would have taken him significantly less time.

The Meeting:
Standing at the edge of the landing pad, Usriel watched the descent of a transport shuttle, bearing the marks of the Imperial Eagle. Usriel was not nervous nor was he happy at the prospect of meeting what was inside of that shuttle, though curiosity of who could bring the Mechanicum of Mars into an Imperium did run through him. The Fabricator-Technis Arx stood next to him, green, robotic eyes shifting between Usriel and the drop ship as it went through the planet’s atmosphere. Arx was clearly nervous about meeting the physical avatar of the Omnissiah, nervous about what this Emperor would think of the planet that he had built.

“Are you nervous, Usriel?” The cyborg asked in his synthetic voice.

”No.” Usriel answered simply, not bothering to look at Fabricator-Technis.

“Why?” Arx asked.

”Because no matter what, we serve this ‘Emperor of Mankind’. Whether or not he is an avatar of the Omnissiah, we will all serve,” Usriel answered, finally bothering to look at Arx as he spoke. The two shared a brief silent gaze without each other before the golden ship itself made landing upon the pad, Arx went down onto a knee as he awaited for the Emperor to show his form while Usriel did not. The primarch looked on as the ramp to the dropship lowered to reveal a man larger than himself stepping out, clandestine in golden armor with long hair flowing with the breeze that swelled around their elevated position on the platform. Usriel continued to watch as the man walked towards him, soldiers adorned in power armor stepping behind him.

”My son,” the golden one began, Usriel raising an eyebrow, ”I believe it is time for you to rejoin the ranks of your brothers and sisters.”

”Is that why you have come?” Usriel asked.

”Yes. You shall take command of the nineteenth legion and embark on a great crusade to reunite humanity,” the Emperor stated, looking down upon his son before giving an inquisitive look. ”Usriel, it is your place to join me, and yet, I can see the impassiveness upon your face,” he noted.

Usriel nodded before speaking, ”My impassiveness is merely because the prospect of war does not excite me, though I will serve if that is the duty that you wish to bestow upon me.” The Primarch looked to the soldiers behind the emperor, before asking, ”Is this the legion that you would have me lead?”

”Indeed it is,” the Emperor answered. ”This planet shall be the home of your legion,” the Emperor then looked to the Fabricator-Technis before continuing, ’And you shall lead the manufacturing of their weaponry and their armor.”

“If that is the will of the Omnissiah then it shall be done,” Arx stated without hesitation, the decree already spreading across his neural network.

”If I am to embark upon this great crusade alongside you, my emperor, then let it be know that I shall defend where we cannot attack and that your enemies shall know what it is like to die against a fortress,” Usriel stated, finally bowing his head to his Emperor, even as the golden one stepped past him.

”Come, my son, we have much to discuss and I am eager to see your fortresses.”

Legion Name:
The Steel Sentinels

Legion Number:
XIX

Legion Strength:
15,000 Astartes
80,000 Neophytes
Mechanicus Assets for purpose of maintenance and construction.

Armour Appearance:


Warcry:
”Let them die upon unbreakable walls!”
“Hold until the Eagle’s death!”

Dramatis Personae:
Non-Astartes

• Fabricator-Technis Arx - joint ruler of Vion 05, supplier of the Steel Sentinels
• Tech-Priest Foton - Representative of the Mechanicum, Head of Mechanicum Auxiliary
• Captain Achilles Fenris - Representative of the Imperial Army, Head of Imperial Army Auxiliary
• Serf Belloris Miniro - Ordinator of the House, Head of Steel Sentinel Fortresses - Serf Defenders
  
  Astartes
• Nerus Shiel - Head of the Legion Consuls of the Steel Sentinels
• Chief Librarian Nodis Solallis
• Honour Bearer Maren Kantit - Head of Honour Guard and Standard Bearer of the Legion
• Chief Apothecary Demetes Octacos

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role:
The Steel Sentinels prefers tactics revolving around defense in depth, sapping an attacking force's strength before it can reach its ultimate objective. Their defense is absolute and should a forward position show signs of being overrun by the enemy, this legion is not afraid to pull back to other defensive positions to continue exacting heavy tolls on attacking forces. It is exceedingly common to see these units wield plasma weaponry, as unreliable as they might be, in order to pierce enemy armor. However, when it comes to advancing their own position against a similarly defended force, this force will employ tanks and artillery in order to close the gap before full space marine squads can do their work.

When close to a hardpoint such as a bunker or outpost, however, this legion takes on the Hedgehog Defense tactic, similar to defense in depth. This is where they will delay an attacking army and keep its forces focused on the hardpoint and when that position is taken, allows the enemy to be surrounded and slaughtered.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology:
The Steel Sentinels are a very cold legion, calloused to the suffering of humans and oftentimes regarding them as expendable casualties if they are in the line of fire or in an area designated for bombardment. However, they do attempt to minimize this damage where they can out of the will of the Imperium itself, though this does not mean they are unafraid to kill them should they need to. The legion itself rarely associates with mere humans, only acknowledging their existence while patrolling and in fact they hold those of the Cult Mechanicus in higher regard purely for their pursuit of knowledge, and it is that knowledge that the Steel Sentinels seek, if not to improve their weaponry and defenses then to advance the Imperium as a whole.

Additionally, a common practice, outside of using Neophytes in the vast majority of their armed forces, is that these Neophytes are actually treated as full members of the legion and are often respected as such. They share many of the same luxuries as the full Astartes, due to the sheer fact that they serve alongside them on the field of battle, despite not having access to proper armor. However, outside of combat, it is expected that the Neophytes maintain the plethora of plasma weapons employed within the legion and that they learn proper use and techniques before becoming a full astartes. For, while it is acceptable for a neophyte to have his weapon malfunction, it is seen as a great dishonor to allow it to happen in the hands of a true astartes warrior.

This dishonor, while it does not lead to banishment or execution as every man is needed in order to hold a proper defense, is punished through assignment of a “penance quest”. These quests may vary on what its details are though the most common would be to patrol the lowest depths of Vion 5 without reinforcement for days or potential weeks on end, without proper plasma weaponry, most often a bolt pistol or unarmed if they are so inclined. After this punishment, the astartes is welcomed back into the legion and allowed use of plasma weaponry once more, though will often be monitored by the legion consuls.

Given this, all astartes of the legion must have knowledge of proper handling and maintenance of these often sacred weapons, so that the machine spirits within them should be appeased and less likely to malfunction. These machine spirits are often prayed to, and it is common to see groups of Neophytes praying to the weaponry inside of the armories, as well full astartes praying to their own weapons.

Relationships:

The Emperor of Mankind
The Steel Sentinels acknowledge the Emperor of Mankind as their supreme ruler and god. However, they are not zealots in his name.

Other Legions
The Steel Sentinels are indifferent towards other legions, except for the Daughters of Iron and the Knights of Awe, with whom they dislike due to difference in belief. Many of the legions will ignore working with the two specified legions unless directly ordered to by internal legion command.

Imperial Army
Given the Steel Sentinels disregard for human life, friendly or otherwise, the Imperial Army and this Legion do not get along properly and will often operate separately. It is noted that guardsmen working alongside the Steel Sentinels have shown fear and hesitate to advance in front of the Sentinels out of fear of their lives. Additionally, an officer attempted to give orders to a squad of Neophytes, whose squad leader had fallen, and they refused to follow his orders, instead holding their original position until instructed to move by legion command.

Cult Mechanicus
This Legion gets along well with the cult due to their close ties to them and reliance upon them to construct and maintain their weaponry and fortresses. Oftentimes, Steel Sentinel members will go out of their way to protect the interests of the Mechanicum as well as personal, unlike with the Imperial Army.

Name: Anton Jager. Primarch of the Griffin Guard and High King of Sorus.

Gender: Male

Current Name: The Griffin Guard
Original Name: The Imperial Pathfinders

Legion Number: XI

Legion Strength: 150,000

Armour Appearance:


Warcry: “Vive l’Empereur!”

Dramatis Personae:
Sorus:
-Colonel Willard Calder. Commander of the Sorusian Garrison. Prince Regent of Sorus, and Anton’s adoptive brother.
-Major Lucien Villiers. Second-in-command to Colonel Calder. Former acolyte of the Church of the Four.
-Captain Hans Stilhart. Company Commander in the Sorusian Garrison. Former comrade-in-arms to Anton Jager.

Anton’s Fleet:
-Brigadier-General Kennith Wakefield. Anton’s second-in-command. Often tasked with commanding the bulk of the legion while Anton leads the skirmishers elsewhere.
-Colonel Franz Volmark. Commander of Anton’s best sharpshooter battalion.
-Colonel Henri Gaspard. Artillery commander.
-Captain Alfred Klain. Commander of the Chosen Men (Anton’s personal bodyguard.) The greatest swordsman in the Legion, second only to Anton himself.
-Lieutenant Mercer Brun. Commander of a Tactical Squad in Volmark’s Battalion. The greatest shot in the Legion, second to only Anton himself. Notable for refusing promotions, despite being offered.

Organization:
Primarch: Commander of the Legion (duh.)
Brigadier-General: Commander of a Brigade (Griffin Guard equivalent of a Chapter.)
Colonel: Commander of a Battalion.
Major/Captain: Commander of a Company.
Lieutenant: Commanders of Platoons and Tactical Squads.

Battlefield Role:
Compared to other space marine legions, the Griffin Guard possess a disproportionately high number of reconnaissance teams. Due to the traits their primarch passed on to them, these are among the finest in the Imperium. These teams make for excellent scouts, sharpshooters, and saboteurs. The Legion heavily relies on their skill in asymmetrical warfare. To be selected for a reconnaissance team is to be considered a high honour, as it is no secret that their Primarch favours this type of unit the most. Many of these scouts are equipped with jetbikes or jump packs, allowing them to more easily deploy in certain environments.

The Legion’s artillery is also quite formidable, with a focus on range and precision, which is to be expected given the Primarch’s nature. The artillery will typically be used to either force enemies to advance (usually into an ambush) or to force them to stay behind cover (allowing the Legionnaires to safely maneuver into an assault formation.)

Despite this focus on ranged warfare, however, the bulk of the legion consists of close and mid-ranged combatants, armed with power swords. Their purpose is usually to protect the artillery or to lure the enemy into an ambush by the Legion’s snipers, but they are also used to seize positions - typically under the cover of artillery fire, sniper fire, and with Imperial Tanks serving as a vanguard.

The Legion’s best fighters, who prove themselves skilled at both ranged and melee combat, are selected to join Anton’s Chosen - the Primarch’s personal bodyguard.

In orbit, the Griffin Guard tends to favour ships that possess speed and maneuverability, with a strong core of heavy hitters.

Legion Ideology:
The Skirmishers of the Griffin Guard Legion are friendly and jovial, quick to exchange jokes with each other and boast about their accomplishments. They walk with their heads held high, for they are considered to be their legion’s elite, and their primarch’s favoured. They extend this hospitality to the reconnaissance teams of other legions, though they may come across as patronizing at times as they consider themselves superior.

In contrast, the Legion’s melee fighters are stoic, grim, and determined. There is something of a rivalry between them and the Skirmishers. It is no secret that Anton places the Skirmishers above them, and although this breeds resentment in some, most become all the more determined to prove themselves. They have little resentment for their primarch, for although his favouritism is clear, he does not view them as expendable.

For the most part this divide remains a friendly rivalry; they may shun each other or make jokes at each other’s expense, but if they face antagonism from outside the legion they will usually rally against it.

Beneath this friendly rivalry, however, is a somewhat more concerning divide; one that is based on faith. While the bulk of Anton’s legion are staunch believers in the Imperial Truth, there are many who still cling to Sorus’s old faith - the Church of the Four. Most are wise enough to keep their beliefs secret, but there is no telling when or if these conflicting beliefs might ever spring to the surface.

Interestingly enough, most of the Four’s worshipers are in the melee infantry. They still see Anton as something of a messiah figure, but fear the Emperor has led him astray.

Relationships:
Factions of the Imperium
The Emperor: The bulk of the Griffin Guard is fiercely loyal to the Emperor, but those who secretly reject the Imperial Truth and still cling to the Faith of the Four believe the Emperor has led their saviour astray.
The Night Watch: The Skirmishers of the Griffin Guard feel a certain friendly rivalry toward the Skirmishers of the Night Watch. The rest of the legion doesn’t feel particularly strongly toward them.
The Daughters of Iron: The bulk of the Griffin Guard have a certain respect for the Daughters of Iron Legion, but the skirmishing elements of the legion don't think particularly highly of them.
The Stargazers: The Legionnaires of the Griffin Guard view the Stargazers with barely disguised contempt.
The Cult Mechanicum: Although the Mechanicus play a vital role, most of the Griffin Guard resent that they have been allowed to retain their religious beliefs. Alas, it is impossible to have a functioning legion without technological support.
The Imperial Army: Although they recognize that the Imperial Army as a whole plays a critical role, they are also more than aware that the common unenhanced imperial soldiers possess shorter lifespans and higher casualty rates. As a result, the Griffin Guard distance themselves from the common Imperial soldiers, initially out of a desire to not get too attached, though for some this developed into a genuine sense of elitism.
Imperial Citizens: Although their empathy toward the common human has dulled considerably, the Griffin Guard will still attempt to avoid unnecessary human casualties, though sometimes it is unavoidable.

Other Species
The Orks: The Astartes of the Griffin Guard relish the chance to combat Orks. Skirmishers will compete to see who can kill the most while the melee infantry frequently exchange advice on how best to meet them in battle.
The Watchers in the Dark: Encountered on the Death World of Caliban, the Watchers in the Dark were brought into the Imperium via the Edict of Tolerance. Although they were technically integrated into the Imperium, and they did aid the Griffin Guard in ridding the planet of the Great Beasts, the Griffin Guard was deeply unnerved by their presence and did not integrate them into the Legion.
The Eldar: The Griffin Guard has engaged in occasional skirmishes with the Eldar from time to time.