[hider=Zaphariel ibn Varranis]
[color=orange][center][h1][u][b]The XIII Primarch[/b][/u][/h1][/center][/color]

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[color=orange][u][b]Primarch[/b][/u][/color] | [b]Zaphariel ibn Varranis[/b], Malik of the Illuminated Pandjoras Star Sultanate, Sheikh of the Star Serpent, Unifier of the Thirteen Houses, Child of the Hassan, Star Emir of the Dusk Sands, Master of the Suma’tah, Grand Faris of the Thirty Palaces, Grandmaster of the Assassins, Emissary of Falak, Nazim of the Seventy Sectors, Padishah of the Umbral Armada, Conciliator of the Three Hundred Worlds, the Arbitrator, Caliph of Neu Amalut, the Steel Companion, Grand Rival of the Dawn

[color=orange][b][u]Legion[/u][/b][/color] | The Thirteenth Legion, the undying blades of the dusken lands of the Achaemenid. A legion built with the concept stolen from ancient Terran legends in the desert sands of the Middle Eastern continents. Their mutability is unparalleled, fashioned from the DNA strung from their Primarch’s ability to adapt to environments at a preternatural rate. Most of their number are referred to as dreamers, awaiting their promised primarch and growing aggressive over the time passed between the dreams of their progenitor.

[color=orange][u][b]Appearance[/b][/u][/color] | Unlike his brothers and sisters, Zaphariel rises only a mere nine feet, seven inches tall with a thin frame in comparison to hardier primarchs. Tanned skin that threatened to darken under arid skies breathes life into reality, while pale orange orbs stare out with serpentine pupils at those before him. A mess of dark hair permeates around a thin, long face that stretches into finely trimmed facial hair. Thin lines of black trace his eyelids with artificial pigments such that his stares appear more daunting. A sweet scent of cinnamon permeates near the Primarch whenever he eschews his helmet or armaments. Typically, without his power armor, Zaphariel wears silk-like robes heavily embroidered with depictions of bulbous palaces and dunes. These breezy, dark robes are laced with gold, cuffs at the wrists, and draw up to a hood to protect against the oddly polarizing weather on Pandjoras.
	On the battlefield, Zaphariel adorns the perfected union of his artifice armor and the robes that flutter across its resplendent edifice. With a Maximus helmet that shares the likes of his sons, a heavy hood embroidered with the likeness of Pandjoras hugs the armor and descends into a surcoat that ends in a waist cape. An emboldened emblem of his Legion resides proudly on his chest, while a void serpent engraving wraps around his low gorget in a place of honor. Long tubes of graviton particles run from the back of his greaves up to the power pack and outstretching closely to the edge of his wrists. Like the ash wanderers of Pandjoras, Zaphariel bears a part of their legacy into his armor to be able to handle all manners of gravity turbulence with ease. The armor of Pandjoras is a deadly piece of wargear made for assassination with the tips of the gauntlet clawed and underslung with graviton barrels. 
	When the battlefield in question changes from diversionary to clandestine, Zaphariel eschews all manner of armor to bear the hassan robes that the old man had raised him with. Midnight black garment of sublime satin tightly garb his body above the low-grade power armor that Pandjoras is notorious for. The armor and robe combination is devoid of appearance, depiction, or emblem. 

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[color=orange][u][b]Homeword[/b][/u][/color] | [b]Pandjoras[/b]; The jewel of the serpentine Star Sultanate, once classified under Imperial record as a (“Civilized World”), resides in space as an arid beauty unparalleled in its savage nature. A world that hugs the northern edge of Segmenteum Pacificus, inside a stellar empire that snakes close the forgeworld of Stygies. At the height of the Dark Age of Technology, Pandjoras was the crux of its region of space as the primary supplier and hubworld for the sector. The inhabitants of this desert world lavishly delighted in all of their amenities being met to such an extent that the majority of their homes were lifted on anti-gravity mounts. Entire hovering palaces oversaw the automated process of a miniature empire within the realm of humanity. Vast aqueducts acted as the arterial veins that saw their world slowly reforming into a utopian paradise; however, doom met the sector when the Old Night split apart all the work of humanity. Pandajoras felt its death throes as the planet suffered an acute polarity shift in its magnetic core. Millions of anti-grav shunts fell silent leading to a sector-wide apocalypse that resulted in nearly five millennia of famine, death, and technological decay. From then on the golden grains of sand that blanketed the desert paradise became naught but warped, ashen fragments of dusk.
	Mere thousands survived the Old Night apocalypse on Pandjoras and untold numbers on other worlds connected to the former coreworld in the sector. The leviathan aqueducts that once saturated their world failed to survive the catastrophic onslaught of post-explosion graviton particles. The natural resources that dubbed the world the crown jewel of the sector were exhausted beyond tribulation. The Pandjorans could not flee their world, nor could their cries be heard to the greater beyond. Thus did the Pandjorans hide beneath the dusk tides of their dune sea in subterranean caverns where the natural lifeforms of the desert world prey upon the meek. Unknowingly, these caverns became the birthplace of the asasiyun and their hashshashin traditions. From the guidance of a lone, old man the Pandjorans rise from the gray grains into their inhospitable world once more. Legacies of the Age of Technology were claimed, cannibalized, and reused to return to the lives their ancestors once had. Pandjoras, however, had significantly changed from oratory stories of their past. The gravity alone had warped along with its sands, vibrant springs of graviton particles pooled in malignant ponds, and hills had become imposing mountains. Hundreds of native-born Pandjorans died in pursuit of bringing mankind back to the surface, yet they succeeded at the turn of the 30th millennium. The people had adapted, refitted their archeotech palaces, and walked the wastes astride specialized suits of powered armor fueled by the very material that had destroyed their civilization previously. 
	Humanity walked the scarred surface of Pandjoras once again, but fate had other intentions for the Pandjorans. Conflict arose as to the legacy that would lead their people to prominence among the stars again. Wars erupted over petty squabbles of long-dead inheritances. The old man who had guided their people ushered in the first House of the future Star Sultanate - The Caliphate House of Varranis. Those souls that had wholeheartedly believed in the old man banded as enclaves of assassins that either silenced or pushed the usurpers off-world. It was only the beginning of a long conflict but the House of Varranis had won and secured Pandjoras. Thus were the pillars of creation erected for the dwellers of the ashen sands to heartedly live above their subterranean homes. The old man continued to guide his people into building the modern infrastructure and veritable House that would rule the dusken wastes of their world. 
	In the most modern terms, Pandjoras has been restored to some level of technological height through the future efforts of Zaphariel and the sheer amount of archeotech rubble scattered across the planet. Instead of millions of hovering palaces in the Dark Age of Technology, there now reside a mere thirty that operate as both suborbital stations and bulwarks against foreign interlopers. Foreigners traveling the surface of Pandjoras are prone to extreme shifts in weight, requiring first-time travelers to wear specialized suits of powered armor. On the surface, the black sands lay host to a variety of post-apocalyptic dangers such as graviton lakes and physics-defying serpents the size of mortal men. Despite its initial upheaval, the former desert world remains hell-scorching through the everlasting dusk skies. Enormous refineries stretch the length of the planet, carefully harvesting the particles to return Pandjoras to its original beauty. 

[color=orange][u][b]Skills [/b][/u][/color]| 
[b]Weightless[/b]: Countless years spent in the strange, abnormal conditions set on Pandjoras grants those that withstand the planet’s atmosphere a level of permanent buoyancy and weightlessness. Zaphariel, and by extension Pandjorans, perform with insane ease within zero-G environments. This includes locations with remarkably heavy gravitational weight. This adaptiveness has allowed the Primarch to act as a flitting wraith in normal environments, further pushing his ability as a trained assassin and granting an air of lightness around him. Despite this special trait, Zaphariel and the Pandjorans must routinely weigh themselves down with adamantium augmentations and avoid extremely punishing blows lest their skeletal structure cave beneath the force. Curiously, the Thirteenth Primarch had always felt the weightlessness as an innate trait of his person, but never understood the genetic compatibility with Pandjoras' obscure density.

[b]Master of Coercion[/b]: Zaphariel is remarkable at convincing and manipulating those around him to act or perform the things that he wishes. This profound ability to weave words, dance around political games, and duck through near-galactic incidents has granted Zaphariel a form of impenetrable shield in most situations requiring any level of dialogue. While this skill is invaluable in regards to interacting outside of the Legion, it falls short when interacting with those within the Dusk Wardens. This is because the Sons of Zaphariel require no coercion to blindly follow the orders of the Star Sultan, and neither do those under the hierarchy of the Primarch require overt persuasion. Although known to only a select few, the Malik of Pandjoras can push the psionic limits of coercion with his words. Unconsciously, or intentionally, the words of the Thirteenth Primarch can become reality with a reverberating echo. Those who listen, even with a high willpower, find themselves under his temporary thrall. Those not enthralled, typically those with outlandishly unnatural willpower, find themselves weakened by the attempt. 

[b]Suma’tah[/b]: One of the most intriguing abilities about the Primarch is his stumbling creation of a martial ka’tah. Suma’tah was born from the intrinsic fighting ability of the Star Sultan, the strict survival scenarios on Pandjoras, and the harsh lessons taught to him by the Master of Assassins. The suma’tah is the dance of the desert, twirling between grains of sand with the breath of the wind upon one’s lips. This fighting style focuses on nimble footwork, precision blade handling, and oneness. The stillness of the body allows for perfect control over one that is already considered genetically perfect. This blade work is precise, methodical, and utterly deadly. Each strike of the blade is a piercing slice to a jugular, a fresh cut to an artery, or a vivisection to a vital organ. To counter and defeat this art is to be irrationally strong, deft, or psionic enhanced beyond what an immortal can achieve. Before Zaphariel had met his Legion and the Emperor, he had simply thought it was necessary to learn as part of their furusiyya. A bastardized, imperfect version of this fighting style has been passed down across the Dusk Wardens. 

[b]Eyes of Hassan[/b]: The mystical eyes of Hassan are the mutations granted simply by surviving on the dusk sands of Pandjoras. These are rumored to be gained whenever the ashen grains touch the bare skin of a person, others speak that it is the graviton pools that pollute the atmosphere. In truth, it is a combination of both. Graviton particles occasionally sublimate dusk grains into a micro powder that infiltrate the retina and open porous’. Those with the Eyes of Hassan experience their retina turning orange and their pupils sharpened to slits, granting distinct predatorial eyes. An unusual side effect of the Eyes of Hassan, other than cosmetically, is the ability to physically see vibrations, changes in the wind, and view a unique infrared common to the void serpents of Pandjoras. Zaphariel gained the Eyes of Hassan from an early age while left in the open air of Pandjoras’s volatile atmosphere; however, this mutation only further improved his abilities as a warrior and a hassassin. When the Legion arrived on the dusken sands to reunite with Zaphariel, he bade them walk into the deserts without a helmet such as he did. Now, as a process of initiation, Legion recruits will wash their eyes in a processed mixture known as the ‘Tears of Pandjoras’.

[b]Grandmaster of Assassins[/b]: To the people of House Varranis, it is no secret that Zaphariel holds the title of Grandmaster to the Order of Assassins. The only recorded individual on Pandjoras to own such a title is only known as the old man of the mountain - Zaphariel’s adoptive father. The old man has passed on every single shred of knowledge known to him onto his adoptive son, molding him into the ultimate asasiyun. The title alone holds significance to those around him, one that he isn’t afraid to use in the appropriate circumstances. Through the old man’s training, Zaphariel can become one with the shadows or the twisting dusken sands of Pandjoras. Any tool was a weapon of assassination from a a grain of sand to a macroclade fleet. Any single individual was a body to utilize. These tenets were passed onto his sons as a form of teaching from master to students. A hafiz in his own right.

[color=orange][u][b]Assignment Grade[/b][/u][/color] | [b]Beta[/b]. The Thirteenth Primarch has always exhibited intense talent for the psionic arts even at a young age. The first of his abilities was noticed upon discovery as he controlled a tide of venomous serpents through his words. These talents were only further honed through the Old Man of the Mountain's training as a hassan. Everything and anything was a weapon that could be utilized. The Empyrean was one tool that entered into that philosophy for Zaphariel ibn Varranis. Biomancy became the essence of his dive into psionic supremacy, pushing the limits of what a deity of mankind could achieve. Cellular regeneration, psionic speed, and enfeebling words became the primary weapons of his warp-influenced dominance. Chief among his stellar abilities as a psyker was his 'words of reality', a bespoken skill to psionically influence those he spoke to perform unhindered by forced reactions. This ability alone has become his most honed craft, skillfully improved to reduce a psionic footprint and drastically increase the length and strength of the coercion. At the furthest edge of his psionic talents, the Thirteenth Primarch can feel the innate gifts of Diviniation just outside of his peripherals. A connection to the deepest edge of the warp draws a thin web to something lost beyond the veils of reality.

[color=orange][u][b]Concept[/b][/u][/color] | The Thirteenth Primarch, the Unifier, supplanted with the guile and spoken charisma of the Master of Mankind in genetic form. He alone bears a level of persuasion unparalleled in other beings of his kind, but he does not share the strength or fortitude of his siblings. Smaller and weaker, the Thirteenth proves his worth to the Emperor with his cunning, martial skill, and diplomatic prowess. Designed with the thought of a unifier in mind, the Thirteenth has proven his abilities through his accolades; however, his deceitful nature has only awakened doubts beyond peril within the vast expanse of his mind. This natural doubt evolved through the teachings of Pandjoras’ hassans, willingly accepting the ideology of weaponizing everything and everyone. Despite this, the Malik of Pandjoras readily accepts his siblings either in truthfulness or in an attempt to utilize them for future endeavors.

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[hider=Legio XIII Bronze Scorpions]
[color=orange][center][h1][b]Legio XIII - Bronze Scorpions[/b][/h1][/center][/color]
[color=orange][center]Assassin-Dreamers of the Thirteenth Primarch[/center][/color]
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[color=f7941d][u][b]Legion Number[/b][/u][/color] | XIII

[color=f7941d][u][b]Legion Strength [/b][/u][/color]| 
At the dawn of their inception, the Bronze Scorpions numbered only a hundred from the young dredges on the outskirts of the Achaemenid Empire. As the long, desert nights grew on, the Legion expanded to two-hundred and fifty souls by the time Jermani had fallen. When the Astartes were unleashed unto those that defied the Emperor, His scorpions had grown to a thousand in number. When Abyssna had fallen to pincer and stinger, the Legion slaughtered into the Pan-Pacific Empire with two-thousand seven-hundred-and-fifty Astartes. As Ursh fell to blade and bolter, it did so with five thousand scorpions. Lo, behold, that the stars became infested with ten thousand insects as prophecy whispered from their lips.

[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/667651180872204299/1123018460662861904/Bronze_Scorpion_Praetor.png[/img][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/667651180872204299/1123018460885172284/Bronze_Scorpion_Sergeant.png[/img][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/667651180872204299/1123018461195554906/Bronze_Scorpion_Tactical.png[/img]
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[center][b][Depicted in order: Bronze Scorpion Praetor, Sergeant, Tactical][/b][/center]

[color=f7941d][u][b]Legion Appearance[/b][/u][/color] | 
The Bronze Scorpions adorn their armament in their namesake, copper hue slabbed on chestplate, helmet, and pauldron. In keeping with their heritage in the Achaemenid steppes, these Astartes cloth themselves in dark fabric that double as cover and an emergency weapon. As the Legion kills, massacres, and cleaves through conquered regions, they decorate their weaponry and armor with trinkets, trophies, and paraphernalia. Skulls, tanned skin, and shards of broken monuments hang from pauldron and tabard alike as an intended tactic to sow fear. On their right pauldron forever sits the numeral for their clade, and on the left side resides the paired scorpions guarding their Legio number, XIII. Seniority amongst the scorpions are rarely depicted by plumes or cloaks, rather their hierarchy is represented through pincer and stinger. The upper echelon (praetors, consuls, etc.) sharpen the tips of their gauntlets, mount metallic scorpions to their helmets, and fashion chains to their weapons. Prolific weapons for use in close combat, those that command the legion fashion themselves as living weapons in the heat of the battle.

Without their armor to defend them, the Bronze Scorpions appear as dusken facsimiles of their distant genefather. Pleasing to the eye, tanned skin, and thick clumps of dark hair compliment their otherwise rugged features. Thinner and more toned in comparison to other Astartes of different breeds, the Thirteenth’s sons deceptively appear shorter and weaker to combatants. This fact of their physical feature is only a boon as it allows them to stab into disregarding necks. Where other Legions would certainly outperform in strength, the Scorpions outperform all in speed and silence. In rare cases abroad, some Bronze Scorpions have been able to perfectly blend in with mortal crowds upon Terra due to their flaws. Light footsteps and thin frames only enhance their abilities as supreme killers.

[color=f7941d][u][b]Legion Warcry [/b][/u][/color]| 
‘Blood of the Sand!’ or  ‘Gloria Scorpii!’ are uttered when operating on their own in a secular environment, away from other agents of the future Imperium. When working together with other components of their liege’s military, the Scorpions will shout ‘Ave Imperator!’ or ‘Gloria Raptoris!’ as is most common amongst Imperial forces on Terra and beyond.

[color=f7941d][u][b]Legion Tactics[/b][/u][/color] | 
The Bronze Scorpions claim their forcewide infamy from their bizarre tactics. A natural blend of highly aggressive shock assaults, perfectly augmenting covert ambushes and conniving assassinations. Their brutal efficiency in clandestine operations and shock warfare earns them an infamous reputation as little and less is left behind in the wake of their open battlefield warfare. Fatal feints, elusive flanks, and heinous pincers bait foolish opponents directly into insectile stingers. Many reasons exist for the use of underhanded tactics such as these, but their reasoning is nothing short of their genefather’s affliction of weakness. After startling surprises from their first few assaults, the scions of the Thirteenth have adjusted to counteract their inherent fragility. If their enemies could break them easily, then certainly they could inflict the same devastation a thousand times over.

These Astartes thrive in urban environments as opposed to field battles, despite their notoriety as ferocious slaughterers. No amount of words could properly explain the depths to which the Scorpions will go to assure victory within a city. Controlled slaughter, assassination, burglary, kidnapping, torturing, sabotage and more await those that face-off against these genewarriors in the darkness. Even those that they consider friendly are not immune to these as the Scorpions will intentionally let a defensible location fall in order to butcher the celebrating attackers. The Scorpions will go as far as to abandon a city entirely if their tactics will not work, if only then to wipe it completely from reality with orbital bombardment, mass artillery barrages, or malicious internal detonation. Many wonder where the Thirteenth learned their tactics from, yet none dare tell the answer. Always, unless confronted by their liege, they would answer ‘from our dusken dreams’.

In the early years of their deployment, these assassin-dreamers would operate in ten-men cells known as clades. Each clade, unlike a host, would be assigned pivotal targets by a consul while in an operational zone. A small set of clades is then managed by a praetor in any given situation, either electing to view their unit destroy and slaughter or join in on the carnage. All of the praetors are supervised by the Legion Master, who commands the entire force structure from beside, furthest within, or farthest behind them. When operating as a single conglomerate, the Legion Master will eschew all usage of the clades and begin full-scale battle tactics as a cohesive army. In the later years of the Unity, the Bronze Scorpions will opt for Terran Standard Organizational Template as all other Legions. Only when tragedy befalls them deep within the promised stars will their organization drastically change once more.

[color=f7941d][u][b]Legion Characteristics/Ideologies[/b][/u][/color] | 
A common phenomena when dealing with the Bronze Scorpions, even in the early stages of their deployment, was the eerie and distasteful reactions from others. Even fellow Astartes found their brutally cunning and insular attitudes difficult to deal with. Despite their inherent, unnatural charisma gifted to them from their genefather, the Scorpions never failed to repulse and attract outsiders. Grisly displays of butchered trinkets, treacherous attitudes to anything other than the Emperor and his cohort, and a wildly xenophobic culture begrudged their Legion. Though their reputation is forever stained, the assassin-dreamers truly hold no disdain for their cousin Astartes legions. A plethora of actions confirmed their repulsion, but none so much as their near-religious talk regarding their yet-to-be-found Primarch.

Even amongst the most tactical minded of their number, the Bronze Scorpions suffered from frequent visions and dreams regarding their genefather. Small recollections of the Thirteenth Son’s childhood in the black sands of an unknown world, or frenzied attacks against gravity defying creatures haunted their waking world. Regardless of their mental torture, these Astartes were able to turn their dreams into training as they utilized every bit of information learned from within. Influenced from beyond, the Scorpions took tendencies, habits, and experiences from their genefather. At random moments in interaction with one of these Astartes, one could noticeably see the shift in their demeanor when using the Thirteenth’s memories. Only those at the upper echelons can fully exploit this phenomena, extrapolating their Primarch’s talents into raw knowledge and technique. Thus the spread of a peculiar doctrine has spread throughout the Legion, paving the way for mere Astartes to become supreme assassin-dreamers. In due time, they would live up to the whispered ranks of those beings within their visions.

Perhaps it isn’t the fault of the genesons that they falter from frailness and psionic insanity. Perhaps it is the very thing that nestles deep within their radically altered biology that afflicts them so. The geneseed of the Thirteenth Son is a precarious strand of genome, a growing organism that follows the same template as each and every other similar to it. High mutability, high adaptability, and high performance enhancement like others of its kind. Unlike other genomes, their seed was cursed from the beginning either from lack of material or unfavorable events. All of the Bronze Scorpions suffer from inherent fragility and weakness, their structural anatomy degrading within the first years that the Black Carapace is integrated. Despite this overwhelming flaw, their bodies become lighter, faster, and easier to manipulate than other recorded Astartes. Their troubles fail to halt at that implant as a mutation occurs between the Omophagea and the Sus-an Membrane approximately three years after full geneseed growth. The nervous system augmented by both implants, either through mutation or psionic potential, merge into a singular cerebral nerve that elicits visions during periods of rest. Due to this, these Astartes exhibit expert control over all functions of both organs while being hindered by their genefather’s memories. Only time can tell whether these geneflaws will resolve upon reuniting with the Thirteenth Son.

[hider=Legion Dramatis Personae]
[color=f7941d][u][b]Legion Dramatis Personae [/b][/u][/color]|

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[u][b]Legion Master Zaid ibn N’dar [/b][/u]| The first of the Bronze Scorpions. He, who had been by the Master of the Line’s side early in the Unification, ultimately volunteered for surgical augmentation for the sake of humanity. He who had succeeded where others had failed and lost their lives for the glory of mankind. He who would achieve that which his future Emperor would demand with staunch loyalty and callous violence. He who would lead his genebrothers as if they were his own children into war. He was a stalwart man with a name long forgotten. Now, he is Legion Master Zaid ibn N’Dar of the Emperor’s finest genewarriors. He will see Unity with a chainaxe in one hand and a flamer in the other.

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[u][b]Legion Praetor Zameel al-Beshara of the First Clade[/b][/u] | A hearty child of steppe warriors on the outskirts of the Achaemenid Empire, Zameel al-Beshara was amongst the first to become a Bronze Scorpion after the genome was perfected and standardized. He had been freely given to a host of enormous, dark knights that waved the sigil of the Raptor over their yurts. Several dozen children had come with him deep into the Himalazian mountains to become Astartes after months of rigorous, abominable testing. Many of his childhood friends had died. They would be forgotten in time as he ascended as a Bronze Scorpion under the teachings of Zaid ibn N’dar. Zameel proved himself in the small amount of operations they partook in, establishing himself as a future praetor when their Legion would be unleashed upon Terra. Either as a part of their geneseed’s mutation or his upbringing, the Astartes found himself at ease with a blade in one hand and a pistol in the other. A sword felt as natural as a limb, both of which had slain plentiful individuals in the short time he had been an Astartes. The steppe warrior stands as a tanned knight in bronze armor, a groomed beard and lopsided hair of a dark hue complimenting his rough, comely features. In time, he would earn his scars out on the plains of Abyssna.

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[u][b]Consul Raamiz Ismail of the First Clade [/b][/u]| A youth of the royal family within the Achaemenid Empire, a direct heir of the monarchy. Raamiz Ismail, a name he would come to be known, was claimed by servants hailing from the Master of the Line several years after the fall of Gyptus. Dark knights in ornate, powered armor had come in the middle of the day to negotiate with the Achaemenian monarch. Ultimately, himself and fifty of his relatives, distant and close, had joined the Emperor’s servants back to the Himalazians. Even his twin, Pantea, had been taken with him, her hand held in his as they left. He still vaguely remembers how their parents reacted, yet it is a fleeting memory. He endured, more so than those of his stature ever had before. Death knocked upon his fleeting body more than once during the physical trials to become mankind’s salvation. Raamiz survived, but a small number of his younger relatives hadn’t been so lucky. The former royal would think himself lucky until the moment his first vision of the Thirteenth Son appeared. Mutating unnaturally early, Raamiz began to dream of his Primarch far before any of his brethren. Because of this premature evolution, this Astartes surpassed others within his clade easily and earned himself a place as a consul with a spear in hand and a bolter in the other. Even as he was lectured over the Imperial Truth, Raamiz held small, inconsequential prayers for his Primarch’s reunion to come quickly.

[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/667651180872204299/1123063798752882768/Bronze_Scorpion_Consul_Alim.png[/img][/center]
[u][b]Consul Alim ibn Sharif of the First Clade[/b][/u] | The son of a great smithing cabal within the Achaemeninian mountain ranges, Alim ibn Sharif had crafted a prolific amount of goods for their new lieges. The heir of his forge, the youth had spent many years in his childhood building up knowledge and muscle to one day rule over their business. His hopes and dreams came to a halt as dark knights from the Himalazians came to collect tithe in the form of children. Alim was the first to volunteer after hearing their words, promising glory for humanity and a chance for immortality. Many children, numbering nearly seventy in size, joined the Master of the Line’s warriors. He had hopes to return to his parents one day, their forges bustling with work in service to humanity’s future. Their journey was short and brutal, many adolescents dying from malnutrition or preexisting conditions from working the forges. Alim didn’t cry for the fallen, but he shed tears upon ascending as an Astartes once he completed his trials and augmentation. He proved his technical skills, martial prowess, and vast intellect in small engagements and precise repairs. Despite his small glory as a consul, he longed to wield a hammer to forge once more. Alim would simply have to settle for crushing skulls with a discharge hammer for now.
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[hider=Legion Relations]
[color=f7941d][u][b]Legion Relations[/b][/u][/color] |

[u][b]Master of the Lines[/b][/u]: Gloria Excelsis Terra, Gloria Raptora Imperialis!

[u][b]Malcador the Sigilite[/b][/u]: Gloria Excelsis Terra, Gloria Raptora Imperialis!

[u][b]Legio XV - Sirens of Terra[/b][/u]: Rivalry from the moment of inception, simply by being drawn from the same pool, the Scorpions and Sirens hold competition over even the most minute challenge. Rarely will a confrontation not be an obstacle to affirm pride over the other Legion. Only in dire circumstances or after a battle will the Thirteenth and Fifteenth settle their affairs with comradery, joy, and drink in the name of their liege. Amongst the other Legions, the Scorpions feel closest to their sister Legion and work hand-in-hand with the master diplomates to execute their plans. 

[u][b]Legio Cataegis[/b][/u]: Few are the times that the Bronze Scorpions have come directly into contact with the Thunder Warriors of the Emperor’s gene warriors legions. Majority of those times they would simply be mistaken for another Thunder Legion, complimenting their warform and appreciating their tactics in overwhelming joy. Only a single time have the Thirteenth sons had to silence a patrol of Legio Cataegis, those warriors understanding with surprising intelligence exactly what the Astartes were. Thus, the Scorpions hold a high opinion for the Legio Cataegis, yet pity them for what must be done. They would need to prepare themselves for future endeavors.

[u][b]Excertus Imperialis[/b][/u]: In the small amount of time that the Bronze Scorpions have been active during the Unification, the Bronze Scorpions have had a negative impression of the lesser soldiers in their master’s service. Auxiliaries from defeated regions, mercenaries, and misfits demanding a spot in the light shone by the Master of the Line. These Astartes think of them as meat to be used, discarded as needed, and replaced when required. In time, they believe that they will outshine the common man in their genewrought might. For now, though, they are necessary for the greater goal of mankind.
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