#Battle of Paramar

[leaflovingal]

First post, which is neat. Anyways, Warhammer 40k theory time. I'm writing this with all info from memory and watching something, so sorry for any inaccuracy. All my info comes from the fandom wiki and lexicanum.

So, the First Battle of Paramar V was fairly important. Paramar V itself was a storage depot/resupply point of sorts, managed and I think "owned" by the Mechanicum, and was located on the edge of the Sol System. Horus knew he had to take it, but it was heavily defended so he sent the Alpha male legion to deal with it. They did their usual sleeper agent stuff as well as gaslighting, gatekeeping, girlbossing their way inside some orbital defences above paramar 3 or 4 by saying they were the Dark Angels or Imperial fists, don't remember.

Anyways, they had to prematurely start blasting Razormind because a fleet of Iron Warriors (77th grand battalion) led by Kyr Vhalen showed up. However, it turned out they were loyalist since they had been out in buttfuck nowhere and hadn't talked to the larger force of Peter Taxpayers kids in a while. The Alpha Legion did an oopsy daisy and shot at them, causing them to side with the mechanicum forces when the Battle of Paramar V started.

Skipping past the "Cowabunga it is" that was the first battle of Paramar V, the Ironic warriors, mechanicum, and Legio Gryphonicus (War Griffons) were pushed back to some hold, and eventually the Omega legion, Dark mechanicum, and legio mortis took said hold, but not before Kyr Vhalen, the Mechanicum leader, and the surviving 77th and War Griffons dipped. The 77th and Kyr Vhalen were not heard from again though, as far as I know.

It is my theory (and headcannon, cause I write for funsies) that the Knights of Gryphonne are descendants of this group of Iron Warriors, the 77th. My reasoning, which should be taken with a grain of salt due to the amount of assumptions, is as follows:

The 77th very well could have fought hard enough to gain both the respect of the Mechanicum defenders, as well as the War Griffons. A deal could have been struck between them and the 77th for the iron warriors to go to the Gryphonne Octad to defend it should they need to, or some other arrangement in which the 77th went to the Gryphonne octad or one of the War Griffons various holdings etc.

Providing the above, you may be wondering why Gryphonne IV or the Gryphonne Octad would allow this to happen, which would be that the War Griffons, being a titan legion, and a decorated one at that, have a lot of sway, being considered to be avatars of the omnissiah if not minor gods unto themselves.

The knights of gryphonne have effectively no info on them, only that they're fleet based now because they lost their former homeworld and they're in/near the reductus sector of the segmentum tempestus (they're also on a map i found, which is peculiar, think it was on the lexicanum). This means that very well anything could be their backstory, including them intentionally being obscure to not attract attention to them.

Mechanicus peeps are sneaky and untrustworthy as hell, they very well could be intentionally harboring their geneseed and replacing it with someone elses, etc.

It's cool idk

I am fully aware that there is no concrete proof, and that they almost certainly are not descended from the 77th, but it is an interesting prospect to me nonetheless. I hope this was somewhat interesting to you as well, and I'd like to hear other theories you may have.

[coolyo294]

War Maniple Herald Imperator, Legio Gryphonicus 

1st Battle of Paramar 

Declared fit for active service only days before the Alpha Legion’s attack on the Mechanicus domain-world of Paramar V, this maniple of the War Griffons (as the Legio Gryphonicus was informally known) was one of the units stationed at the Paramar Nexus landing fields when the Traitor forces made planetfall. Alongside the other Titans of their legio, they met the traitorous God-Engines of the Legio Fureans in battle on Paramar’s open desert in a duel of apocalyptic scale that had scarcely been seen before during the Great Crusade. 

Although accounting for many God-Engine kills, all Titans of the maniple fell in glory. The names of its Titans, Princeps, and Moderatii alike are carved in the brazen Wall of Honour on their distant home Forge World, Gryphonne IV. 

[transmechanicus]

While i’m a fan of the Imperial Fists, this blog is hardline DNI for Iron Warriors haters, Perturabo was an asshole dad and all his sons are doing their fuckin best.

[fuukonomiko]

[Book excerpt: Forge World Horus Heresy: Crusade]The Night Lords fought a civil war for the soul of their Legion in Thramas

The Tragedy of the Night Lords legion Posted on Reddit by Karthak_Maz_Urzak

Horus sent Curze to the Thramas sector to harness its resources for his rebellion, but, well, that ended up being a bit of a self-own. Curze wasn't pleased to see what had become of the worlds he had once overseen.

Long had the worlds that surrounded now-dead Nostramo suffered under the rule of the Night Haunter. His stringent and unforgiving code of law had enforced a dreary life of suffering and toil upon those who served him, with any infraction, no matter how insignificant, punished by maiming or death. While it had maintained a brutal form of order, it had done so by means of a fear so ingrained that it had begun to eat away at the souls of those who dwelt under its burden, the suppressed sins of its people a threat overlooked by their old masters. With the Night Haunter's absence during the final years of the Great Crusade this threat would come to the fore, with many of the worlds of that far sector overthrowing the tyrannical regimes forced upon them by the Night Lords and reverting to the anarchic ways of their past. Corrupt syndicates and brutal gangs took control of cities and worlds, indulging in all that Konrad Curze had forbidden and bringing a more chaotic terror to the weak that dwelt on those benighted worlds.

The syndicates who ruled these worlds thought the return of Curze meant new profits, and they stood ready to supply Horus' rebellion. But to Konrad they were an insult to all he had ever sought to achieve, and he put their worlds to the torch.

This would set the pattern for Konrad Curze's return to his adopted home, with even those worlds that had remained largely true to his draconian laws suffering a blight of gruesome punishments to ensure their loyalty. While the other Traitor Legions busied themselves with the initial assaults on the warp channels leading to distant Terra, and Paramar and Karadoc now vast battlefields for the warlords fighting over the Imperium's corpse, the Night Lords set about a private war. For the return of the Night Haunter was far more than the prosecution of the Warmaster's conquest, but also a piece of a vision that the Night Haunter had long dreaded, the next step on a path that had begun when Horus raised his banner at Isstvan. In the descent of Nostramo and its neighbours into madness and debauchery, and the setting of brother against brother, he saw the beginnings of his own demise and the eternal damnation of his Legion. It was a fate he still fought to deny, though his methods were ever more led by desperation before cunning, and he loosed the warriors of his Legion to eradicate all signs of that possibility, to wipe clean the stain of perfidy with blood and perhaps turn the course of fate itself.

Led by Nakrid Thole, a late-generation recruit from Nostramo, the gutter scum of the Legion wanted to keep Curze occupied with his visions and regrets so that they could plunder and kill to their heart's content. Opposed to him stood both Terrans and Nostramans, veterans and new recruits, who were committed to Horus' rebellion but who wanted the Legion's actions to mean something. Their totem was Sevatar.

Though seen by history as the battlefield that would pit the Night Lords against the Dark Angels, Thramas would also be the field upon which another battle would be fought, a battle for the soul of Konrad Curze himself. Lost among the grand battles and terrible slaughters that formed the backdrop of the assault on the Thramas Sector, the Night Lords underwent their own quiet rebellion. The two faces of the Legion fought a sullen fratricidal struggle for control of their Legion and its Primarch. There were those that yearned for the glory days· when the Night Lords stood among the legends of the Imperium, a military force to be reckoned with, and those who sought only the bloody mandate to pillage and kill in the wild stars at the edge of Imperium space. Horus had offered them freedom in his rebellion and therein lay the heart of their tragedy, for in freedom they had found only despair, both in the decline of their Primarch and in the decline of their Legion.

This would be no war in the open between brothers, but a brutal struggle in the shadows, with honour-duel kills, battlefield incidents and the disgrace of rival officers serving as the main weapons. Though the filth of the Legion enjoyed great success at first, in the end it was the savagery of Thole and his ilk that brought about their own doom.

Despite the apparent failure of the Night Haunter's plans, it would be his actions that finally tipped the balance of power within the Legion to those of his sons that sought to free him from his visions. For in giving the more headstrong portions of his Legion their freedom he had allowed them to overextend their forces and commit themselves to a series of battles that were now beyond their means to finish - they were caught in the trap of their own hubris. In the final months of the Thramas Campaign, many of those that bore the Cross of Bone were cut down, Nakrid Thole falling at Thramas, Vaeduc the Maimed at Sheol and Malithos and Cel Herec at the hands of Sevatar and his Atramentar. With their deaths, the more loyal sons of Curze finally took control of the Legion, with Sevatar assembling a new inner council, the Kyroptera of the Night Lords, filled with warriors he counted as loyal to his cause and the Legion's survival. This new council would lead while the Primarch languished at the edge of death, setting a more pragmatic course than those that had taken the reins for the majority of the Thramas Campaign.

Sevatar and the new Kyroptera intended to reunite the Legion, to cleanse them and make them proud conquerors once more. But then. The Lion and his sons. A force that could not be overcome. But that alone was not enough to end the VIIIth Legion. No, their father saw to that, stirring from his torpor and launching a futile assault on the Dark Angels. And so died the most loyal sons of the VIIIth, those who followed Curze into the Lion's jaws, leaving the rest to flee, never again to be a true Legion.

(If anyone needs any further proof how badass Sevatar is, here you go).

[ask-izi]

Great Crusade

Relief of Namor

Sacking of Ceonon

Ullanor Crusade

Horus Heresy

Second battle of Paramar

Balthor Sigma Intervention

Battle of Borman IV

Battle of Theta-Garmon V

The Titandeath

Battle of Harmos

42nd Millennium

Blood Crusade

Plague Wars

Betrayal at Danastica

Battle of Nicomudea

[imperialinquisition]

The minds of mortals are not born to conceive of what we have seen, nor are their frail bodies born to endure what we have been forced to withstand. And yet, we bear witness; and yet, we stand.

We were the avatars of the god-engine; we were the lords of engine-war; we were the hand of Titandeath.

These words we recount so they might last as long as the stars still burn and the heavens still turn. We carve them into stone as once did the most primitive of ur-men, for they knew no other means of preserving the knowledge gleaned in their own fleeting lives.

Not long ago we might have committed such accounts to the purest of the sacred crystal data-stacks, certain that our Temples of All-Knowledge would stand for all time. But the age through which we have endured, the sights we have borne witness to, have dispelled such hubris. Now, we know only stone endures - the sacred matter from which all machines and all machine-servants are come. Knowledge is knowledge, irrespective of the medium on which it is recorded.

And thus we preserve the memory of a thousand god-engines bestriding the sulphur wastes of Taral III; of deserts turned to plains of glass during the Scouring of Ollanz; of Princeps Koval’s end at Morokai. We commit to stone the memory of the Imperial Hunters at the Second Battle of Paramar; the Firebrands at Istvaan V; the War Griffins at Tallarn; the Tempestus at Mars; the Nova Guard at Beta-Garmon. And when the time comes, we shall relate the calamitous events of Terra, and the devastation that followed thereafter during the Scouring.

We, who have heard the war sirens of entire Orders whose names are now consigned to history, grow few. Yet the song of war rings in our ears and we pray it shall echo down the ages for all time. These things we commit to the annals of our epoch, that those who come after us might propagate our knowledge and thus ensure our immortality, even should the sacred processes cease and the great reactors gutter and grow cold. Even now, the once-roaring data-looms fall silent and ancient cogitation stacks slow. A new age of ignorance is upon us, and it is our sacred duty to hold darkness and data-death at bay while we are still able...

This oath we give in blood and deed. The gods of war shall walk, and death shall follow with us.

- Preface to the Adeptus Titanicus Rulebook

[theironwarsmith]

Here is the second Demios pattern Vindicator. A former Khalekaorus vehicle, but since the armoured group was destroyed during the first battle of Paramar V. Captured relatively intact, the vehicle was restored to working order by the Alpha Legion. The vehicle was again captured during the Second Battle of Paramar V. The Vindicator was then transferred to the shattered remnants of a Salamander strike force onboard a damaged cruiser. It was captured for the third and final time as the Salamander cruiser attempted to leave the system. The ship was attacked by a small fleet of Iron Warriors led by Praetor-Warsmith Vidur. The ship was boarded and the inhabitants were slaughtered before the ship could be scuttled. The boarding Legionnaires found dozens of damaged and repaired vehicles in the ship's holds. Over the course of the next few days, they transferred the armouries and the contents of the holds over to the various ships of the fleet. The Salamanders' serfs hadn't even managed to begin the process of painting the tank into the XVIII Legion's colours. Not knowing of the Khalekaorus' betrayal of their Primarch on Paramar V, Vidur commanded that the vehicle be repaired with original markings left on as, he presumed, the vehicle was taken from the Khalekaorus armoured division by the Salamanders. In the days to come, the Imperial Aquila left on the side led to some confusion in battle against the loyalists...on both sides.

[ask-valerian-40k]

Battle of the Paramar Nexus

[templarhalo]

a little fanfic of mine

@sisterofsilence and I had a nice conversation that led to  this.  This is my first 30K fanfic and it's dealing with a character that Forge World barley has any fluff for.

Warning for : female asrtartes and badass women. OC's galore and some noblebright with our grimdark  and some genuine heroism. If the first two things offend you please fuck off.

Enjoy! 

Prologue

Darkness.  Darkness and light.  That is what composes our universe.  The darkness of the void, and the brightness of stars, suns and planets.  Once, the light of reason, of hope for a better future for Humanity, sought the eclipse the darkness, and for a brief time, there was light.

Now Darkness returned.

Brother fought Brother

Sister fought Sister.

Trillions died.

Worlds burned.

Traitors against the Loyal.

And Darkness sought to snuff out the light.  To leave only horror and chaos

A human philosopher lost to history once said “Rage, Rage, against the dying of the light.”

That is precisely what humankind did.  On Calth.  On Signus Prime, Hydra Cordatus, Paramar, and a hundred other worlds, those loyal to the Emperor of Mankind refused to give up and die to the blades and guns of those they once called brother and sister.  They refused to let the darkness snuff the candle they ignited.  They refused to let Horus Lupercal, Primarch of the XVI legion, destroy all they had built.

The candle that was humanity refused to flicker and die.  The fire of hope refused to burn out

And then there were those the traitors wished had died those they who they had once called brother and sister, those who refused to bend their knee to their primarch and Warmaster and side with the Emperor.  Hell itself could not contain them.  They would not falter, they would not let themselves die until they had taken as many traitors to the grave with them and until those had broken their oaths to their Emperor and humanity faced retribution.  Until they faced justice for their betrayal and the sins, they committed.

One of those the traitors cursed, more than any other, even more than Nathaniel Garro, Agenta Primus of Malcador the Sigillite, Hero of Istvaan and leader of the Knights Errant, the largest thorn in the Warmaster’s side, was Endryd Haar.  For he was not a thorn.  He was not a sword.  He was the fang that would tear out his Primarch’s and the Warmaster’s throat and bring it before the Emperor.

Only than would, he accepts death.

Chapter 1.  The Riven Hound

The ship was as dark as the void.  It glided through the asteroid belt with effortless ease.  The ship was old...  It had been construed in the shipwrights of Mars, around two centuries ago.  One of the first Strike Cruisers ever constructed, it had once served in the fleet of the XII legion proudly.  The ship's name was the Cicatrices Tyrannus.

It bore no colors save for black and deep gunmetal scratches.  It bore now heraldry saves for the Imperial Aquila.  It was a ship filled with ghosts, the forgotten and the betrayed.  

And it was waiting.  Waiting to strike.

Endyd Haar, the Riven Hound, Praetor of the Blackshield, The Fangs of the Emperor hated waiting.  He could do subtlety, but patience had never been one of his virtues.  Even with the removal of the Butcher’s Nails, patience had not become easier for him.

Endryd Haar was around average height for an Astartes.  He lacked the patrician features or the inherent handsomeness of the Blood Angels, but to call him ugly would be a lie.  The gene-forging and scars of battle had not removed his handsomeness, in a way it added to it.  Haar had two scars on his face.  One stretched from his cheek the lower right corner of his lip.  The other above the two service studs in his forehead.  He had a short beard and close cropped brown hair.  He was clad in a black, battered suit of Mark IV Maximus pattern Artificer Power Armor that was stripped of all insignia and iconography.

He tapped his right hand against the armrest of his command throne.  

“Auspex report.”  He ordered.  His baritones voice the only noise apart from the beeping of the cogitators in the bridge of the Tyrannis.

“No warp translations detected yet, my lord.”  The Auspex officer replied.

Haar let out what might have been a sigh and looked out the viewports.  The Cicatrice Tyrannis was running dark.  Its Auspex was operating at 10 percent.  Any higher and its energy signature would be visible.  It engines were cold.  Its Lances powered down.  The bridge, like the rest of the Strike Cruiser that still had working lights was bathed in dim red emergency light. Haar rose from his command throne.

“Perhaps The Sigillite’s intelligence was wrong.”  Boian Tarvan  said.

“It is not wise to doubt the Sigillite.  The God-Emperor made him regent of Terra for a reason.” Kal Jakar replied.

Endryd looked at his two lieutenants.

Tarvan had been with him since they were inducted.  Before they were World Eaters,before they were War Hounds. Like Haar, he was clad in Mark IV Power Armor, but while Haar had stripped any insignia from the XII Legion,  Boian retained the old sigil of the War Hounds on his left shoulder pad.

Kal Jakar was clad in a mix of Mark II and Mark III warplate.  His helm was Mark II and he held it in his bionic left hand.  In the poor lighting, his dusky skin seemed to glow.  Unlike his brother’s armor, which  was plain and worn out. His was  polished with silver trim. Acid etched into every surface of the armor were the names of dead loyalist brothers and sisters in High Gothic.  Only one name was acid etched in the Colchisian tongue: Mara Xal, his honor sister and fellow Chaplain, slain by Lorgar’s  “Blessed Sons, “ when the two hundred and seventy  surviving members of the Chapter of the Waning Moon returned to their years after years at the edge of the Imperium.  Only 30 Word Bearers survived the purge.

Now Kal was the last.

“There’s always a first time .”  Boian said.

“Sergeant, doubting the word of the Sigillite is to doubt the word of the God Emperor  and-

“That’s heresy blah blah blah, first rule of warfare Chaplain, Intel gets stale really quick-.

“My Lord, report from the Astropath!  A ship is about to exit the warp!”  the comm officer yelled.

There was no need to go to battle stations.  The crew had already been at stations for quite some time.

“One enemy ship Praetor.” the sensorium officer reported.

“ I can see that Lieutenant.”  Endryd Haar. said.

The enemy ship was a Strike Cruiser.  It flew the white and blue colors of the World Eaters.

“That it?”  Flag-Captain Ella Thylin said.

The Flag-Captain was a short woman with long red hair done in a neat braid.  A Plasma Pistol. and Chainsword were at her side.  She wore a blue Imperial Navy uniform with a crimson sash and a grey longcoat

“One ship matches Lord Malcador’s intelligence perfectly.”  Kal said.

“Not true Chaplain, the Sigillite’s intel said the ship bore the 125th company, this one bears the markings of the 126th.”  Boian said.

“ I concede to your observation Sergeant.”  Kal replied with a mocking theatrical bow.

“Flag-Captain what is the status of the enemy vessel?”

“ Pausing  to catch their breath sir.  They were running the engines hot and they haven’t rolled out their guns or raised their void shields.”  Ella said.

“And how long till their battle ready?”  Haar asked.

“The average time for an Astartes vessel to be battle ready after exiting the Warp. Two minutes.  Factor  in the Butcher Nails, general sloppiness of the Twelfth  Legion and proportion of press-ganged crew to actually navy crews.  Five to seven minutes.”

“Weapon Master is it possible to hit them with our bombardment  cannon?”  Haar .

“Yes sir. We're  in minimum  range, the asteroids aren’t blocking our line of sight, and they haven't detected us with their Auspex.”

“They could still eyeball us.” Boian growled .

“ We'll hit them  with our bombardment cannon, a precise shot to their ammo storage  for their own Bombardment Cannon. Then we accelerate and hit them with torpedos. Then we hammer them with our broadside Macrobatteries. “

“Shouldn't we use our Lances? Macrobatteries won't pierce the armor, it's too thick.” Ella said .

“ We're not hitting them amidships, we'll  be clipping  their engines, then we raise shields and take their return fire.  Than we carve into them with our Lances and deploy boarding parties.”

“ Simple. I like it.“  Boian

“We have a firing solution my lord.”  The weapon master called.

The bombardment  cannon was already loaded.

“Fire.” Haar ordered.

The Tyrannis rumbled as it unleashed its wrath.

And the slaughter began.

Haar flexed his Power Fist as the Storm Eagle accelerated towards the hangar bay of the traitor vessel.  There were five of these gunships in their boarding party. Each of them bearing Space Marines hungry for the blood of their erstwhile kin.  Although they had been removed, Haar felt the Butcher’s Nail bite, the phantom pain making him grind his teeth in suppressed agony.

“The Nails?” Boian gritted out.  He felt the pain too.  Like most of the Fangs of the Emperor, who  had been from  Haar’s old command from the XII Legion, they bore the physical and mental scars of the suffering Angron inflicted on his legion.

Haar looked over the other Astartes in the gunship.  He saw a Blackshield he knew was a Death Guard check the pressure on his Flamer.  Another he knew was an Ultramarine was meditating with an ornate Thunder Hammer across his lap.  Kal was checking his Bolter, running his name over the names of the dead he inscribed onto its casing.  Haar could hear muttered prayers in High Gothic from  his and a few other Astartes lips.

“30 seconds Praetor.”  Fabius said from the cockpit..

Fabius had been a member of the Emperor’s Children,  a Fire Raptor pilot condemned to  die with his brother’s on Isstvan III.  He had provided desperately needed air support for the beleaguered loyalists until he had been shot down.  He then fought alongside  a band of  Death guard with a Charnabel saber he had pried from the dead hands of a Palatine Blade.    The orbital bombardment had left him battered and broken, and he now had more bionics than an Iron Hand.  Haar had rarely seen him outside his gunship, and never unhelmed.

“10 seconds”  Fabius said.

“ For the Emperor.”  Haar growled.  A familiar cold feeling came over him.  He had always felt it before he went into battle, but his veins turned to  ice and his mind burned a coldfire as the sheer rage at his brother and gene-father’s betrayal came the forefront of his mind.

He drew his Archeotech pistol.  The pistol resembled a bolt pistol, but the barrel was tapered likes a laspistol, and the slide instead was replaced with coils similar to that of a plasma pistol.

Heavy Bolters began chattering and Lascannons added the deep voice to the chorus of firepower, as the Storm Eagles began clearing the hanger and keeping the enemy  suppressed for them long enough for the Blackshields to disembark.

The ramp went down and Haar shot the first World Eater he saw.  He strode down the ramp, the red beams of the Archeotech pistol leaving fist sized holes in the World Eater’s chests.  Haar estimated there was a full Tactical Squad in the hangar  bay.  But there were nearly a hundred Blackshields.  That didn't stop the World Eaters from charging anyway.  Howling with bloodlust, they found themselves slain by Bolter fire before they even got to close the distance .   

“Blades out.  You know your targets.  For the Emperor.” Haar growled.

Haar knew that the fighting would soon be up close and personal.   Boarding actions always were.  Haar  gestured to the five Terminators of Squad Karanthus  to take the lead. It would fall to Karanthus and his squad to spearhead the assault on the genatorum.

While half the Blackshields went to  the genatorum, the rest were led by Haar to take the bridge.

It would be a bloodbath  for both sides, but both were willing to pay the butcher's bill for victory.  The Blackshields had forfeited their lives in order to drown themselves in traitor blood and earn absolution, the World Eaters  simply didn't care about dying.

The Fangs of the Emperor and the Eaters of Worlds met in a clash of blades and hate.  Blood slicked the corridors and hallways. Bolters were emptied at point blank range.  Chainweapons were blunted dull, Phosphex and flame filled the hallways.  Throats were slit, heads rolled and both sides found themselves wading in corpses.

Haar caught the chain of a Meteor Hammer and shot the World Eater carrying it in the throat.

He punched another World Eater in the chest.  His Power Fist steamed with rapidly evaporating blood.  He saw Boian facing off against two World Eaters, a Power Axe in one hand, his Combat Knife in another.  Boian, buried his knife up to  hilt in one World Eater’s throat and then brought his axe down on the other’s head    Kal’s Volkite Serpenta  whined is it incinerated two more World Eaters.

Haar smashed his elbow into a World Eater and then shot an Ogryn that was hefting a Heavy Bolter.  The last of the World Eaters in the section of the ship were dead, and all that was left were the mortal crewman.  Some wore Carapace armor and hefted Lascarbines and Shotguns.  Most wore only uniforms and hefted Autopistols and Laspistols Bullets bounced off his armor and he heard the report of a shotgun  as Terak sent the mortal crewman scattering.

“They’re scattering.”  The former Son of Horus said.

“Most  mortals tend to that “ Kal said with a grin.  The Chaplains armor was rent and scarred. Oaths of moment and scrollwork  had been torn away and his right pauldron was riddled with holes from Bolt shells.  His copy of the Lectio Divinitatus he kept chained to his belt was untouched.

“Mortal traitors tend to do that.  Most Loyalist mortals fight like cornered lions.” Boian said. He was hefting a chainsword he had taken from a fallen traitor.  Tekan had just slid the third shell into  his shotgun, when they all heard footsteps.

‘Too loud to be  a mortal, too soft to be an Ogryn.”   Boian said.

Around the corner came fifteen children.  Not mortal children.  They  were recognizable as Astartes, but children to the veterans of hundreds of battles, some since the beginning of the Great Crusade.  They wore white Carapace armor with no legion insignia or company markings.  The were no kill-tallies or honor markings.  Their armor was clean, untouched by battle and unstained with blood. Their unscarred faces were the variety of colors that came from multiple recruiting worlds.  They all had the Butcher’s Naild implanted in them.  Their eyes were glazed and twitching, and some were drooling.  By  Haar’s estimate, they  had only recently received the implants and in addition, they had been injected with Combat stimulants and painkillers.  Haar felt his blood boil.  The World Eaters had never made their aspirants undergo surgical implantation of the Butcher’s Nails, and one of the few Legion wide edicts the legion followed was not giving an aspirant combat drugs.  Not because an aspirant couldn't handle it with his Physiology, but because its effects messed with an aspirant’s adaptation to his knee implants.  He knew his former legion had sunk low, but how much further had they sunk?

           The aspirants carried unpowered axes, serrated knives and Gladii.  They didn’t have any Frag or Krak grenades, and only a few had pistols.

With a howl that could only come through pubescent throats just adopting their new gene- forged bodies, the aspirants charged with reckless abandon.  The few who had pistols aim was worse than ork.  Tekan’s shotgun rang three times, dropping a pair of them.  He drew two Bolt pistol and emptied their clips and another pair fell to blood soaked deck. By the time the aspirants were in melee range, only five remained.  They died even quicker than those who had been gunned down.  Haar punched one’s head clean off and back handed another, sending him spiraling to  deck.   Kal’s Crozius ended a third.  Tekan’s chainaxe ended the fourth. The final aspirant screamed “Blood for the Twelfth Legion! Skulls for Angron!” and launched himself at Haar with his gladius.  Haar mercifully ended his short life by tearing out his throat with his right hand, kneeing him in the groin and then crushing his head with a stomp.  Haar felt no satisfaction.  Only regret.  Not only because he ended the final aspirant’s life so brutally, but because no sane Legiones Astartes commander would put such poorly trained aspirants on the battlefield.  These children were no threat.  Even if they  weren’t forcibly taken from their families, the children were probably driven insane from the Butcher’s Nails embedded in their skills and their recently hypno-indoctrinated minds.  In short, Haar could have ordered his men not to kill them.  They could have knocked them out, taken them back to Terra and had the Butcher's Nails removed, properly trained and indoctrinated  them.

Haar looked at the aspirant he had just killed.  His gauntlet were still stained with the boy’s blood.

“Sorry boy.  Maybe in  a better galaxy we would have been brothers.  I’m sure you would have been a hell of a War Hound.”  Haar said aloud.

“Our father has a lot to answer for.” Boian said.  The death of the aspirants had hit him hard, perhaps harder than Haar.

“He’s not our father anymore.  He is a traitor.  When this madness is over I will bring his skull before the Emperor himself.” Haar snapped

Haar and his Blackshields encountered a handful of World Eaters and mortals on their way to  the bridge. To Haar’s relief, they did not encounter any more aspirants.  “Breaching charge.” Haar called.  The doors to the bridge were solid bronze dipped Adamantium and they would need explosives to breach  them.  Plus, no one had brought a lascutter.

The doors exploded in  a shower of sparks and flame.  Haar was the first through the breach.  Only six World Eaters were in the bridge.  There a couple of armsmen and the bridge crew itself.

Five of the six World Eaters were clad in Cataphractii pattern Terminator Armor.  The last one was a Centurion clad in Tartaros pattern Terminator Armor.  He had a Chainaxe in his left hand and a Thunder Hammer in his left.

“Endryd Haar.  Your name is a curse among the Legion. .” the Centurion said.

“That warms my heart.  Tell me your name traitor.” Endryd Haar.

“ I am Daken Matar. Centurion-Delegatus of the 126th Company.  And I will have the honor of bringing your head to Angron.”

“If you somehow manage to kill me you better do that with that toy you call an axe rather than that oversized mallet.” Haar said.  He began striding towards Daken, his Power fist servos flexing.

“ I will kill you and strap your body to the hull of my ship.”  Daken said.

“You are the fifteenth traitor to have said to me.” Haar said.

“And you will not the  first Eater of Worlds to have thought killing me would get you noticed by the primarch.”  Haar said.

Daken swung the Thunder Hammer down,

Haar rolled out of the way.  Daken swiped his Chainaxe, the teeth howling inches from Haar’s face.

Haar dodged the next swing from the Thunder Hammer.  He aimed his Archeotech Pistol and shot Daken in the chest. His next shot melted the head of his chainaxe.  Daken howled in fury and tossed the useless weapon aside and swung a left hook. The Butcher’s Nails were singing in his rotting brain and he lunged at Haar ready to smash him to a pulp.

Haar caught the shaft of the Thunder Hammer.  His Power Fist tightened around the weapons shaft. His right hand caught Daken’s fist.

Daken tried to overpower him. Haar struggled.  His armor servos whined in protest.  They were both grunting with effort.

“Tell me Captain Daken, do you really think killing me will give you Angron’s favor?  You and I both know it won't.  The primarch won't give a damn.  He’s a madman who should have died on his homeworld.”

“Silence traitor!”   Daken roared.

“You’re the traitor!  The primarch never cared about the legion.  The legion is just a pawn on Horus’ chessboard.”

“ I said silence!  You left the legion because you were a coward and because you craved glory!”

“You think I left the legion  for glory.  I left because when I returned from the edge of the Imperium, the legion  was soaked in its own brother’s blood and sundered oaths.  And I can see that even brotherhood no longer matters.”

“What are you talking  about?” Daken asked. His eyes were twitching.  He would be lost to the Nail's soon.

“ I’m talking about the aspirants.” Haar said.

Before Daken could  respond, Haar released his grip on the Thunder Hammer and drove his Power Fist  deep into Daken’s chest.  Flexing his fingers, Haar retracted his Power Fist, the remains of Daken’s liver held in his hand.

Daken screamed in pain and charged Haar with his bare hands.  Haar sidestepped him and drilled an energy  beam from his pistol into each kneecap. He then struck  Daken in the back with his Power Fist, shattering the powerpack to Daken’s Terminator Armor.

He then rammed his Power Fist deep into Daken’s chest and pulled out a chunk of his spine.  Daken was screaming, trying to rise despite the weight of his crippled suit and missing  piece of spine.  Haar paused for a few seconds. The other Terminators and the bridge crew were dead.   Haar waited a full minute. Then he brought his Power Fist down and ended Daken’s agony.

The assault on the genatorum was a success.   One hundred and seven World Eaters and most of the crew had been slain.  The casualties were light . By Blackshields standards at least.  Twenty two Blackshields had fallen. Third-Two were injured. But only seven required the assistance of an Apothecary.

Now the remaining members of the Fangs of the Emperor  scoured the ship, taking any supplies and anything of value.

Haar, Boian and Kal were on their way to the engineering section when they receive a vox hail from Techmarine Erud Vahn.

“Endryd we have a problem .  Visual footage indicates five  unidentified. Blackshields and a Primus Medicae bearing heraldry for the IIIrd Legion in the apothecarium.  They’ve already locked down the area. I need you to intervene.”

“We’re on it Erud  Lock the ship down and put the Fangs on alert.”

“How did they get aboard the ship?” Kal asked.

“A better question is what are they doing here? I don't remember killing any Blackshields or any of Fulgrim’s peacocks.”  Boian said.

‘We’ll find out soon enough.”  Haar said as they stepped into the elevator that would take them to the Apothecarium.

“Perhaps these Blackshields are the reason Lord Malcador wanted us to  seize this ship.”  Kal said as they ascended.

The elevator chimed softly as the doors opened.

In front of them was the sealed door to the apothecium

“We should be in range of their squad vox.”

“Let's try  diplomacy first. They haven’t slain any of our brothers.” Kal said.

Haar sighed and put on his helm.  There was a crackle of vox chatter as Haar patched into the squad frequency.

 “Attention unidentified Astartes. I am Endryd Haar, leader of the Fang’s of the Emperor.  I am not usually merciful but I am giving you one chance to come out with blades sheathed and guns to  the deck.    I’m sure you all had a good reason to  be on a traitor vessel, and not participate in the fighting.  I do not wish to slaughter fellow loyalists so-

Haar was interrupted by an aristocratic voice.

“This is Primus Medicae Titus Phovian of the  IIIrd legion.  I only wish to recover the data from this ships apothacarium the my comrade Master Apothecary Nuri Rathen of the Twelfth was gathering,    I have qualms with killing loyalists, but seeing as you're not Mannus’ ilk  I am  going to ask that you allow me to leave this ship and depart.  The Blade of Chemos is about ten minutes out and I wish to bring this data to Lieutenant Commander Fabius on time.  “

“One Moment. Primus Medicae.”  Haar. said.  He voxed Ella.

“Ella put all outbound flights to  the traitor vessel on hold and go to battle stations.  An enemy ship is about ten minutes out and we have some stragglers to deal with.”

“Erud already told me the situation, Praetor.”  Ella said.

“Be ready Flag-Captain. Haar out.”

“I’m guessing diplomacy will not the resolve this conflict?” Kal said.

“ No we’re be aggressively negotiating from here on out.” Haar said.

Kal sighed theatrically.

‘It has been sometime since I’ve slain a son of Fulgrim.” Kal said.

‘Chin up Chaplain, maybe the next traitors we’ll kill will be Word Bearers.” Boian said.

“ I can only pray.” Kal said.

Titus voxed Haar.

“I take it you gentleman are going to be reasonable and allow us passage?”  Titus said.

“No  we’re going to be very unreasonable, kill you, strip your weapons and armor and dump your bodies into the void.” Haar said,

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that,” Titus said.

“ Chin up Primus Medicae, maybe you’ll die with honor. “ Boian said over the vox..

Boian drew a Melta Bomb.

“Arm for 10 seconds, then toss a Photon Flash in,” Haar ordered

Boian set the charge.

The doors exploded and Boian lobbed the Photon Flash grenade in the room.

Kal, and Boian opened  fire with their Bolters  set to three round burst .  The five  Blackshields  dropped to floor each  one’s victim of headshots. Titus raised a Plasma Pistol, only to have it detonate in his hand from a bolt round from Boian.

Titus went for the combat knife at his belt, but paused when he realized he was staring down  the barrels of two boltguns and an Archeotech pistol.

“Start talking, and we might spare your miserable life.”

“As I explained before you barged in here and murdered my subordinates. I was here to recover data from my fellow Apothecary.”

“We’re going to need more than that.”  Haar said.

“Nuri and I were experimenting with Twelfth and Third legion gene-seed.  Enhancing it,   augmenting pain tolerance and speed.  Looking for ways to reduce implant rejection and accelerated synthesis.”

“Chymarie.” Boian said.

Haar surprised a snarl.  There were a few  Astartes like that in the Fangs of the Emperor.  Space Marine who were unnaturally fast or some other trait, but at a cost.  Brain hemorrhages, aggressive cancers, spontaneous combustion  or worse.

“The Blackshields dead on the floor are former World Eaters and Emperor's Children.  They volunteered for augmentation.”  Titus said.

Haar store past Titus and the dead Blackshields to a cogitator and what looked like a black coffin.

“What’s this?”  Haar growled.

“Storage for samples.”  Titus seemed nervous.

Haar opened the coffin.

Inside was a young girl about twelve Terran years.

She had long chocolate brown hair and skin the color of marble.  Her features were a natural beauty that Haar could tell was not sculpted.

“Samples eh?”  Haar said.

He turned to face Titus.

“Be grateful I need you alive.” Haar said.

Then he broke Titus’ nose with a punch.

[agripinaafalls]

History of the Agripinaa Covenant

006-008.M31: On Istvaan V, the Second Tetrad of House Gramnus is lost fighting alongside the Legio Atarus maniple deployed against the traitors. Word of the Drop Site Massacre reaches Atar-Median quickly, and at the Second Battle of Paramar the Agripinaa Covenant had its first full taste of battle against the Traitor forces.

008-011.M31: During the Dispute of Iron across the Segmentum Pacificus, the Agripinaa Covenant is involved in heavy fighting to break some of the best-defended Traitor strongholds. Depleted heavily by the defenses of the Iron Warriors and Dark Mechanicum, the Covenant is led to raid nearby loyalist worlds for resources-the identity of these raiders is lost to the confusion of the Heresy. Fearful of Imperial retalition, Archmagos Reductor Calath begins communicating with the Warmaster.

011.M31: The Battle of Carystus Prime. Fighting over relics buried on Carystus Prime leads to some of the most intense fighting to date in the Heresy, surpassed only by the Titandeath at Beta-Garmon. Early in the battle, the Agripinaa Covenant defects to the Traitors’ cause, yielding a narrow victory for the Traitors. Upon seeing how some Traitor factions had changed under the influence of Chaos, many in the Agripinaa Covenant sought for a way to return to the Imperial flock.

011-014.M31: Prompted by agents of the Sigillite, Archmagos Calath is assassinated in battle, his augmented body crushed by the gauntlet of Lord Adept Julius Gramnus’ Knight Paladin. The Agripinaa Covenant is re-sworn, to root out Traitors from their places of refuge. Joining with the advancing Ultramarines legion, the Ordo Reductor forces harry the traitors before the battle of Terra.

014-020.M31: During the Scouring, the Agripinaa Covenant was again instrumental in breaking many Traitor strongholds alongside the Blood Angels legion. During the push towards the Eye of Terror, they discovered the world of Agripinaa. Realizing there would be a limit to how far the Chaos forces could be pushed back, Agripinaa was made into a Forge World, with the Spiritus Machina, the Covenant’s War Ark, sunk permanently into the planet’s icy surface. Though never dissolved, the raiding forays sent from Agripinaa into the Eye of Terror are but a shadow of its namesake’s strength.

[coolyo294]

Nine. Nine attack waves we threw back shattered. Nine. Ours was the last Castellum to fall on the eastern side of the Terminus, the last. I take pride in that - for all the blood and the broken bodies, for all my dead brothers - pride. 'Iron Within and Iron Without,' we were true to our words.  It was glorious and terrible; it was everything battle should be, rendered down to a razor's edge and sliced into body and mind, the most glorious battle I have yet seen. They were so like us, our equals, and yet so different, those Alpha Legion bastards, those snakes. I cut them down and there was bitter joy in it, the joy of betrayal avenged. We knew nothing of what Horus or our own thrice-damned Primarch had done then, only that our so-called brothers - those azure-armoured liars and backstabbers - had turned on us and spat on the Imperium they had sworn to defend. They were trying to take Paramar for their own, and we could not allow that, no matter the cost, no matter the odds. We were doomed, every one of us knew it, but what did that matter? We were Iron Warriors. We do not relent.  It was like a scene from some myth of a world's ending; the Titans burned before us in pyres of atomic fire, the skies howled and crackled as the void shields were hammered from above. They came out of the billowing ash and dust like spectres, fast armour racing, speeders slicing the air like blades, and they hit us so hard the walls shook. But we took it, and dealt them death back, made them bleed for every assault they tried. But they were cunning, cunning and fast, they were pinpointing our killing zones, probing for weaknesses, we could see the game, it was one we were also adept at playing. We shifted our fire patterns, they adapted. They struck a breach and we turned it into a death-trap. Over and over, we matched, they countered; it was glorious as I say, glorious and ultimately futile. Our walls could not match their firepower; no fortress will ultimately stand against a superior force, given time any wall will fall if hammered long and hard enough, such is the first truth of siege warfare. And they were good; I'll give them that, almost as good as we. They had help of course, Taghmata; Mechanicum killing machines, scores of black and crimson clad battle-automata, blast-shielded tanks with enhanced radiation weaponry, plasma mortars, strange articulated war engines wreathed in lightning the likes of which I have never before seen in five decades in the Legion's service. If their rams touched our walls those walls fell; ferrocrete and ceramite came apart like sand before them. Such was the fate of each Castellum we had built in turn, and into the breaches the Traitor Mechanicum made, our once so-called brothers of the XXth Legion poured and made a bloody match with us.  We were alone, the last, but we still turned them back from our walls twice through sheer weight of fire and the precision of its use, and the last time, when our guns were all but empty by counter-charge, our iron against theirs and ours proved stronger. I lost my left hand then, burned to cinders killing a Magos with a spear that blazed like a sun, but we threw them back one last time. There were only perhaps twenty of us then, twenty living Iron Warriors amidst a hundred of our fallen, far too few to hold our shattered walls against foes born of the same arts as we were.  There was no respite, they were in amongst us, out of the smoke, we could not keep them out. One of the Alphas killed the last of my squad, punched a power blade through his gorget before he could turn. I smashed him down in repayment, but even as my hammer shattered his helm and skull beneath I could see it was over, they were everywhere, my fortress had fallen. That's when I keyed the seismic charges we'd planted even as we had built the walls we stood behind. Not just in my Castellum you understand, but in all of them on the east side of the Terminus. It was my responsibility, I was the last.  Why? It is as I have already said, we knew from the beginning we could not stand, but it did not matter, 'Iron Within, Iron Without'. We made them pay. My survival was... unexpected, but such is the genius of Tactical Dreadnought Armour, but attaining my freedom again... that proved... difficult. I knew the surface was death, but digging downwards through the rubble to the sub-surface vaults beneath the Terminus proved arduous even for an Iron Warrior, when missing a limb, suffering major organ failure and blood loss... How long? Nineteen days, eleven hours, and forty-three minutes sidereal. Or so my own counting made it.

Excerpt from the Sworn Testimony of Veteran Sergeant Titus Avvon

Warden Officer, Castellum Stronghold Epsilon-V, Paramar Terminus 

77th Grand Battalion, Iron Warriors Legion 

[coolyo294]

the best thing about the battle of paramar during the heresy is that was set to be a perfect example of the alpha legion being sneaky bastards and capturing an entire planet through subterfuge and rapid strikes but the iron warriors just.... showed up. this completely random grand battalion that’d been fucking around in nowhere space on pacification missions for half a century just happened to show up at paramar for resupply right when the Alphas were set to do their thing and it completely threw a wrench in the whole operation.