Name
Sevrah, the Horned Snake
Gender
Male
Homeworld
Scurn, Desert World
An immense planet, amongst the largest ever found by Imperial ships, Scurn is little more than a giant desert. It has not a single sea, few rivers and the vast bulk of all water on the planet runs deep under the ground. The humans present on Scurn survive by harvesting moisture from beneath the earth with vast moisture gathering machines, the owners of which represented the planet's ruling class. The operation of the ancient machines were closely guarded secrets within the ruling families, for their ability to retain control was entirely contingent on maintaining an aura of superiority and mysticism. Their monopoly on the only sources of water on Scurn allowed them to rule more completely than most kings ever have, so long as they made sure none but them knew how to work the machines.
Apart from its arid climate Scurn has one other feature that makes it less than inviting to settlers; aggressive native mega fauna. Most of the species of Scurn either have no need of water at all or have adapted to make small quantities last for vast amounts of time. The result of the planet's incredible size and comparatively low gravity is that the beasts that walk its surface are larger than those seen almost anywhere else in the galaxy though some of them bare remarkable similarities to Terran beasts. Many Imperial surveyors have remarked that the Skeltraks of Scurn could be mistaken for massively enlarged Terran Scorpions, for example. Almost all of Scurn's beasts display the same attitude to visitors as that of the planet itself. That is to say, one of unflinching hatred and resentment.
Appearance
Sevrah is both alike and different to his brother primarchs in appearance. He is every bit as huge and formidable looking as his siblings, being twelve feet tall without armour and possessing muscles seemingly carved from marble. But where most Astartes and Primarchs are broadly muscled and almost as wide as they are tall, Sevrah is comparatively slimly built and wiry. His build favours reach, speed, agility and dexterity over sheer force. The vicious sun of Scurn has left a visible mark on his skin, giving him a dark complexion to compliment his sable black hair. In the desert, he was careful to keep his hair cut close to his head, both to keep it from his eyes and to deprive enemies of something to grab. In his new surroundings of wealth, he has decided on a new look; his head is completely shaved saved for a long, forked goatee. As long as he keeps his helmet on during battles, Sevrah reasons, the goatee will never provide an enemy with a handhold. His eyes are a striking green and have unusual slitted pupils that do nothing to reduce the mental image of Sevrah as a snake that strikes most people.
His power armour, much like that of his legion, is coloured to blend into brown and yellow environs without any vegetation. The armour itself is a miracle of human construction, designed to evade detection and tracking systems of all levels of sophistication. For formal occasions, Sevrah offsets the dull tones of his armour with a crimson cloak made of a rare silk but in the field he prefers the same robes his Sons wear to battle; rough clothes that do nothing to make one look appealing and everything to make one hard to see. His spear, affectionately referred to as the Snake's Horns by his legion, is another masterwork, standing a little taller than he does with a power field encased short blade on one end, a weighted striking pommel on the other and storm bolter affixed under the blade.
Personality
Sevrah was raised on a world of scarcity, where all things had to be rationed, even the truth. As a boy, he learned never to wear his heart on his sleeve, lest his foes seek to tear it away and use it against him. He learned to lie under the sand and wait until the perfect moment to strike, whether it took one hour or twenty. But most of all, he learned how to lie, with his tongue, his eyes, his army or with his weapon. As an adult, he has never forgotten the lessons of the dry desert and uses them to great effect as commander of the IVth legion. Diplomats and strategists need to be able to lie quickly and convincingly, sometimes to lead an opponent into a trap, other times merely to make a potential ally feel more at ease. In whatever way Sevrah chooses to lie or deceive, he does it subtly and well, displaying a calculating cunning second only to that of the Emperor himself.
But in the desert, he learned other lessons too. Lessons of scarcity and independence, of wariness and distrust. When every person you meet for the first dozen years of your life is intent on taking what's yours for themselves, it becomes hard to work oneself into trusting others. Sevrah could count on the fingers of one hand all the people outside his own legion that he truly trusts. Trusts with his life, soul and the wellbeing of his legion. The main lessons he learned in the dune sea, however, were of pragmatism and realism. If you can't do something, no amount of bluster or protest will let you do it. If someone else can, let them. Sevrah sees no use or merit in the qualities of pride and ego, unless it is to manipulate them in others. He himself uses words to often as weapons and armour to ever feel their sting.
Despite, or perhaps because of, his use of lies as a protective shield, Sevrah is incredibly likeable. Upon meeting him, most men and Astartes find him agreeable and affable, especially his siblings. Whether they initially trust him or not, the other Primarchs find him a charming fellow and witty companion, whether at a ceremonial banquet or on a battlefield. Since meeting the Emperor and leaving the desert, Sevrah has been surrounded by his legion and human followers, so conversing with his siblings is a rare chance to talk to an equal.
Skills
Sevrah's greatest skill is his capacity for deception. Few can claim to really know when Sevrah is telling the truth and when he is lying to them, nor can many see through his subtle bluffs on the battlefield. This skill manifests itself in him as a commander in his fondness for ambushes, misdirection and hit-and-run techniques. He only pursues open warfare when it is the last thing his opponent will expect. Apart from that, Sevrah is a skilled at hunting, tracking and the use of stealth. His patience is nearly endless, allowing him to wait for precisely the right moment to strike from an unseen position without flinching or attacking too soon. He is extremely dangerous with his chosen weapon, a two handed spear, and can use it to devastating effect whether he's attacking or defending, whether his opponent knows he's coming or not. He would be assigned Kappa level psychic abilities if he ever took the test, due to a latent ability to force enemies to freeze by looking into their eyes. This ability only occurs in times of stress and seems to be a split between psychic ability and a hypnotic gaze.
Biography
When Sevrah came crashing down onto Scurn, it was inevitable he would awake surrounded by sand. The planet was little more than an immense desert, riddled with the occasional dry sea bed. When Sevrah did awake from his first sleep on the planet's surface however, it was not to see vast tracts of sand in every direction but look into the slitted eyes of an enormous serpent. One of Scurn's most powerful predators, Serasti are horned snakes of immense size and incredible cunning. Their life spans are several centuries long and they are famous for tricking travellers and other animals into traps and snares. Some Scurn legends tell that they have their own language but no Imperial scholars have been able to find evidence of this. But when the snake looked down upon Sevrah, tiny and alone in the sand, it did not strike. Perhaps because of pity or for a later snack, it lifted the infant Primarch in its mouth and carried him to its cave lair. It allowed him to drink from a small pool of water and eat from a freshly killed carcass, watching him guardedly as he did so.
Whatever the reason that the Serastis saved Sevrah's life, it did not stop with giving him food and water. It nurtured him until he could walk and then it began to train him. Serasti need water in much the same way humans do and have evolved to prey on other animals that get their water from deep underground. Sevrah's new guardian showed him how to pierce the water sacks of burrowing beasts and to bite into the humps of desert mammals for sustenance. It helped him learn to hunt, showing him how to set a trap by concealing oneself in the sand near an attractive piece of shade. Serasti have no poison in their teeth but have not let that stop them from using attacks to weaken dangerous foes. In the desert, a small wound can quickly cause even the largest of beasts to slow, stumble and eventually fall. Serasti favour giving their prey wounds to their legs or mobility systems and simply waiting for them to stop moving before feasting.
Sevrah was an attentive student to the serpent and learned all the lessons it had to teach. He had no fangs or horns so he crafted himself a spear from the rib bones of one of their meals. He had no scales to keep him safe from the scorching rays of the sun so he used hide and fur to make a cloak. All that he lacked, he was able to cobble together from the wreckage of his guardian's prey. And for the Serastis's part, who can say what it gained? It was a truly ancient monster, having lived almost a millennia, so perhaps it wished to pass on its knowledge and skills. Without any others of its kind in the area, it settled for something else. Or maybe it was clever still than even Sevrah realised and used him as a tool to spread its influence beyond the atmosphere of Scurn, where it reigned as king of the beasts.
During this period of his life, Sevrah saw little of humans. Occasionally he spotted them in the distance but his protector found humans to be too much work for too little reward and tended to leave them be. Those humans that approached them invariably did so with the intention of stealing water or food. Most were lost and starving but Sevrah saw only invaders, come to pillage what he hd fought for and earned. Some were eaten by the serpent, some were slain by the boy but none ever got what they came for or escaped to tell the tale.
Nothing lasts forever though and, in time, even an ancient Serasti will make a mistake. Sevrah's mentor made his while fighting a younger snake for control of territory, misjudging the speed of his opponent and suffering a grievous wound. It still crushed the younger competitor and feasted upon the corpse but the injury sapped its strength and spilled its blood across the sands. The great beast dragged itself home to the lair where Sevrah awaited it. At first, the Primarch did his best to staunch its gaping wound and slow the ichor flowing from the breach. He was still a young man and had not yet even considered the possibility that his constant companion was mortal. He soon realised, however, that no amount of care would return his guardian to its former health. In its eyes, Sevrah saw a resignation and acceptance that scared him to the bone. But he knew what he must do and would not shy from the last lesson his protector had to teach. He took his spear and did what needed to be done.
In the days that followed, Sevrah made preparations to leave his erstwhile home forever. He gathered food and water along with all the accoutrements he had crafted over the years. His last act was to cave in the entrance of the lair, leaving the horned serpent's body to lie in peace and not be picked apart by the next Serasti to settle the area. The Primarch himself set off across the desert in search of something new and yet familiar. He had lost one family and left one home, he now sought a new one.
The years that followed were busy for Sevrah and full of adventures, war and learning. For the first time, he spoke Low Gothic and learned to make symbols upon paper. He learned the principles of trade, diplomacy and military tactics, though all seemed to him to be merely new ways of lying. His education in deception was already complete, his guardian's greatest gift. It seemed that lying made all things easier for him, from lying about where he came from to why he carried the horns of a Serasti with him at all times. The truth frightened or confused people and some went so far as to call his truth lies. His natural force of character and innate gifts soon brought him to command a motley gang of nomads and traders, however and they all asked what to call him. Sevrah had never had a name before and could not come up with a lie that suited him. The crowd were happy to choose for him though and soon word of the Horned Snake spread far and wide. A hero of the nomad, the greatest of hunters and walker of the sands! And here came his first true test; the masters of the moisture gatherers saw his popularity and feared.
Leaders of the wasteland's people always caused the families that controlled the great machines to worry over their security. They were few but controlled access to the greatest sources of water on the planet of Scurn and relied upon this monopoly to keep their privileged positions. They were well aware that a gathering of the desert tribes could spell the end of their precarious power structure and strove to strike preemptively. They decided, as it were, to cut the head off of the snake. Their assassins expected the reports of this Horned Snakes skills and attributes to be nothing but rumour and hearsay and where therefore surprised when he woke to the sound of their stealthy footfalls, rose, towered over them and ripped them limb from limb.
Sevrah knew the signs; this was the start of an incursion. His protector had fought off many ambitious Serasti in the past and had been forced to fend off their tentative advances for some time before they fully committed themselves to the attack. When Sevrah had watched, he had always thought it odd that the older serpent chose not to pursue his opponent, hunt it down and dispatch it outright rather than wait for it to come to him. He did not intend to make the same mistake and wasted no time in rallying his forces behind him. If the masters of machines would strike at him through the shadows, he would show them their folly. The shadows of the desert belonged to him and no one else. His fighting force, made mostly of dissatisfied mercenaries and ambitious youngsters, followed him through the vast tracts of sand that surrounded the machines on all sides. With the failure of their assassination attempt, the masters sent out a proper fighting force to finish the job but all they found was dust. Dust and the occasional ambush.
For some weeks, the master's fighting force were harried this way and that across the dunes. Whenever they thought they had a trail to follow or a trap set, their foes would explode out of the sand at their feet or from behind rocks above them. Every battle took a heavy toll on their numbers for paltry results and soon they wished only to return to the relative safety of their machine fortresses. The march took far longer than it should have done and every day cost blood and flesh. And when they finally arrived at the machine's gates, their eyes beheld a terrible sight; the corpses of their masters hung from the battlements. None were sure when or how but the Horned Snake had been among them and take his revenge without a single member of the guard being any the wiser. To the Primarch, it was all one; battle, stealthy, ambush, leadership, all were just different ways of lying.
Within a week, Sevrah had been pronounced the new master of the machine. Within two, he had begun to train his new army properly, promoting those who served with him during the long weeks of battle and those who showed promise. Within six months, he had formed a dangerous fighting force and set his sights on expansion. Scurn was an immense planet, its dune seas nearly endless and there were many, many, more moisture gathering machines. His force would expand and expand until his territory encompassed every grain of sand the desert had to offer.
It was near the climax of his grand campaign that the forces of the Emperor of Mankind arrived upon the planet. Their chariots of fire fell out of the sky and annihilated the forces battling against Sevrah. And when the corpses had been piled high, Sevrah met his maker for the first time. The year was 815.M30 and the Emperor observed what his son had done with the wastes of Scurn and deemed it good.. He even gave Sevrah what he lacked most; a name. And so he arose to the stars, leaving the sandy winds of Scurn behind him to pass ont he lessons of his guardian to his own sons, the IVth legion. The Desert Sons. But while you can take a Primarch out of the dust, you can't take the dust out of a Primarch. Sevrah was ever the liar, ever the cunning one, ever the snake.
His Sons waged war across the stars, massacring enemy forces with campaigns of calculated cunning and cold cowardice, or so it was deemed by some. Sevrah never felt the need that many of his brother's and sister's did to seek out pitched battles. He preferred traps, ambushes, skirmishes and hit-and-run attacks. He never sieged a castle that could be unlocked by sneaking over the wall and never fought an enemy that could be exhausted by a prolonged effort of harassment. As such, his Sons suffered far fewer casualties than most of Imperium's legions which served to further tighten the familial ties between the Primarch and his legion. To him, every marine was member of his family whose life could never be priced too dearly.
This philosophy found a fellow practitioner when the Vth legion was named the Blazing Sisters and commanded by their Primarch, Farah. She too valued the lives of her legionaries and fought battles according to that principle. The Sister's style of continuous advance paired extremely well with the Desert Sons use of traps and ambushes. When working in concert, the two legions could drive foes into the perfect positions for devastating strikes that would remove command sections and shatter enemy morale. The two legions shared many campaigns over the course of the great crusade and the two Primarchs became friends or, at the very least, the closest thing to a friend that Sevrah had ever had outside of his own geneseed.
The Meeting
The golden figure stood, haloed in an iridescent glow. All around him, a host of impressively armoured warriors stood to attention, their weapons still soaked in gore. By contrast, the men who followed the Horned Snake seemed dirty, ugly and ill equipped. Their weapons were competently forged and they wore the best armour that the desert would allow those that traversed its lengths to wear but beside the gleaming cohorts of the newcomers, they were shamed.
Their leader stepped forward, raising one hand. Instinctively, every member of both assembled armies dropped to their knees, save one. The Horned Snake stood tall, staring at this new figure with a mixture of acute suspicion and cautious curiosity. He had an aura, an unmistakable air of power and control. The very air seemed to part for him and the desert winds fell silent. It had been many years since the Horned Snake had felt such a swell of awe and respect for another being. It brought back memories of a cave, of blood in his teeth and the sight of prey fallen before him. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts and stepped forward to greet this man.
Before the Horned Snake could utter a word, the magnificent being spoke with a voice of absolute authority. "Be at peace, my son, and know thyself. I am your father, come to reclaim you from the void. Do you know me?"
For a moment, the Horned Snake faltered. It seemed ludicrous, how could he know this man? He had descended from the skies with fire and wrath! He seemed as a god or avatar, not a father! And yet... something deep in the Snake's brain stirred and gave him a prompt.
"You... you are the Emperor."
The man smiled and his happiness lit up the world. "I am. And you, my son, are Sevrah."
The Snake rolled the name around on his tongue for a few moments. "Sevrah. Sevrah. Seeevvraah." He had never needed a name until he came amongst humans but this one felt right to him. And then he too smiled. "Yes, I am."
"My son, there are worlds beyond this one, beyond this endless sea of sand. I would take you to the stars so that you might take them in my name. I would have you stand as a champion of humanity, as a warrior supreme. I would have you take your rightful place as my son." The Emperor extended a gauntleted hand. "Will you accept?"
For a moment, Sevrah stood silent. When asked his plans and intentions, he normally deflected questions with a joke or a skilful lie. But with this man, his father, the Emperor, he felt that here was one who would see through even his deceptions. So he considered the question earnestly, his brow wrinkling and knotting. Then he looked into the face of the Emperor and spoke.
"Father, I would accept with all my heart. I must ask that you allow me to show you something first, however."
The Emperor seemed almost taken aback, just for a moment. Then a laugh that spoke of a rare intrigue in an age of repetition rang out through the air. "Yes, my son. You may show me whatever you will."
It took some time to travel to the cave and some more time to convince the Emperor's guards that the sight below was for him alone. Eventually Sevrah and his father stood at the entrance of the cave, once sealed by the young Primarch and now blasted open again by his father's weaponry. Together, they walked inside. Curled into coil in the centre of the cave was the colossal skeleton of Sevrah's guardian, the ancient Serasti that raised, taught and nurtured him in the early years of his life. In its withered eye socket, Sevrah's spear still stood.
It took some time for Sevrah to explain the significance of the beastly remains and even longer to relate how much he owed the old serpent. The Emperor took in everything said with steady interest and never once interrupted. At the end of Sevrah's explanation, he told of how his guardian perished.
"And when I looked into his eyes, I knew there was only one thing left I could do. Only one thing left it could teach me. So I took my spear and gave what help I could. Do you see, Father? I raised my hand against the first thing ever to show me affection, the being that taught me all I know. Can you still say you wish me to rise to the stars with you, knowing this?"
The Emperor's gaze was the patience of mountains, the depths of sea existed in his eyes. It seemed an eternity before he answered his son. "You say this Serasti made a mistake and it cost it its life?"
Sevrah nodded.
The Emperor laid a hand upon his son's shoulder. "Then you should not worry, my son, for I shall not make any such mistake. Our reclamation of the stars for humanity will be unmarred by failure, a perfect legacy for mankind. Now I ask you again; will you stand with me against the forces of the foe?"
Sevrah smiled, though his heart felt heavy. "I shall, father, I shall."
Desert Sons:
Formerly the Dawn Vipers
Legion Number:
IV
Legion Strength
14,000 Marines strong
Armour Appearance:
Due to preferring to fight covertly in deserts or arid areas, the Sons find it necessary to use cloth robes to keep the heat and light off of their armour, even if the ceramite itself has been treated to avoid glare or reflection. The vast majority of the Desert Son suits of plate are bleached into muddy, sandy colours, some by design and some by the elements themselves.
Warcry:
"Blood on the sand!"
Dramatis Personae
Captain of the first company, Ipsa is playfully known as the laughing shadow within the legion, both for his skills and his mirth. Save for the Primarch, there are none who can match his skill with camoflague and stealth tactics. Many an ork and eldar have died without ever knowing what it was that killed them and hearing only the dry, rasping chuckle of their murderer. Off the battlefield, there is no jest too foolish, no joke too simple and no situation too grave for Ipsa. In most other legions, he would likely be stripped of his rank for his exploits but the informal nature of the Desert Sons allows him not only to survive but to thrive. Much like Sevrah, Ipsa is skilled in deception and misdirection though he too uses it primarily to disguise his true nature to those not of the legion.
His face is far more coloured by the sun than most of his brothers, leaving him with dark brown skin and flashing white teeth constantly visible in a grin. His hair is shaved close to his head and he bears a single century service stud above his right eyebrow. Somewhat unusually among the Sons, Ipsa's favoured weapon is a plain power sword. Most strive to emulate the Primarch and use spears or short stabbing blades like gladiuses but he says that the elegant simplicity of the average power sword suits him well.
His face is far more coloured by the sun than most of his brothers, leaving him with dark brown skin and flashing white teeth constantly visible in a grin. His hair is shaved close to his head and he bears a single century service stud above his right eyebrow. Somewhat unusually among the Sons, Ipsa's favoured weapon is a plain power sword. Most strive to emulate the Primarch and use spears or short stabbing blades like gladiuses but he says that the elegant simplicity of the average power sword suits him well.
Famed throughout the legion and Imperium as a whole for using a unique set of weapons, Urromah revels in his moniker as Scorpion of the Second. While he decapitates or dismembers foes with his pincer wielding right hand, he left hand wields the Sting, a complicated metallic whip with a barbed blade on one end. It's unusual for a member of the sons to use any weapons more complicated than a power-sword or spear, their battle philosophies calling for pragmatism and efficiency over martial flair and skill. Urromah, however, has honed his abilities to such a killing edge that not even the Primarch can reasonably object to him wielding such strange weapons. The man himself is quiet and patient, preferring to spend time in the training cages than anywhere else. He enjoys his fame and the reputation he has through the ranks of the Astartes but would rather spar with a battlebrother than talk to them.
Like many of the Sons, he closely resembles his Primarch in skin tone, facial features build. Urromah came from a particularly barbaric part of Scurn (and Scurn was never civilised at the best of times) and still bears the tattoos inflicted on his as young as four. They twist black lines of clan membership down his arms and legs, designs he has copied onto the exterior of his armour. He maintains a small beard but otherwise eschews facial hair.
Like many of the Sons, he closely resembles his Primarch in skin tone, facial features build. Urromah came from a particularly barbaric part of Scurn (and Scurn was never civilised at the best of times) and still bears the tattoos inflicted on his as young as four. They twist black lines of clan membership down his arms and legs, designs he has copied onto the exterior of his armour. He maintains a small beard but otherwise eschews facial hair.
Of all the Sons, Demruh is the one that most resembles his gene-father, both inside and out. He has the same poison-honey tongue, the same darting eyes and the same priorities. Within the legion, he is known as a man of great jest and constant laughter. Outside the Desert Son's ranks, he is viewed as a cold, hard commander by humans and an aloof stick-in-the-mud by his fellow Astartes. Both facades are entirely intentional, one to instil discipline and one to allow other Sons to use quietly expressing distaste for him as an in with members of other legions.
Demruh's physical similarity to Sevrah was once almost perfect; same face, same smile, same eyes, same hair. But in a recent battle, an Eldar blades carved a neat scar down his left cheek and ruined his mirror image of the Primarch. In an act of devotion, Sevrah used an enemy blade to mark his own cheek but his superior biology healed the cut in moments. The act was not lost of Demruh, however, who is even more fervent in his loyalty to the Primarch than the rest of the legion.
Demruh's physical similarity to Sevrah was once almost perfect; same face, same smile, same eyes, same hair. But in a recent battle, an Eldar blades carved a neat scar down his left cheek and ruined his mirror image of the Primarch. In an act of devotion, Sevrah used an enemy blade to mark his own cheek but his superior biology healed the cut in moments. The act was not lost of Demruh, however, who is even more fervent in his loyalty to the Primarch than the rest of the legion.
Most Desert Sons utilise close combat weapons that can hack, stab and mutilate enemies at close range. It allows them to burst from the terrain around their enemies and butcher them before any weapons can be readied. Sevrah himself finds this strategy most effective but some of his sons espouse a different way, using long ranged weapons such as Staker Bolters and Sniper Rifles to pick off their foes from afar. The Fourth company is home to many such Sons and Castus the Hawk is the best of them. His manner is as boisterous as any of the other company captains when within the confines of the legion but his manner is deadly cold and calm when on the battle field.
Taking his moniker very much to heart, Castus has had his face and body tattooed with various designs of feathers, wings and eyes. His armour is even drabber than the suits of his brothers, all the better to disguise with paint and powder for each new location. He ritually shaves his head before missions but lets his hair and facial hair regrow when off duty.
Taking his moniker very much to heart, Castus has had his face and body tattooed with various designs of feathers, wings and eyes. His armour is even drabber than the suits of his brothers, all the better to disguise with paint and powder for each new location. He ritually shaves his head before missions but lets his hair and facial hair regrow when off duty.
The Iron Fifth, Novrah is a traditional warrior through and through. He and his company's most skilled warriors wear the Desert Son's few suits of Terminator plate and act as the legion's vicious fist, hammering foes with tactics more commonly used by the other, less subtle legions. Novrah's ability to completely alter the shape of a battle with the arrival of his forces has earned him a fearsome reputation amongst the forces of the Imperium, one he lives up to. Despite his great name and intimidating stature, a fierce intelligence and quick wit hides behind his thick brow and gorse-bush beard.
Taller and broader than any other member of the Desert Sons, Novrah stands out as a giant even when not clad in Terminator plate. He has deliberately cultivated the air of a brutish oaf, growing a large beard and thick, bushy eyebrows to cement the image. When in the company of his own legion, he is quiet and thoughtful but quickly shifts to boisterous gaiety when in view of anyone else.
Taller and broader than any other member of the Desert Sons, Novrah stands out as a giant even when not clad in Terminator plate. He has deliberately cultivated the air of a brutish oaf, growing a large beard and thick, bushy eyebrows to cement the image. When in the company of his own legion, he is quiet and thoughtful but quickly shifts to boisterous gaiety when in view of anyone else.
Even First Captain Ipsa cannot claim to be as irrepressible as Umah, an Astartes who relishes every chance he gets to surprise or terrify the enemy with his arrival. Leading the legion's assault marines, the Sixth Captain is used to arriving in the midst of the foe within a cloud of smoke and roar of noise and that's just the way he likes it. His role suits him perfectly, allowing him to make the most grandiose entrances possible without deviating from or upsetting plans. Off of the battlefield, Umah allows himself to be a little more reserved but still gives the impression of a thunderstorm in a bottle; caged, eager and ready to be unleashed.
Umah feels the need to draw attention to himself on the battlefield, the better to absorb blows that would otherwise be directed at his battle brothers. As such, his armour is painted bright red and a stark white lightning bolt decorates his helm. His chosen weapons are a set of lightning claws and an assault pack.
Umah feels the need to draw attention to himself on the battlefield, the better to absorb blows that would otherwise be directed at his battle brothers. As such, his armour is painted bright red and a stark white lightning bolt decorates his helm. His chosen weapons are a set of lightning claws and an assault pack.
Oft called the Seventh Son, Nysho is the oldest company captain and perhaps the one that least resembles his Primarch as a person. Brought up on Terra and originally a member of the Dawn Vipers (the Desert Son's legion namer before being rechristened by their Primarch), Nysho has a love and reverence for the concepts of honour and truth. Obviously, this does not square particularly well with his role as a member of the Desert Sons. He does his duty, leading his company through ambushes, strategic withdrawals and harassment campaigns with as much skill as any of the company captains but he often wonders whether what the Sons are doing is right. He studies literature on the nature of honour and Terran traditions, desperately searching for some excuse for the conduct of his legion and Primarch. Thus far he has found none but has managed to keep both his doubts and his search hidden from his brothers. He does not know whether Sevrah himself knows of it.
As he was born and raised on Terra, not Scurn, Nysho's skin is light and fair rather than tanned and wind beaten. He deliberately makes sure to wear his helmet at all times in the field, as not to remind his brothers how much he stands out from them. Also unlike his brothers, his hair is blonde and stretches down to his shoulders.
As he was born and raised on Terra, not Scurn, Nysho's skin is light and fair rather than tanned and wind beaten. He deliberately makes sure to wear his helmet at all times in the field, as not to remind his brothers how much he stands out from them. Also unlike his brothers, his hair is blonde and stretches down to his shoulders.
The sawbones is valuable in any army, because it's always better that the life expectancy of a fighting force is extended. But they are more vital in some armies than others; in a mechanised army, they have relatively few patients. The Desert Sons, however, treasure their medical marines, as many of their campaigns are fought for months at a time without resupply or relief. When you've been in a jungle for six weeks and haven't seen the inside of a ship in twice as long, you really appreciate the aid a good Apothecary can give you. And Mekroh is the best. His manner is reserved, careful and considerably more formal than most of his battle-brothers, a fact that is often used to tease him. He doesn't mind though, enjoying a good joke as much as anyone, though he rarely makes them. Mekroh feels that it is his solemn duty to safeguard each and every one of the Sons through battles and takes the loss of even a single patient very hard. The skill of Mekroh and his fellow Apothecaries is such that it is a rare event.
Mekroh has coffee coloured skin, a thin moustache and a tight lipped smile. His armour is painted white, as is the tradition, but he has carefully used powders and oils to robe it of its lustre, mute its colours and make it less obvious to anyone attempting to detect him.
Mekroh has coffee coloured skin, a thin moustache and a tight lipped smile. His armour is painted white, as is the tradition, but he has carefully used powders and oils to robe it of its lustre, mute its colours and make it less obvious to anyone attempting to detect him.
Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role:
The Desert Sons fight in the same manner as their Primarch; luring the enemy into just the right spot and striking when they are at their most vulnerable. They specialise in melee and skirmish tactics, preferring to hit the foe hard before retreating with coordinated precision, only to attack again hours later. Wherever and whenever the enemy cannot afford the Sons to attack, attack they will. Ambushes are a favourite tactic, especially in desert environments. A favourite ploy is to conceal a number of the Sons under the sand and a different group to lure the enemy into the right spot. When the foe has been positioned correctly, the concealed Astartes explode out of the ground and wreak bloody chaos in the middle of an enemy formation, even as the other Sons attack from outside it.
Legion Characteristics/Ideology:
The Sons live by a pair of rules given to them by their Primarch; Trust your brothers and your father. Everything else is sand on the wind. These words are utterly sacred to them and are not to be spoken to those not of the legion, no matter how close they might be. It is perhaps telling that Sevrah, raised on a diet of distrust and starved of family, has not only built his legion to be a huge family tied together by bonds of trust but also isolated all those not of his legion. To Sevrah, one should have a circle of trusted, loved companions and all those outside that circle are secondary. His legion do their best to emulate this attitude though some find it difficult to reconcile an order to put everything outside the legion secondary with a deep set loyalty to the Emperor.