#never in the group primarch arts

[hansoape]

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[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

✧₊⁺ Bath ✧₊⁺

Pairing: None

Author's Note: Raserei is my oc, who is the lost primarch of the 2nd Legion.

Warnings: slightly nsfw because it's taking place in a bath house. Nothing happens though, Much to the despair of some serfs.

18+ ONLY

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

If he were not aware he was on a ship, Raserei could be convinced he had stepped into one of the great bathhouses on Macragge. The fake sunlight shone perfectly through the fake glass ceiling, casting a beautiful ray of light onto the crystal-clear water below. Giving a glorious view of the blue marble of the bath floor, accented with regal gold veins. Steam rising from the water, and clinging to the marble pillars offering the same vibrant blue. Drapes that bore the Ultramarine symbol with pride were hung about the room, as well as chairs of leisure for Astartes to take their required rest.

The walls were covered in stunning art that heralded the beauty of Macragge, and fountains were covered with plants as water flowed from them, a calming sound. His nose filled with the alluring scents of oils in the waters. While Raserei would not accuse Guilliman of opulence, the man was not Spartan with his tastes, at least within reason. Something Raserei secretly admired. His brother understood the line between beauty and pure grandiosity.

Slowly the primarch of the second removed his robe, letting it fall to the marble floor and let his body sink into the warm water. While communal baths were not foreign to him, he did value his privacy. Now more than ever. A ghost in a world he didn't understand. A pariah among his brothers. His large frame sank further down and he rested his arms on the sides of the bath, letting his head tilt back. Throne he needed this, this moment of peace...

Oh but what was that movement? They locked gazes ever so briefly before she ducked back behind the pillar, and muffled giggles could be heard. So that's where the bath attendants were. It would seem he had an audience after all. Strange, he was under the impression he scared baseline humans. He unsettled most Astartes.

Nonetheless, if they were watching might as well give them something for their bravery. He started humming idly, slowly giving way to words. His deep voice carried and filled the bathhouse, the high ceiling allowing such a deep rolling voice to vibrate in the chests of his onlookers. How easy his voice carried when he wasn't even trying. Truly his voice could be a weapon if he wished it to be.

"Feed my fire, let me put some ash on your face. Feed my fire..." he sang softly.

Now listening to the pounding heartbeats behind him, thinking they are safe behind the pillar. It was cute; he thought they would know that such things would not be lost on someone like him, but Raserei guessed ignorance was bliss.

But his performance was cut short when a group of rowdy Ultramarines only in their undercloths, came stumbling in, calling for the serfs to get them some robes for when they get out of the bath.

Raserei rose from the bath and only used his robe to cover his lower half. As he walked by the marines and past the pillar where his hidden admirers were he waved at them. Their cheeks all rosy and their pupils blown out.

"Try not to drown them ladies." he joked as he left the area.

One of the serfs cast a glare at the Ultramarines that would give a Khorne daemon pause.

"Did you see him get in sisters?" one whispered eyes still lingering at the exit.

"I did," one replied holding her hands up as if they were cupping something large, "Never have I seen moons so round."

They all nodded in silence, mourning the loss of such a sight to some loud and boorish marines.

"They do not make them like they used too."

[corvusspecialartist]

Beautiful Caged Bird:

You were an esteemed fighter pilot. You have served the Imperium well, ever since you were inducted in the Imperial Guard years ago. Coming from semi noble birth, this would have been one of the few ways, you could gain glory for your house. Ever since you were young, and on your home planet. You have always enjoyed the flight patterns of hunting birds, and even kept some as cherished pets. You always thought that they were the most perfect predators, just beautiful. Unfortunately, as you grew older, and life taught you a few things… you were wrong. The perfect avian predator that you knew of, was the Lord Primarch Sanguinius.

You were on campaign when you had met… you and your regiment were fighting a wild Eldar Host To be honest, you never truly liked them bastards, but you were the closest thing that was optimal air support that could be done. You were flying high in the air, approaching certain doom. You flew in formation, but soon you both would break. From previous experience, you knew, despite the thought being mere disgust in your mind… that the Eldar had better flying tech.. but no matter. You were only meant as cannon fodder no more, no less.

Then, as the Eldar came, before your eyes, your comrades were shot down in planes, almost as if a group of falcons were feasting on herd of ducks. But, no matter what, you held firm. Gripping the well-worn controls, you bobbed and weaved, avoiding most of the fire from the enemy craft. You knew the cockpit of your plane as if it was new limb. You swooped down noticing a large robot thing… instinctively you patted the plane purring to it. "Lets do this old girl" maybe, this was a way for you to soothe the machine spirit. You went and started to fly down.. applying as many G's as you could handle bumping up the speed into a dive bomb. The robot thing, turned and almost seemed to face you, but you turned your controls over trying to spin it over. It was no matter, you were a certified ace in the field. You had the trophies as proof.

However, things did not go to your plan. The robot thing moved with lighting speed and soon you noticed that you were loosing altitude quickly. You had to eject. After whispering a quick goodbye to the plane, you ejected from the plane. Honestly it pained you…watching as the plane flew and crashed. It gave you some form of pleasure that it landed in the center of the Eldar. Still… you adjusted trying to get your parachute out. Feeling, the blood go towards your head.. you noted that your parachute wasn't working and you felt the heated air as you started to fall and fall… You turned and closed your eyes, hopefully, at least you took some of the bastards with you.

Honestly, you were expecting brief pain, and oblivion until you felt wind and you started to move in a different direction. Nervously you opened your eyes… it was him.. the Great Angel,Lord Sanguinius. He was almost as perfect and even more so in the pictures… but honestly.. him.. just saving you like that… why you? You tried your best to not to look down. However, he was holding you in the crook of his arm, while holding his spear in the other hand. As you looked up at him, he was moving back to try and place you back in your regiment, at least you thought.

Now, you were in a golden gilded cage, screaming your head off and throwing the priceless art and trinkets at Sanguinius. It bounced off of him with almost a contemptuous ease, he seemed to stand there, just absorbing the hit.. almost as if he was he waiting for this latest tantrum to end. You continued to move quickly, just barely out of the reach of the serfs. Truly, you didn't want to be here, you wanted to be out on the field. The stagnant air within the room, the watchful eyes of both man and machine readying the alarm if you stepped out of the chambers. To add insult to injury, you swore that would could hear beautiful rare bird calls, as they flew down and called the sky their own.. like you used to. You walked up the Sanguinius and tried to push your way past him, but he moved to block you, and soon he quickly scooped you up. In that move you struggled and beat down on his back. He started to hum and soothe, moving you back and forth. His voice, it was so sonorous and beautiful…it knocked you out within a minute.

In your dreams, you were flying your plane… and you were just soaring. Until you saw the Sanguinius appear floating in front of the window. Instinctively you turned and tried to avoid him, but he pulled out the spear and sword and chopped the plane apart. Now you were falling and falling, as Sanguinius flew down and caught you. You pushed away and tried to fall back into the ground. You were at peace in the dream, until you woke up, smothered in Sanguinius' wings. It was comfortable but despite them being placed gently, it felt crushing… you felt your heart racing, as you moved in varying directions trying to push them off." Sanguinius, almost as if he were sensing your distress lifted his wing. You let out a sigh of relief, and let out a small welp as he grabbed you and started to preen over you.

He gave a softening grin. "What's wrong darling?… I heard you scream and freak out.. and are you alright?" You opened your mouth, trying to keep your heart rate consistent. But it would be hard to lie to him, since his abilities.. but he promised to not to read your mind. "It was just a nightmare…. my beloved." You gave a wide mouth smile, trying to sell the lie. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself. Sanguinius got up and pointed to a red dress. It was tailor made with hundreds of jewels and it fit your figure well. "We will be going to an event tonight… many dignitaries are coming. Our ship will be landing on the planet soon…" You nodded dumbly, as he got up and left.

As soon as he shut the door… you swore, but then you stopped… maybe… just maybe with Sanguinius being distracted you could escape. And it is not like he would miss you… You got dressed and started to prepare. Soon you would escape.

At the party, the host went and announced the arrival of Lord Sanguinius.. and with a small snide jab. "And his current consort." You gave a polished smile as you stood near barely hip height with him, and to be honest... he looked almost mythical.. his wings were decorated with finely golden strands with rubies inter spaced which made small noises as he walked. He wore a more Baalite fashion style, which many of the party goers tried to imitate. He wore beautiful embroidered robes with silken golden thread. His hair was curled into perfection, and you could even smell rare perfumes and spices that irradiated from him. It seemed to change depending on the light from black to blonde, he was smiling a warmly as you both went to the place of honor. You on the other hand compared to him, dressed very modestly and seemed to a speck of dirt. But, it didn't matter at the moment. It was a crucial moment... Sanguinius would naturally be distracted throughout the whole party.

It would come to pass, when you were rudely shoved aside, as a group of Navigators came by to Sanguinius trying to curry favor. You noticed his face turn into a light frown. But no matter, you gave a gentle grin to the primarch to try and soothe his temper. While, he had the good grace to not indulge his Thirst, he had to tendency of drinking more blood wine when under stress. In the meantime, you slowly moved away to the peripheral from the crowd, but not so far...You had to be careful, for moving in such a way could attract a knife in your back. But your outfit had come with the most finely protection, worthy of a favored consort.

"It is my turn to speak to the Great Angel! You had your chance!" A haughty nasal voice came out of the crowd. Some poor petty nobleman had tried to shout his way over to gain a rare audience of Sanguinius. But, given how contemptuous.. the party would probably begin with a brawl. Shaking you head, you started to run... you were out of practice sure, but you could find a place. You were dressed too nicely to be apart of any Underhive origin , but maybe you can commission a fighter jet to escape.

Hours upon hours had pasted... based on the way that the noises had become more quiet. You were at least leagues away from the party. You have been trying to stay out of the range by taking dark pathways and trying to avoid servants. You sat down to take a brief break... you were tired and feeling very thirsty... you dared to not drink any of the planet's water. But, you need a place to hide, and so you decided to crawl into a large vent, it was dusty.. long abandoned and based on the older stained.. it was used for servitors. Maybe you could take a brief rest.

You were shocked out of your rest as a loud alarm came out of nowhere. It was

' voice... and it filled you with dread.. yet it sounded so sweet and kind, he tried to call your name and try to bribe you out of your hiding spot. Internally, you just couldn't, you were so close... freedom.

Cursing, you thought about not changing your clothing... but just your luck.. a female servant was walking by your hiding spot. Immediately you grabbed her and put her in a headlock. After a good struggle, she was unconscious. Immediately you stripped off the party goer's clothing and replaced it with the servants clothing. It was mostly clean.. but no matter... as long as you kept quiet. You could at least escape.

A large thumping noises, and soon a large horde of noblemen was running down the same hallway all screaming their heads off. One of them went down the same hallway and took a deep breath. He was murmuring about how the Great Angel went mad. Based on the rambling mess, one of the noble ladies had said within earshot that in no certain terms that you had been assassinated, and that "an ugly peasant bitch isn't worthy of the Great Angel's love" Soon he fell silent as the masses ran by... but your heart started to drop... you heard the beating of wings. It was coming your way.

"Where is the nearest ship-port?" you whispered. The partygoers face twisted as if why would a mere serf ask that, before his face started to grin and opened his mouth. Before you could subdue him. "She's over here! " You immediately started to run full sprint. Your throat rubbing in raw... the beating your heart started to increase faster and faster as you heard the frantic wing beats.. only to collapse. No matter, you could at least crawl. Sanguinius appeared in front of you, white feathers falling as he stood, his hair askew and his wings still flapping despite him standing completely still... You started to weep. No... no... why? He picked you up and purred. "My little Bird where did you go?" "You weren't trying to escape? Were you?" You remained quiet. His mouth opened and now you noticed the heavy smell of blood. "WERE YOU?" he let out a shout, which causer your ears to ring. At your wince in pain, his face started to soften as he cradled over to you. "I'm sorry... I thought that you were dead... and I just cannot live without you." He pet your hair giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

That was a year ago.

Currently you were laying in bed, you needed the rest after all... you were preparing. Soon the door opened and your beloved entered the room. He was carrying a tray full of the finest of food, drink and wine. Sitting down he started to stroke your belly. "Have you come up with a name?" You shook your head as you slowly started to eat the food. As if you really didnt have anything to say, you had to keep the rest. You chewed the food and ate it in the fancy way, and even took the supplements! After all, they tended to even you out! You gave Sanguinius a kiss on the cheek and soon he left.

A/N: This (terrible) one shot is a result from the winner of the poll for the poem inspired for "Caged Bird" by Maya Angelou. Read it here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48989/caged-bird

I will try and write out Corvus' one and soon and write out Part 3 of the Party Planning bit. This is my first time attempting to write Yandere Sangy.

[lordplavis]

My dearest dearest mutuals,

most of you probably don't know that much about warhammer but that's OK. Because that's what you have me for. Me with my little brain with far to much warhammer lore living in there completely rent free.

So now I'm going to present to you my absolutely objective lore ignoring fanfic reality mini essay/info dump/rambling on....

The Perks of dating each Primach!

You didn't ask for this and you might not want to hear my opinion about this subject but sucks to be you it's your fault for associateing with me.

Let's begin!

Art by: @rowscara

_________________

Top left:

Magnus the Red

Primach of the thousand son's legion

Perks :

-total nerd & bookworm

-will always tell you about the new thing he just learned very enthusiastically

-will use his psychic power to fulfil your wishes even before yourself know about it

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Top right:

Sanguinius

Primach of the blood angels legion

Perks:

-has angel wings

-is also technically a bit of a vampire

-oh did I mention he is a vampire with angel wings?

-he'll also probably be the only one comfortable with introducing you to his dad

_________________

Bottom left:

Fulgrim

Primach of the emperors children legion

Perks:

-will help you do your makeup and will make it look perfect

-he's an artist who will paint you (and those paintings won't all be sfw)

-has a slightly unnerving amount of kinks

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Bottom right:

Lorgar Aurelian

Primarchs of the word bearers legion

Perks:

-is a cult leader

-will write semi religious fanfic about you

-after some time dating him people will start worshipping you because he has been secretly preaching a new religion with you as the messiah

Art by: @rowscara

_________________

Top left:

Jaghatai Khan

Primach of the white scars legion

Perks:

-badass biker boy

-will do long motorcycle road trips with you

-will take you to the most romantic remote locations

_________________

Top right:

Lion El' Johnson

Primarch of the dark angels legion

Perks:

-will be your knight in shining armour

-will make you feel like his precious princess (regardless of gender ofc.)

-will teach you swordfighting

-doesn't talk about his ex because he never had one so stop asking

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Bottom centre:

Corvus Corax

Primach of the raven guard legion

Perks:

-has entirely black eyes (how cool is that!?)

-has a pet raven because of course he has one

-takes you flying with his bad ass metal wings

Art by: @rowscara

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Top right:

Angron

Primach of the world eaters legion

Perks:

-will fight anyone who even just slightly threatens to harm you

-will help you take revenge on your enemies and hide all the bodies you two leave behind (there will be many)

-you will, from time to time, have difficulties sitting down and explaining how you got those scratch marks when you go to work the next morning

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Top left:

Vulkan

Primarch of the salamanders legion

Perks:

-gives the best hugs

-is really hot (like literally you won't need a blanket at night)

-extrovert who will adopt you into all his friend groups

-will always try to make you feel conformable especially in social situations

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Bottom centre:

Konrad Curze

Primarch of the night lords legion

Perks:

-is basically emo batman (do I need to say more?)

-definitely wears eyeliner and black nail polish

-will always take care of you if you have nightmares even if that means staying up all night

Art by: @rowscara

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Top left:

Ferus Manus

Primarch of the iron hands legion

Perks:

-will fix and improve every piece of tech you have

-can make you shiny cybernetics to replace your weak and failing flesh

-yes those do come with 'special attachments' and include 'massage functions'

_________________

Top right:

Rogal Dorn

Primach of the imperial fists legion

Perks:

-master craftsman

-will build your dream house for you

-alway a calm and steadfast shoulder to lean on

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Bottom left & right:

Alpharius Omegon

Primach(s) of the alpha legion

Perks:

-twins (you either get both or none)

-this will be at least a thrupple but if you date them you're basically dating their whole legion

-will ask you if you want to do a threesome+ with the twins and as many of their lookalikes from the legion as you want.

Art by: @rowscara

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Top left:

Mortarion

Primach of the death guard legion

Perks:

-will lead a peasant uprising with you and slay the tyrant of the land

-will return to quiet farm life in a green valley somewhere with you after you're done

_________________

Top right:

Leman Russ

Primarch of the space wolves legion

Perks:

-dog person

-will hunt for you bringing you only the best meat, furs and trophies

-loves headscratches

-great drinking buddy

-will bite you (affectionately)

-dog ears and 'good boy/girl' are not optional during sex

_________________

Bottom left:

Route Guliman

Primarch if the ultra marines legion

Perks:

-will do your taxes and manage your finances & investments for you

-always reminds you and takes care of any appointments or important dates so you don't miss anything

-Family man

-will be the best dad possible for your children

Art by: @rowscara

_________________

Top left:

Horus Lupercal

Primarch if the lunar wolves legion

Perks

-still has some of his old mob connections

-talks like a gangster even though he left that life behind him

-extremely charismatic and will get you nearly everything you want if you just let him talk to people long enough

-will plan to seduce you months or years before you know it to perfectly sweep you of your feet in just the right moment

_________________

Bottom right:

Perturabo

Primarch of the iron warriors

Perks:

-granted he is a ruthless warlord but he will conquer you an empire

-always stays pragmatic and realistic

-will make your birthday a national holiday in your empire

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This was possibly one of the biggest wastes of my time as of today. Anyways have fun with my semi wholesome primarch headcanon and Reblog with who you would/wouldn't date.

[actuallykonradcurze]

My Rooutian Heresy Fanfic (Incomplete)

Chapter 1

Maarchon

Centurion Varmediel Maarchon was enraged. Not as the Imperial Fists berserkers raged, but a rage of loss and mourning. He had just learned that his Primarch, Konrad Curze, had died on Istvaan V, and was in a state of enraged grief for his late father. Gentle always, but forceful when need be. The cursed traitor Vulkan, the Black Dragon, had killed him while Curze defended his brothers and their forces while they pulled out from the massacre. And he would have his revenge. 

But now, he must be strong, for his brothers of 28th company, and for himself. He walked from his command throne on the company’s ship, Saviour of Twilight, and called all of his brothers to the stragetarium. He met one of his favorites on his walk there, “Centurion.” acknowledged Sergeant Liodon Raites of First Claw. That was why he loved him so, for Raites’ simplicity. “Sergeant.” He greeted him, “Sir, all of the company is gathered, but what do you plan to do?” “I plan to tell them of our Father’s death, of his tragedy on Istvaan, of what he would want us to do now. That is my plan.” 

They walked silently the rest of the way to the Stragetarium, through the darkness of the Saviour. All Night Lords ships were dark, everyone who was aboard, man, woman, astartes, had grown up on Nostramo, and was accustomed to these dark conditions. When they reached the Stragetarium, Sergeant Raites said his farewell, and Centurion Maarchon walked out. When he came out, many brothers were frantic, yelling ‘What has happened Centurion?” or “Why have we been summoned?” 

“Brothers, brothers, quiet down, for I bring grim news.” All of the Legionaries silenced their voices, “Our Primarch is dead. Konrad Curze has fallen on a battlefield far from his home of Nostramo, and will never be returned. He was slain by Vulkan, the Black Dragon, who, along with the Dark Angels, White Scars and Raven Guard, have joined Guilliman in his rebellion against the Imperium. Our Father is dead, and traitors march to raze Terra.”

 By this time, many Legionaries were weeping silently, while others were taking the news with grim silence. “The Prince of Crows, Sevatar, is in command. We will wage a guerilla war against the traitors, make them question every step, see us in every shadow. We will have our revenge. And Curze will be avenged. These traitors raise arms against the Emperor, and we are his guardians! Astartes cannot feel fear, but they can worry, worry that their plans fall apart around them, and that the enemy is everywhere. That is our duty. Sow dissent among the Traitor Legions, and stop their march to Terra! Ave Dominus Nox!”

 To his credit, the Centurion’s speech was inspiring, the Legionaries were ready, hungry for revenge against the traitors who killed their loving father. “We are already en route towards a Salamanders strike craft, we will show them that Night always endures, and they will die today!”

At this, Legionaries started cheering, a rare sight among ones so macabre as the Night Lords. “Arm yourselves brothers, we come out of the Warp within the hour.”

***

His arming chamber was a cold place, an efficient place. This was not the endless armorium of a Praetor or Primarch, this was a Centurion’s room. His armor, midnight blue as his brothers, was a thing of beauty. Its jump pack pristine, his helmet and armor ornamented in symbols of his Legion. His weapons too, were a work of art. His bolter, Pristine Night, was covered in Nostraman runes, and flowing script. His chainglaive was undecorated. No sense in it, as it would be covered in blood from the second he hit melee combat.

Servitors and Adepts of the Mechanicum armed him, and in five minutes time, he was ready. He voxed to the Voidmaster of the Saviour, “Voidmaster, your orders are to bombard the ship until its shields are down. Once they are, swoop over the ship and drop boarding pods.” “Affirmative Centurion.” responded the Voidmaster. Varmediel walked towards the launch bay, his command squad following him. 

They were the best of the company, these four men. Telrachus, master of the precise shot, best marksmen to grace 28th company. Relvaridel, tactictican beyond measure, coordinator of the company’s Raptor assets. Xarchod, duelist, man of the blade. The company champion. And finally, Lokolas, Master of Terror, he can kill any mortal man, without firing a shot or swinging a blade. Funnily enough, Lokolas most emulated their Primarch, being one of the most compassionate Legionaries off the battlefield. 

They reached the launch bay, and boarded a pod. Minutes later, Varmediel felt the ship shudder as it came out of the warp. “Centurion, we are engaged!” came the vox of the Voidmaster, “One ship only, Salamanders in origin.” “Affirmative” “Voidmaster, inform me when their shields are down.” “Yes sir.” Then an alarm began to ring, a distinctive alarm. They were being boarded.

“All claws, exit pods!” he frantically shouted “Take up defensive positions throughout the ship!” calls of “Affirmative.” and “Yes, sir.” came through the vox. “First Claw, accompany me and my command squad to the bridge.” “Yes, Centurion.” came the quick reply from Raites. The Saviour shook with impacts as boarding pods hit home, spilling their corrupted Legionaries onto the ship. His armor was growling as the two squads ran towards the bridge, he knew Astartes boarding tactics, take the bridge, fire control, engines, and shut them down. Incapacitate the ship and retreat.

The bridge was a calm in the storm, the Voidmaster calmly giving orders and receiving updates from the crew. “My lord.” he acknowledged. Varmediel walked to a console and entered a code. Across the ship, barricades sprang up from the floor, providing covered positions for the Legionaries. “All Claws, report.” “Second Claw at Starboard fire control, defensive positions set.” “Third Claw also at Starboard fire control, ready for engagement.” “Fourth and Fifth Claws at Port fire control, ready for assault.” “Sixth and Seventh Claws at Enginarium, ready to repel boarders.” “Eighth Claw, roaming the decks.” “Ninth Claw,ready to repel boarders..” “Tenth Claw, lying in wait.” “Good. Strike only when sure you can take them. Otherwise, report them to your brothers.”

Far away, he heard the distinctive triple-bang of bolter fire, the distinctive thump of Astartes boots on metal. They were coming. 

Chapter 2

Euritnas

He felt the rush of chemicals and painkillers from his power armor being injected into his bloodstream. These corrupted Salamanders were tough as the very beasts their fallen Legion got its name from. He saw his brothers of Seventh Claw fall around him, but he knew he would not die this day. From cover, up he sprang, “Die traitors! For Mankind! For Curze!” he shouted, bolter kicking in his hands. Each shot hit its mark, each bolt true, and in quick succession all of the traitors fell.He called to his remaining brothers “Come! We do not die this day! Not while these vile traitors still draw breath! For Curze!” 

They rallied around him, pushing back these vile things. Until as suddenly as they came, they were gone, replaced by smoking corpses and destroyed bodies. “Centurion Maarchon, Seventh Claw has taken heavy losses, Sergeant Kartus is dead. There are four of us left, I have taken command.” “Which Legionary is this?” Came the response “I am Xarnayon Euretinas, Centurion.” “You are now acting Sergeant, push back these vile beasts who we once called brother!” “Yes sir.” 

Sixth claw appeared, “The auspex shows no more traitors come this way. We shall stay here and defend it in case it is wrong. Go, kill these traitors.” called the Sergeant. Seventh Claw nodded, and with their dwindling numbers, ran into the darkness.

Er’Noas

The door blew inward, and the Salamander Centurion Er’Noas walked onto the bridge of the ship. He and his Terminator retinue walked slowly onto the bridge. Suddenly, bolter fire came from every direction, and one of his group was cut down. From the command throne, a Night Lords Captain stalked out. “Traitor, face me in duel, meet me eye to eye so that I may show you the wrongness of your ways.” Er’Noas laughed at the prospect, “And let your squads fire upon me? No, I think not.” “They will stand down, they know of honor, unlike you.” “You speak of honor, yet yours is the way of the shadow and scream, Night Lord.”

“If you have honor, fight me! If you have honor, you will not let it be cast upon the rocks of shame by backing down from a duel.” The Captain laughed to himself, “You have the upper hand, Terminator armor, heavier weaponry.” Er’Noas threw off his helmet, “Fine, you ask to duel, we duel. No helmets, no tricks.” “ As you shall have it.” Came the reply.

Maarchon

They were prepared, on his side, First Claw and his command squad opposed the traitors Terminator retinue. He had his Chainglaive and his faith in the Emperor. The traitor had a power sword and faith in Dark Gods. He knew he would win. They walked to each other, saluted, and the duel began. They started circling first, trying each others defenses, finding their style. He bobbed and weaved, probed and met his opponent’s strikes. Then he saw it. His weakness.

 There was one place on his corrupted armor where the armor’s internal servos and wiring shone through. If he could get a blow there, it would cripple his opponent for an easy kill. This was assessed in his eyes flicking over his opponents armor. He struck, hard and fast at his head, his chainglaive whirring through the air, the traitors power sword interposed itself between the blade and his head. 

He chuckled in his head, the chainglaive was able to give a two handed blow of power to an enemy insanely quick. His adversary’s power sword was wavering, being forced towards his head. When suddenly, he kicked out, his foot connecting with Maarchon’s knee plate, causing him to stagger. He took the advantage and swung at Maarhcon’s downed form, only for him to roll backwards into a guarded position. “Not bad,” the red devil chuckled, “May I know the name of the one I am about to kill?” “Varmediel Maarchon, Tratitor. I need not know yours.”“Know anyway, I am Er’Noas, now die by my blade!” With that, he charged. Maarchon sidestepped, and swung down with his chainglaive, hitting Er’Noas’ weak point. His armor ground to a halt, leaving him almost completely immobile. “The wages of treason come to you, and they are grim.” With that, Er’Noas started laughing, his armor teleported with him inside it, and his retinue opened fire on his command squad and First Claw. Their armor held, but cover was scarce on the bridge. He knew that some of them would die today.

Euritnas

He hoped he wasn’t too late, he had heard of the duel on the vox, and he and the remnants of Seventh Claw ran towards the bridge. He saw the door was blasted inwards, and his brothers were under fire. “Suppressive fire! Assault from the weak points! Help our brothers!” He yelled he ran towards the nearest Terminator and drew his blade. He thought to himself, I hope this works. 

With that, he stabbed it with all of his strength into the Terminators helm. It made a loud crunch as it bit through the armor, and the Legionary who was inside had his brain cut through. His brothers followed his lead, pulling their blades and jumping for the Terminators heads, jamming their blades through. Seconds later, they were all dead, and the bridge was clear. They grabbed their blades and walked to the Captain, “I hope we were of assistance Captain.” he said, “You were, if you hadn’t arrived our First Claw and command squad would have been slaughtered. For all that talk of honor the Salamanders have none.” “What shall we do?” “Why board them, of course.”

Maarchon 

Corruption, that was what the ship stank of most, corruption. The crew, the Legionaries, the ship itself, all were tainted. As Maarchon stalked through the strike cruiser with his command squad, he was in contact with both Raites’ and Euritnas’ squads. The former’s went through the ships gun decks and destroyed their armaments, the latter crippled the engines. He and his men, they went for the bridge. There the corruption could be destroyed. The one most unpleasant thing about the ship was the eerie silence, no legionaries, no crew, just silence. They went on, and still they encountered no one. 

Then the shrieks came, inhuman howls that could be made by no man or astartes. Then from a corner bounded a creature, deformed and corrupted. With grotesque legs and arms. But the body, it wore armor of the Salamanders, fragments of it were scattered about it. More emerged, all with one thing in common, those shattered fragments of armor. Then Maarchon realised with grim certainty, these things WERE Salamanders.The group of once noble legionaries charged, foam spraying from their lips, their eyes filled with bloodlust. “Those are Salamanders! They march to war with these dark gifts, knowing they cannot beat us without them!” He yelled, “They will die! Ave Dominus Nox!” The members of his command squad echoed the legion cry, and opened fire. Bolts hit precisely, but still those things kept coming, gaping wounds sealed shut, blood coagulated instantly. “Xarchod, Lokolas! To me! We fight these things face to face!” 

The three ran forward, drawing weapons, Maarchon his chainglaive, Xarchod his master crafted power sword, and Lokolas his chainsword. Those three crashed against the lines of the horrors, with Telrachus and Relvaridel providing covering fire. His blade bit deep into monstrosity after monstrosity, each dying only if it’s head came off in a clean cut. Xarchod had taken eight down by the time Maarchon had taken two to his name, Lokolas had taken but one.

The creature in front of Xarchod bulged, it’s form changing, growing two massive talons for arms, Xarchod was outmatched, and could not hold for long. Maarchon’s foe was weaving, twisting, evading his every strike with preternatural skills. He punched it, leaving it staggered, and dismembered the foul deformed astartes with ease. As he came to Xarchod’s aid, the monstrosity he was fighting landed a blow, then another, Xarchod stumbling back from the impacts. 

Maarchon rushed to his side, thrusting his chainglaive into the creature, fighting with every Iota of strength in his body to keep this… thing from his brother. It was him and the creature now, nothing else happened. It was as if time itself froze at their passing, giving way to their duel. Each strike was parried, met with counterattack, feint, and thrust, each was the others equal, but Maarchon has his legion’s “Dishonorable” strategies, such as Lokolas cutting the thing’s head off from behind. The Daemon within screamed as it’s mortal host died, and it flew, screaming, back into the Warp.

“Filth” he spat at the corpse, and helped his brother up. “We march for the Bridge, in the Emperor’s name!” he cried, and with that, the Command Squad leapt into a run.

Euritnas

The boarding pod he and Seventh Claw’s shattered remnants were on tore through the void, cutting a path to the Strike Cruiser. He and his brothers checked their wargear, and prepared for the coming battle. Karoch asked him, “What is the plan, Brother?” The Sergeant was left out, both in part due to Euritnas’ insistence that he wasn’t the Sergeant, and due to Karoch’s unfamiliarity with calling his brother that. “We move to cripple them, when they are dead in the water, prey is easiest to slay.” “Indeed, brother.” Karoch responded, and the conversation was over. 

The Machine-Spirit of the boarding pod intoned, “Impact in three… two… one… Impact.” His boots shuddered to absorb the impact of the boarding pod hitting the ship, he heard the distinctive Snap-Hiss of the forward Melta array firing, and then the doors opened. He saw nothing for a few moments, and then he saw the bodies. Mutilated bodies covered the floor of the corridor, the stink reaching him even through his helmet’s filters. “What man would do such a thing?” Euritnas said to himself. Silence was the reply.

As he and the rest of his brothers moved further down the corridor, a roar erupted from behind a corner, and out dashed legionaries that had been blessed with dark gifts, rushing his brothers.

Every cell in his body screamed at him to run from these foul creatures. They seemed anathema to reality, every wound inflicted upon them closing almost instantly, and every strike that severed a limb had it growing back within moments. Two of his brothers had been slain, knocked to the ground in the beasts’ violent motions. He would not, he COULD NOT, let them have died in vain. He charged forward, shouting his rage in full. Leaping into the fray, Euritnas cut, and shot, and eventually, killed. When he arose from the bodies, he saw none but him remaining. He moved on from his brother’s corpses, promising to avenge them.

Maarchon

He and his brothers fought their way to the bridge, shouldering problems out of their way as an adult moves a child. When they reached the bridge, none of them were unhurt, but all were ready for the battle to come. “Claws, status.” He said through the vox. “First Claw and Second Claw are moving to assist you, Centurion.” “Third and Fourth Claws have secured the fire control decks” “Fifth Claw has destroyed the Enginarium.” “Sixth and Eighth Claws have made our way to the Starboard guns.” “Ninth and Tenth Claws have secured the Port guns.” Maarchon smiled, his plan was coming together, the ship was crippled, and his men were spreading throughout it. Then he realized Seventh Claw had yet to report in. “Seventh Claw, report.” No response. “Seventh Claw, come in.” Nothing again. “Damn it all, we’ll find our brothers later,” he said, “Prepare to breach.”

Er’Noas

Er’Noas knew of the boarding parties. He knew their locations, and he knew what they would do. They would come, calm and collected as they claimed, and they would find the gifts of the Gods to match them. An explosion rang out behind him as he rose from his throne on the bridge, and faced the intruders into his domain, his ship. They would die. Bolts flew from the entrance, killing many of his crew and dismembering many others. He cared little, they were mere mortals, and that was their fate. Each cry of pain was a melody that sang to him, and him alone. Dark shapes flooded through the door, bolters raised. Then came their leader. He was a sad thing, in his eyes. Merciful, something no soldier should be. “Again we meet.” Er’Noas said in his deep, melancholic tone. “So we do” replied the centurion. “Surrender and be granted an honorable death.” Er’Noas whistled once, and screams filled the corridor outside.

Maarchon

Pain. That was all that flooded his body in those seconds after the Salamander had whistled. Claws had erupted from his stomach, and he whipped around, coming face-to-face with yet another horror. He sliced, he cut, he thrust, and to no avail. Wounds were almost not made, the beast was regenerating so quickly. He called in defiance, “You cannot slay me Daemon filth! I am not injured by your form! You are mist that acts as if water. YOU ARE NOTHING!” He slashed through the beasts left shoulder, cutting to the groin, the beast roared in pain as it fell, bisected to the ground, trying in vain to reform. “Your pets cannot defeat me, your gifts cannot defeat me. How much more must you see before you accept defeat?” He called to his dark cousin.  In that moment he felt hate, pure, unbridled hate. He charged, a cry of humanity’s triumph on his lips. “For Mankind!” His brothers took up the cry, charging through the bridge with him, “For Mankind! For Mankind!” They killed the bridge crew, they were traitors as much as any other. But the Salamander which had been their object of hate had disappeared.

[kukolnyyvalerian]

What if They Were all Humans... - Introductory Post to my upcoming Mass Effect Human AU

Starting today, I will be posting a new story called “Calibrating Relations” with updates every Friday. It centred around the characters from the video game series Mass Effect. More specifically, it's centred on Garrus Vakarian, a private investigator on the Citadel, and Tali'Zorah vas Neema, a Computer Science student. It's basically a romance with some action on the side, and a homage to one of my favourite ME ships, Talibrations.

Since this is an AU story in which all characters are humans, and the story itself doesn't allow for all those little details and questions about the universe's mechanics to be included without it becoming somewhat clunky, here's a post collecting all this information (i.e. it’s pretty long, and more meant something to look up certain things that might come up in the story):

General Info:

The story is set in 2017/2018, ergo there is no advanced space-faring technology. The technological standard is the one we're using today, nothing more, nothing less.

It plays on an alternate Earth – I say 'alternate' because it's the same as Earth but I've inserted a new continent... more on that down below in the section on geography.

Since there is no space-faring in this AU, every alien race is human. To still allow for cultural differences, you can basically image every planet as a country – Palaven is a country, Rannoch is a country, Tuchanka is a country... you get the idea. But since there is no technology apart from the one we're having today, there is no single Geth race. More on that in the section on the separate races and cultures.

Geography Info:

Imagine we make Earth a little bigger, and squeeze in a new continent somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean... that's where this AU plays.

On this continent, there are different countries representing the homeworlds of the ME races; Palaven, Tuchanka, Rannoch, Sur'Kesh, Thessia... and so on.

Some of these countries – after several wars, e.g. between Palaven and Tuchanka – are part of a continent-wide alliance of nations, called the Union. Imagine the European Union if you want to have a real-life counterpart.

The Union's capital is the Citadel, a metropolis that doesn't belong to either country.

Palaven, Thessia and Sur'Kesh are the closest countries to the Citadel.

All other nations that are currently on Earth still exist, as do all the other continents. Imagine the AU continent (I never even named it... O.o) somewhere between Europe and both American continents.

For simplicity, the Union speaks English.

On Palaven and the Turians:

Palaven has sea-borders, and borders with Tuchanka.

Before the Union and shaky peace contracts, Palaven used to be at war with Tuchanka many times.

Starting in the middle ages, Palaven also developed a rather impressive fleet and was known as a sea-faring nation. There are multiple smaller island nations around the continent that are under Palaven authority.

Palaven is still a meritocracy, the head of state is the Primarch. They have a large military and most of the civilian life is somewhat influenced by it.

Turians are all expected to serve in the military, much like in the games. Their service starts with entering a military high school around the age of fifteen, and mostly expands until they're about thirty. Leaving service early is uncommon, and while not a punishable offence, it's frowned upon.

Generally, everything about their ME culture is still in effect here, just that “Turian” refers to their nationality, not their race, and that instead of being space-faring people, they are a sea-faring nation.

On Rannoch and the Quarians:

The Quarian home country is Rannoch in the south of the continent. Parts of it are a big jungle. It has a sea border, too.

Multiple centuries ago, a war broke out between the Quarian tribes and a separate tribe that lived in this jungle. The Quarians lost and had to flee Rannoch.

After facing heavy losses, the Quarians lived on ships (known as the Flotilla) for a while – they were sea-bound nomads and travelled in between multiple little islands.

After a few centuries, they left their ships and became land-bound nomads – the sea was at that time mostly controlled by the Turians and little skirmishes and conflicts involving the Quarians and the Turians weren't unheard of.

After again living a few centuries as nomads on the continent, the Quarians started a different strategy relatively recently: They began to settle down close to the Union's large towns and formed their own quarters. They use the infrastructure of the towns they're docked on without being ruled by their government. In this way, the Quarian Admiralty Board aims to collect resources, manpower and knowledge to wage war against the tribe that drove them away from Rannoch, which is now living closed off from the rest of the continent.

The Quarian quarters, named after famous ships from the Quarian Flotilla, are tolerated by the rest of the Union at best, and frowned upon at worst.

Quarian society is experiencing a divide as of late: There are those Quarians who believe that winning back their home country is the only thing that counts, and those who believe that further integration into their “host towns” can lead to a wider acceptance of the Quarian people, and that winning back their home country shouldn't be a priority that tops everything else.

On the Geth:

The Geth are not an artificially created race here (due to the technology issue of having the story set in 2017/2018).

Instead, their role is split: There is a tribe that drove the Quarians from Rannoch, which I won't call 'Geth' though. I do refer to something in the story as 'Geth', but I won't mention it here because spoilers.

On Thessia and the Asari:

The Asari are a little challenging when it comes to transfering them into this AU, as they all have the same sex in the game which is vaguely female after human standards.

To avoid the obvious problems with human procreation, I decided that 'Asari' as a term does not refer to the inhabitants of Thessia as a whole.

I distinguish between 'Thessians' as inhabitants of Thessia, which are not necessarily of the female sex and/or gender; and 'Asari'.

The Asari are a circle of very influential individuals in the Thessian society. Some of them have inherited an influential position, some of them are simply very well-educated, but they are the Thessian elite. Asari are often advisors, and one of the Asari is usually the elected head of the Thessian nation.

Asari are, for the most part, of female sex. This is because the Asari evolved from a matriarchal nobility. This concept is sometimes considered outdated, but some families still value this tradition.

Thessia as a nation is very democratic, very focussed on arts, culture and diplomacy.

On Tuchanka and the Krogan:

The Krogan are the culture/ race native to Tuchanka, which has borders with Sur'Kesh and Palaven, and also a sea border. Parts of Tuchanka are a huge desert region.

Like in the games, the Krogan are a warrior nation and are often seen as underdeveloped by the other nations of the Union.

Krogans are organised in clans, and after a devastating war against the united forces of the Turians and Salarians about two centuries ago these clans began drifting apart and waging war against each other.

There was no Genophage (because of technological aspects), but the Salarians started to explicitly target camps with females and children in the war to lower the chances of the war dragging on. It is seen as a war crime by both the Krogan and the Turians, though the Turians agreed with the Salarians that it was a necessity in winning the war.

Needless to say, the Krogan don't get along with neither the Turians nor the Salarians.

Even a few centuries later, the Krogan haven't recuperated from this last war. Their numbers decimated and their clans at odds with each other, many Krogan work as mercenaries or in Mafia-like structures in different countries these days.

On other nations and organisations:

The Salarians live in Sur'Kesh, their culture is matriarchal and they are known to produce the most talented scientists in the Union. They are also feared for their very strategic way of waging war.

The Volus are one of the races living on a Turian-administered small island. They are a nation of traders, and in medieval times they used to have a sizeable trading fleet, as well.

The 'humans' of Mass Effect basically loose their status as a separate race – there is no need since all are human here. Whenever I throw in a formerly 'human' character, I will instead keep their nationalities in line with the games as far as I can (e.g., I think if would make sense if Kaidan would be Canadian and Ash American).

The Spectres are basically the Union's own Special Tactics group, just like in the games. They operate independently from the countries their operatives come from and only serve the Union.

About Shepard:

It's Jane Shepard in this story.

She was born in Vancouver, lost her parents early and grew up on the streets.

She enlisted in the military at age 18 and worked her way up to Commander.

About two years ago, she took part in a mission on 'the continent'; in a desert in Tuchanka (called 'Akuze') where she lost her whole unit under circumstances she doesn't talk about often.

After that, she was in rehab for a while with PTSD; she tried it as a soldier once more later but it didn't work out for her any longer.

One of her best friends from the military is a pilot named Joker, who serves the Union's Allied Military force. He offered her to live in his apartment on the Citadel for a bit while he was serving on a tour, to get her head free.

Shepard took the offer, decided to stay on the Citadel and after a while founded a detective agency there.

The rest... will be explained in the story :D

[tw6464sloreblog]

The Eldar Gods

*The Aeldari Pantheon is made up of around many deities, many of which are utterly incomprehensible to the average human mind. Each group of the Aeldari, from the noble Asuryani, the malicious Drukhari, the oppurtunistic Mathlanni, the secretive Ishari and the mysterious Harlequins all have their own interpretations of each of the Gods, so it would be impossible to get every single perspective on every single god. However, there are a few that are known to the tongues of Mon’Keigh. This entry will detail those that are the most understood (if one can call comprehending such ancient beings as “Understanding”) of these “Gods”:

-Asuryan, The Phoenix King: the King of the Eldar Pantheon, Asuryan was a fair and just ruler, and represents the innate leadership that all eldar are capable of. All Asuryani consult his teachings, which resulted in the Creation of the Aspect Temples and the Paths of the Craftworld. His Symbol is the Noble Phoenix, a creature that is assumed by many to be extinct, but which many Exodites have said exists upon Worlds of Burning Fire and Searing Heat (which many have automatically assumed means planets such as Nocturne, homeworld of the Primarch Vulkan).

-Khaine, the Bloody-Handed: the War God and often the God most seen by the other Races, he can imbue an Eldar Warrior with so much power that they become an Avatar, provided that they are willing to give up everything to do so. His blood is like burning magma, and the Sword of Khaine is like the Axe of Khorne which can sweep aside entire systems of planets.

-Kurnous, the Hunter: He is the Patriarch of the Exodites, and it was he who protected them from the Birth of She Who Thirsts. When they settled the Maiden Worlds, Kurnous taught them how to tame the Dragons and Drakes of the worlds they inhabited, and also how to hunt, how to build their cities amongst the trees, etc. Every century, Kurnous gives his power to a single King amongst the Ishari, transforming them into an Avatar of Kurnous, known as the Orion. The coming of this great warrior and hunter brings about the Wild Hunt, which is a great military campaign against those who would dare threaten the Ishari.

-Isha, the Mother: The Matriarch of the Eldar and the Mistress of Life itself, she is the mother of the Ishari, the Exodites. Despite the fact that she is currently imprisoned in the Garden of Nurgle, she is still able to channel her power into one of the Worldseers, transforming them into the Avatar of Isha, known as the Ariel.

-Vaul, the Maker: He is the Master of the Forge, who assists in the creation of the great engines of the Eldar Warhosts. He forged the 99 Blades of Khaine, and he also provided the knowledge through which all the Aeldari can create their weapons

-Lileath, the Maiden: She is the Goddess of Innocence, Dream and Fortune, and serves as a beacon and provider of hope to the Eldar people. It was from her that the Prophecy of Hidden Paths was found and it is she who provides the Seers with visions of a bright future, even if said future may never come to pass.

-Cegorach, the Laughing God: Lord and master of the Harlequins, and the god who turned the tide during the War in Heaven. His deceit and trickery knows no bounds, even extending to the other members of the Aeldari Pantheon. When Slaanesh came, he was the only God to escape relatively unscathed. Now he leads the Harlequins in the Dance that Does Not End, which will only be broken during the coming of the Rhana Dandra.

-Morai Heg, the Crone, Goddess of the Fate: It is she who gives the Aeldari the power of Prophecy; however, as with many bargains, it comes at a price. The prophecies are almost always difficult to understand, even for the highly advanced minds of the eldar. It was she who taught the eldar how to bind a soul to a Soul Stone.

-Loec, the Shadow Dancer: Asuryan’s spymaster, and Patron of the Eldar Rangers. God of Shadows and night, it was he who provided the Eldar with their Lithe and nimble musculature, which they use to maneuver across the battlefield like dancers across the stage. It has been theorized by certain inquisitors of the Ordo Xenos that Cegorach and Loec are in fact the same being; however, no one can agree who is the copy of the other, and the Eldar could never even consider that a possibility.

-Hoeth, Lord of Wisdom: the Vizier of Asuryan, and he who assists in those seeking knowledge. He is the giver of understanding, and the provider of factual, logical truth. His teachings provided the basis for all Aeldari knowledge, and it was he who gave the Eldar their immense intellect. He is the patron of scholars, teachers and philosophers.

-Mathlann, Lord of the Deeps: Mathlann is the Patron of the Mathlanni, or the Eldar Corsairs, for their allegiance and their place amongst the Aeldari ebbs and flows like the tides of the Waves. He guides them through the oceans of the Void, and protects them from warp storms and other cosmic disasters. However, while his disposition is normally like the calm of the ocean surface, his anger and wrath can be swift and vengeful, striking like a hurricane leaving just as quickly as it came. Mathnlann is also the patron of the Asuryani who follow the Path of the Mariner.

-Ereth Khial, The Pale Queen: She is the Goddess of the Underworld; it is she who guards the souls of the Eldar and who gives the Soul Stones their protective power. After the fall of the Eldar Empire, her power was severely weakened during the slaughter coming from the Birth of Slaanesh and like her sister Atharti, chose to repurpose herself: She now protects and guides the souls of the dead to the Infinity Circuits of the Asuryani, and protects the souls of those not in possession of Soul Stones as best she can.

-Ladrielle, Lady of Mists: She protects things which are hidden or lost, and the protectors of those who travel through the Webway. Not much else is known about Ladrielle, although some amongst the Ordo Xenos have noted a striking similarity in artwork depicting her and Lileath...

-Hekarti, Mistress of Magic: It was she who gave the Aeldari their natural talent with the warp and the ease with which they wield it. She taught the ancient Aeldari the art of shaping the Runes with which they channel their immense psychic power.

-Anath Raema, the Savage Huntress: One of the two patron gods of the Wych Cults, she instilled the hunter’s instinct into the Wyches, and thrives off the thrill of the hunt. The Drukhari who worship her bring her the heads of great beasts and warriors they have successfully hunted, as well as the heads of those who failed or were too cowardly to accomplish their kill.

-Eldrazor, Lord of Blades: The other Patron God of the Wych Cults, Eldrazor also serves as the Patron of the Incubi. Eldrazor revels in honorable combat, and as such, loaths underhanded or deceitful tactics... in a duel. In the Arenas of Commoragh, where there are often more than two combatants from a dozen different races at a time, there is little time from such things as honor. When a warrior from any race shows extreme prowess 

-Ellinill, Lord of Destruction: Ellinill is a god on par with Khaine in terms of raw power, if he hasn’t surpassed him already. It is good then that he is unable to channel this power directly, for it is said that if he were able to do so, the end of life as we know it would begin: the End Times would commence. How did he lose his power? He once had many hundreds of children, each embodying a facet of destrution... however, when their destructive power threatened his own, he set about consuming each and every one of them, failing to realize that this consumption was weakening him.

-Atharti, Lady of Desire: When the Eldar Empire was at the height of its decadence, Atharti was one of the most powerful Gods of the Aeldari Pantheon. When the fall came, she was severely weakened as Slaanesh gobbled up the souls of those who gave in to their desires and twisted them into the Crone Eldar. Now, Atharti serves another purpose: to assist in the courtship and mating rituals of the Eldar, becoming a Goddess of Fertility amongst the Asuryani of the Craftworlds and the Ishari of the Exodites.

-Nethu, Keeper of the Dead: He is Guardian of the Underworld, who guards the Entrance to the Underworld; never moving, never resting. He only opens the door when his mother, Ereth Khial, the Pale Queen, brings the souls trapped in the Soul Stones into the Underworld. Only when the prophesized God of the Dead, Ynnead, is born will Nethu move, allowing the newborn deity to gorge on the souls of the dead.

-Addaioth, Bringer of Wrath and Fire: one of the elder sons of Ellinill, he is a prideful and arrogant being. Rather than hide like his siblings did when their father was consumed by madness, Addaioth chose to face him head on, which was ultimately his doom. Now, he is an apprentice of Vaul, creating more and more destructive weaponry which will help him kill his father.

-Drakira, Queen of Vengeance: The youngest daughter of Ellinill, she damned her siblings to be consumed by their mad sire. Her realm of destruction is the subtle art of self-destruction; to be consumed by the hatred and anger one feels when retribution fills their every thought and action. She lends her power to those who deserve it most, but said power will cost the recipient a greater amount than they could ever hope to pay back.

-Hukon, the Sunderer: a son of Ellinill, it is said that he is the bringer of great calamities to the Aeldari, whether they be natural disasters or from outside forces. Not much else is known about Hukon.

-Estreuth, Lord of Hunger: while Estreuth is not as widely worshipped amongst the Asuryani, Drukhari or Mathlanni, his place amongst the Ishari cannot be understated. He is the provider of the harvest, who taught the Ishari how to grow crops and raise livestock, and how to live off the lands they now called home. To say that the teachings of Estreuth were integral to the survival of the Exodites would be a severe understatement; while the knowledge of the Hunt and the Forest has assisted the Ishari greatly, without the understanding of the Harvest... there would be no Ishari. If any Aeldari fails to give proper thanks to Estreuth during a bountiful harvest, then the Lord of Hunger will curse them with famine and drought.

-Ynnead, God of the Dead: It is prophesied that a new God will be born in the coming years... One who could challenge the power of She Who Thirsts and who will give the Aeldari a chance to be reborn; however, it is unknown whether Ynnead will be a benevolent protecter, or something far, far worse than even Slaanesh could ever hope to be. Only time will tell what sort of God Ynnead will become.

the Prophecy of Ynnead, also known as the Prophecy of the Hidden Paths, details the coming of the God of the Dead. It states thusly:

Like Ghouls in the Dark, the wicked ones gather, drawn to a Tragedy Unfolding.

Warning twice-given across the span of time, Stifled by pride and Hatred.

The strands of fate shall grow taut at the dawn of the Rhana Dandra.

The death of all Eldar looms large, but fate can be twisted, even broken.

One shall walk the forked path, a threefold truth to weave the skein:

Nemesis of She Who Thirsts, Opener of the Seventh Way.

Long Dead souls gather behind

The rebirth of Ancient Days, Drinking, but not consuming;

Taking in, but giving new life.

In the heat of Khaine’s Wrath, our sorrow will be reforged.

Our destiny becomes a weapon fit to slay a goddess.

The pallid moon of unremembered voices shall turn into a sun

Lit by the flames of unjust wars, a crucible of souls and dreams.

The Stolen Seers, Amassed, Gather unto them the Dead.

Legion, they drift within the sands, Their voices raised as one.

Lambent glow becomes shining beacon, Death knell rises to the herald’s cry.

The blackened shield becomes the sword, The yawning void becomes the path.

The God of the Dead Calls out.

A Whisper so fierce and strong it shall hush the stars forever.

Author’s note: well, this took longer than it conceivably should have.

I hope everyone likes the names i've given to the Exodites and the Corsairs; I think, all things considered, they're pretty good! let me know what you think about all of this!

[asktheadeptus]

Mortarion

"Pain is an illusion of the senses, fear an illusion of the mind, beyond these only death waits as silent judge o'er all."— Primarch Mortarion

Mortarion, also known as the Death Lord or the Prince of Decay after he turned to Chaos, was one of the original twenty Imperial Primarchs created by the Emperor of Mankind. He was given command of the Death Guard Space Marine Legion on the arrival of the Emperor to his home world of Barbarus, but he turned to the Forces of Chaos during the Horus Heresy. At present, Mortarion is the greatest Daemon Prince of Nurgle and the Daemon Primarch of the Death Guard Chaos Space Marines.

History

Childhood

When the twenty Primarchs of the Space Marine Legions were scattered across the galaxy in a mysterious accident, one came to rest on the planet Barbarus, a world wreathed in poisonous fog. The population of the world was split into two groups: the controlling warlords; necromancers with fantastic powers along with the human settlers, who had been trapped on the planet millennia before and were now forced to eke out an existence in the poison-free valleys of the planet, fearing the wrath of the warlords and their creations.

The Primarch-child was taken in by the most powerful of the warlords, who found him amongst the corpses of a battlefield, screaming and wailing where a normal child would have suffocated and died long before. The Overlord of Barbarus took the child in with the intention of creating a son and heir, naming him Mortarion - child of death.

Mortarion was kept in a fortress positioned at the limit of even his superhuman tolerance to the toxins in the air, while the Overlord moved his own fortress to the highest peak of the world, beyond where even Mortarion could go. He trained the child, who had a highly keen intellect and voracious appetite for knowledge; Mortarion learned everything from battle doctrine, to arcane secrets, from artifice to stratagem. However, the young Primarch's questions began to turn towards subjects the Overlord did not want to talk about, namely the pitiful creatures in the valleys that the many warlords preyed upon for corpses to reanimate and bodies to warp.

The Deliverance of Barbarus

Finally, knowing he would be unable to find the answers he desired from his adoptive father, Mortarion broke out of the fortress that had been his home and prison after killing several guards stationed at the gates of the fortress, and headed for the valleys of Barbarus. Breaking through the poisonous mists, Mortarion discovered that the prey of the warlords were in fact the same species as he, and swore to deliver them from their oppression. The people of Barbarus were slow to accept this pale, gaunt stranger from the mountains, but Mortarion was given a chance to prove his worth when creatures enthralled to another warlord attacked the village. Seeing that the peasants were unable to effectively fight back, Mortarion joined the fray, wielding a massive harvesting scythe that made short work of the beasts. The warlord smiled when Mortarion advanced upon him and withdrew to the apparent safety of the deadly fog, only to be pursued and butchered by this inhumanly resilient Primarch.

Accepted into the village without further reservation, Mortarion began to train the villagers in the art of warfare. Soon, representatives from other villages journeyed to learn from Mortarion, while the villages scattered across the valleys of the world were transformed into strong points. Mortarion traveled from settlement to settlement, teaching, building and defending his people.

He recruited the toughest, most resilient men he could find, forming them into small units that trained under his supervision. He enlisted the aid of blacksmiths, craftsmen and artificers to create suits of armour that would allow men to travel through the poisonous fog. As each battle in the mists was fought, Mortarion and his Death Guard would learn how to better adapt the armour, and themselves, to reach the more poisonous heights. Eventually, only one peak denied them access, the one on which Mortarion's adoptive father had made his home.

The Coming of the Emperor

Despite his adoptive father being a ruthless necromancer, Mortarion felt reluctant to attack the man who took him in and called off the planned attack. Returning to the village, Mortarion's mood darkened when he found his people talking not of his victory but of the arrival of a benevolent stranger who promised salvation to the people of Barbarus. Finding this stranger in conference with the village elders, Mortarion claimed that his people needed no outside help. The stranger commented that even Mortarion and his Death Guard were having trouble pacifying the final warlord, and offered a challenge. If Mortarion could defeat the Overlord, the stranger would leave. If not, Mortarion had to swear fealty to the stranger and the Imperium of Man he represented.

Ignoring the protests of his Death Guard, Mortarion left alone to confront his adoptive father, motivated by a compulsion to prove himself to the stranger below. The confrontation was brief. The air surrounding the Overlord's fortress was so poisonous, that parts of Mortarion's armour began to rot. He collapsed at the gates of the Overlord's citadel, bellowing challenges. The final thing Mortarion saw before he blacked out into unconsciousness was the Overlord of Barbarus coming to kill him, then the stranger leaping between the two and slaying the Overlord with a single sword thrust.

When he recovered, Mortarion swore fealty to the stranger, who revealed himself to be Mortarion's father, the Emperor of Mankind. The Emperor granted Mortarion command of the XIV Space Marine Legion, then known as the Dusk Raiders, who quickly adopted the name and dogma of Mortarion's Death Guard. However, The Emperor's slaying of his adoptive father proved to become a grudge Mortarion long held against him.

A Mournful Unity

True to his oath, Mortarion bent his knee to his new-found father as soon as he was sufficiently recovered to do so, although his final act of defiance on Barbarus would leave scars upon him both physical and mental that would never fully heal. A skilled warlord in his own right, Mortarion was immediately given command of the XIV Legion of Astartes which carried his genetic inheritance, and did so on his own terms. Gathering them before him, a grim and spectral figure robed and bearing the great black scythe that had once belonged to his nightmarish foster-father, it must have seemed to the Terran-born Dusk Raiders that an ancient, graven image of the Grim Reaper had come before them as their new master. His words were simple and delivered in a harsh whisper that never the less carried to each and every one: "You are my unbroken blades. You are the Death Guard. By your hand shall justice be delivered, and doom shall stalk a thousand worlds." The Legion's name was then changed in accordance with this decree, and Mortarion's words were engraved above the airlock door of the Battle Barge Reaper's Scythe in honour of that moment. By this simple decree the Dusk Raiders were no more, and the records and annals from that day forward would carry this new name as one to strike fear into the hearts of Mankind's enemies.

The XIV Legion's Astartes had been primarily Terran-born before Mortarion joined the Legion; after that time almost all of the Legion's Neophytes were drawn from the Feral World of Barbarus. This changed the culture and traditions of the Legion, so much so that by the last days of the Great Crusade in the early 31st Millennium, there were increasing tensions between the Barbarus-born Astartes and the Terran minority who remained in the Legion and who remembered the Dusk Raiders' earlier martial traditions brought out of Old Terra. These tensions became most clear in the period directly preceding the first battle of the Horus Heresy at Istvaan III, when approximately one-third of the Legion was judged by Mortarion to be likely to remain loyal to the Emperor when the Legion joined the Warmaster Horus in his rebellion against the Imperium. Many of these Loyalist Death Guard Astartes were Terran-born, former Dusk Raiders like Battle-Captain Nathaniel Garro of the 7th Great Company whose loyalty to the Emperor outweighed their devotion to their Primarch.

The Great Crusade

In the decades that followed the renamed XIV Legion fought tirelessly in the service of the Great Crusade. Never relenting in battle beneath their Primarch's gaze, they pursued the liberation of Mankind with a fervor the Great Crusade had never known. Their restless fleet plowed the cold void from one campaign to the next, resupplying on the move, never pausing but to make war. The Death Guard did not garrison, they did not build, they only tore down and slew, coldly, determinately and with the inexorable progress of a contagion or a tsunami wave, and worlds fell before them.

Over time Mortarion shaped the creed and practice of the Death Guard, his beliefs in many ways forming a natural extension of their own, beliefs and doctrine becoming ever more refined and extreme. At the heart of them was the unshakable determination that Mankind should be free of oppression and terror. Such freedom could only be won in the Primarch's mind by destroying those that would shackle and devour humanity. This was a war to be fought without mercy or limit, without restraint or relenting. The battle for the human future was one that could only be won by enduring any hardship, no matter how terrible, and not shirking from any act, no matter how savage in pursuit of victory. This single end, the liberation of humanity to Mortarion's creed, justified any means.

Mortarion believed that victory in battle came through sheer resilience, and Horus, who used the strengths and weaknesses of the different legions to create the most efficient fighting force possible, used his legion in co-ordination with Mortarion's frequently. Mortarion and the Death Guard would draw out the enemy and tire them down, and then the Luna Wolves would strike. This combat tactic worked brilliantly, and Mortarion grew close to Horus.

Mortarion was a grim and driven Primarch, his breathing apparatus and scythe an inseparable component of his aspect. The pallid, hairless Primarch was viewed by others as a freak, and was distant from all his brother Primarchs save Horus the Warmaster and Konrad Curze the Night Haunter, the leader of the Night Lords Legion. Some Primarchs, such as Roboute Guilliman, feared that Mortarion was more loyal to Horus than he was to the Emperor; however, at that time, the Emperor claimed that loyalty to Horus was de facto loyalty to Himself. Events would prove the Emperor sorely mistaken.

The Inheritance of Barbarus

Decades of endless battle changed the Death Guard, and over time the Terran influences on the Legion became less and less apparent, with the panoply and traditions of the Dusk Raiders and the Officio Militaris erased in favor of Barbarus' bleak creed of war. The bare ivory-grey unpainted ceramite that Mortarion favoured for the Legion's Power Armour became increasingly less adorned, save for new murky-jade markings set to echo the corrosive-resistant swamp mud applied to coat the iron plates of the human warriors that had once served the Primarch of Barbarus, and shorn of older heraldry and Terran influence. The martial stratifications of Old Earth's warmasters were done away with too, and eventually the XIV Legion's Librarius was disbanded thanks to Mortarion's hatred of witchery such as that the hated charnel masters of Barbarus had once wielded.

Mortarion's hand and mind was at work everywhere remaking his Legion, from changing tactical doctrines to equipment procurement and, some say, behind the selection of candidates and changing practices in the Legion's Apothecarion, where he gained the latter knowledge to interfere. With the prevailing conditions on Barbarus and the foul beings that more than likely still stalked the planet's fog-shrouded mountains and deep swamps, there were whispers that the human population that remained would have been better off if they had been euthanized or displaced to a "cleaner" world for the sake of the sanity of future generations. Mortarion would have none of this, for Barbarus now belonged to his people, bought and paid for by generations of blood and terror, and its strongest sons would now serve as recruits for his new Death Guard.

As for the purely human Death Guard that had once fought for him against the overlords of Barbarus, many now became the masters of that world and a dread aristocracy they soon became, while the youngest and strongest took full or partial conversion into the Legiones Astartes, heedless of the high fatality rate that late induction carried with it. This was deemed a small enough price to pay to continue in the service of Mortarion their savior. With new recruitment at issue, Barbarus itself in a short span of Terran years became little more than a factory of sorts to produce new recruits for the Death Guard Legion, and intake from other sources of recruitment to which the Legion had title dwindled to a mere handful, unless the pressure of fatalities in the field proved too great. Mortarion's resistance to the use of bloodstock other than that of Barbarus wavered only because of the need to keep his Legion's strength battle worthy in his eyes. Recruitment solely from Barbarus was however aided by the high suitability of the planet's hardy feral population to the conversion process. The Legion's gene-seed seemed to amplify the uncommon resistance to contagion and toxins in its Barbarus candidates to unheard-of levels.

As fresh intakes of new Space Marines came in from Barbarus, the surviving core of Terran blood became a minority as the Great Crusade burned on across the stars, the Death Guard at the forefront of the fighting in the most hellish war-zones imaginable. Although second perhaps in their father's eyes, the Terran contingent remained stubborn in the ranks, hardened veterans and a force to be reckoned with in the Legion. With the Legion drawing the majority of its Neophytes from Barbarus, this changed the culture and traditions of the Legion, so much so that by the last days of the Great Crusade in the early 31st Millennium, there were increasing tensions between the Barbarus-born Astartes and the Terran minority who remained in the Legion and who remembered the Dusk Raiders' earlier martial traditions brought out of Old Terra. These tensions became most clear in the period directly preceding the first battle of the Horus Heresy at Istvaan III, when approximately one-third of the Legion was judged by Mortarion to be likely to remain loyal to the Emperor when the Legion joined the Warmaster Horus in his rebellion against the Imperium. Many of these Loyalist Death Guard Astartes were Terran-born, former Dusk Raiders like Battle-Captain Nathaniel Garro of the 7th Great Company whose loyalty to the Emperor outweighed their devotion to their Primarch.

Council of Nikaea

Mortarion was present at the Council of Nikaea, where he spoke out against his brother Primarch Magnus the Red. Having witnessed during his youth on Barbarus the horrors produced by psykers, he testified against them, ending his plea with a dire warning against any use of sorcery by the servants of the Emperor. Unlike the other speakers at Nikaea who stood against the use of psychic powers and who mostly harangued Magnus and reviled the Thousand Sons but brought little proof or argument to the debate, Mortarion's intervention was short, impersonal and to the point. It therefore made a great impact upon the opinion of the Emperor, and drove Magnus to defend the use of psychic abilities with more drive and passion than he had originally intended.

The Horus Heresy

When the Warmaster Horus turned to Chaos, he did not require much effort to drag Mortarion and his Legion down with him. Horus had been one of the few Primarchs with whom Mortarion had felt comfortable, and as such he showed more loyalty to the Warmaster during the Great Crusade than to the Emperor Himself. In addition to this, First-Captain Calas Typhon, Mortarion's right-hand man, had long been a secret follower of the Ruinous Powers and eagerly manipulated the rest of the Death Guard into treading the path of damnation. Mortarion revealed his true colors during the scouring of Istvaan III, when he willingly sent potentially Loyalist elements of the Death Guard into Horus' trap. Once the Astartes who remained loyal to the Emperor were purged, the Death Guard then fought alongside their Traitor brethren during the Drop Site Massacre on Istvaan V.

The Warhawk and the Death Lord

For much of the Great Crusade, the errant White Scars Legion under the command of Primarch Jaghatai Khan had remained noticeably absent from the current chain of events that were only now beginning to trickle in to their fleet's Astropathic choirs. As they interpreted the astropathic messages they received in a contradictory manner, they began to suspect that things were not right. It had begun in the Chondax System, right towards the end of the campaign against the Greenskins -- the first inkling that all was not well. There had been no detail then, no authentication, just stray astropathic messages of dubious provenance. It should have been easy to dismiss, to put down to the warping power of the Empyrean. But it had worn on the Khan, unraveling his sleep. Jaghatai was next contacted by the Space Wolves' Leman Russ who had just returned from the Burning of Prospero and the assault against the Space Wolves' old rivals, the Thousand Sons Legion. The VI Legion's fleet had mustered at the Alaxxes Nebula to lick its wounds after the recent campaign, when it was beset by the forces of the Alpha Legion. Although the Khan sympathized with the Space Wolves' predicament, he refused to get involved until he was able to sort out the conflicting and often contradictory astropathic messages he had received. Until he knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, who was ally and who was an enemy, he refused to choose sides. Wishing his brother the best of luck, Jhagatai wished to seek his answers elsewhere.

The White Scars fleet made all haste towards Prospero, the recently ravaged homeworld of the Thousand Sons Legion. The Khagan ordered his Legion to head for the source, to find the architect of the chaos engulfing the Imperium. Yet, only one soul could see the Warp as it truly was, and that was Magnus the Red, the only one of his brothers that Jaghatai had ever truly trusted. If Magnus yet lived then everything could be salvaged. If he was dead, then the Imperium was finished. Eventually the Khan found the answers he sought in the crystal caves deep underground, beneath the destroyed capital city of Tizca. When he made his way back to the surface of the planet, he next encountered an unexpected visitor. As the clouds above them began to glow, a vibrant shard of light speared down from the smog, crackling as it hit the stone below. The Terminators turned to face it, powering up their weapons. Jaghatai told his bodyguard he had felt this new arrival's presence following them for a long time. He had been on the Khan's heels since Ullanor. At long last he had finally caught up. The Khan ordered his warriors to stand down, for the stranger was beyond all of them. How could he not be? For it was his brother -- Mortarion, the Death Lord, Primarch of the Death Guard Legion. Watching the ash settle and the residual snags of aether-burn ripple into nothing, seven figures within the maelstrom emerged. Six of them were Legionaries. They were clad in pale, thick-slabbed Terminator Armour and carried huge Power Scythes known as Manreapers. Their pauldrons were olive-green and the links between the plates were cold iron. They were massive, heavier-set than the Khan's retinue, hunched at the shoulder and leaking pale green vapor from the last of the teleportation beams. These were members of Mortarion's elite bodyguard, the Deathshroud.

Mortarion proceeded to explain the reason for his recent arrival; he told Jaghatai that he had sought him out, for things had changed. Jaghatai realised that his brother had come to persuade him to join the Traitors' cause. The Khan observed him guardedly, for Mortarion had always been hard to read. He left his blade unsheathed, holding it loosely at his side. Observing the physical changes in his brother, he noticed that Mortarion's power seemed to have grown. Something burned in him, dark like old embers. His flesh was somehow bleaker, his stance a little more crabbed, and yet the aura of intimidation around him had been augmented. Back on Ullanor, even at the height of triumph, he had not possessed quite the same heft. Jaghatai commanded his brother to say what he had come to the ruins of Prospero to say. The Khan correctly surmised that Horus had not sent Mortarion, he had come of his own accord, with his own agenda. Mortarion brushed off the Khan's reasoning, but Jaghatai pressed him. The Death Guard Primarch attempted to sway the Khan to Horus' cause, to imagine a galaxy of warriors, of hunters, where the strong were given their freedom to act as they would, unbound by the Emperor's demands. The Khan was no fool, of course this new galaxy would all be led by Horus. Mortarion merely shrugged -- Horus would be the start of the new order. He was the champion, the sacrificial king. He might burn himself out to get to Terra, he might not. Either way, there would be room for others to rise to power over the galaxy to come.

Mortarion told his brother that he should not have thrown in his lot with Sanguinius, let alone Magnus. He hated to see the three of them getting dragged in deeper by the Emperor's hypocrisy. Their father had tried to pretend that it was not there, the Warp, as if He were not already up to His elbows in its soul-sucking filth. In Mortarion's opinion it should have been cordoned off, put away, forgotten about. But the Khan was not fooled by his brother's sincerity. He had seen what had happened. The Death Lord had never hidden what he wanted. Jaghatai could see how his brother thought it would all play out; first hobble the sorcerers. Silence the witches. Drive them out, and rule would pass to the uncorrupted, the healthy. This was Mortarion's great project. He had even told the Khan on Ullanor. The Khan had thought back then that they were empty threats, but he should have known better. Mortarion did not make empty threats. But it had all gone wrong. Though Mortarion had completed his great mission and the Emperor had handed down the Edicts of Nikaea forbidding the use of sorcery and the disbandment of the Legions' Librarius, there were now more sorcerers than ever amongst the ranks of the Traitors. Horus had sponsored them, Lorgar had shown them new tricks. If Magnus had not already made up his mind on which side of the conflict he would be on, then he soon would, and then Mortarion would be surrounded. He had destroyed the Librarius of the Legions only to find witches were now untrammelled amongst the Traitors.

The Khan had seen the overall picture perfectly. Magnus' shade had showed him. Jaghatai warned his brother that though his Legion might be free of the Warp's corruption for now, the change would come, for Mortarion had made his pacts with the masters of the Empyrean, and now they would come to collect. But this was why Mortarion had come to find Jaghatai. Mortarion had run out of friends. Who would stand with him against the aether-weavers now? Most assuredly not their brother Angron, nor the half-mad Konrad Curze. The Khan gazed at Mortarion disdainfully. His brother had tasted the fruits of treachery and found them bitter. The Khan did not wish to be dragged into his brother's ruin -- Mortarion was on his own. Struggling to contain his anger, Mortarion warned the Khan that he had come to give his brother a choice -- half of the White Scars Legion had already declared for Horus, and the others would follow wherever the Khagan ordered them. Their father's time was over -- the Khan could either be a part of the new order that replaced him or be swept aside in its wake. The Khan merely smiled -- a cold smile, imperious in its contempt. He would not countenance a new Emperor -- neither himself or his brother. Jaghatai explained that the reason neither one of them would ever rule the galaxy is that both of them were never the empire-builders. They were the outriders. Mortarion had chafed at this role, while the Khan had embraced it. Enraged, Mortarion backed away, Silence crackled into life, sparking with green-tinged energy. The Deathshroud lowered their scythes in a combat posture. Behind the Khan, the keshig readied their blades. The Khan prepared to settle their argument once and for all.

The two Primarchs circled one another, prepared to finally engage in a deadly duel that would decide their fates. As the two demi-gods battled, their respective retinues also fell onto one another in deadly close-combat. The silent Deathshroud were just as implacable as their master, as they fought the White Scars keshig amidst the wreckage. Warriors of both sides had already fallen, their bodies caked in the thickness of blood and dust, but the dispute raged on, bitter and unyielding. The two Primarchs traded deadly blows, tearing into one another, each strike powered by raw defiance. As they hacked and countered, neither giving up a single measurement of ground, it mingled upon the blades' edges, as rich and dark as wine. Summoning up one last burst of energy, the Khan held position, panting hard as he dragged out the remnants of his power for the final clash. In response, Mortarion only stood, rigid, as though suddenly listening for something. His scythe fell into guard and a thin coughing broke from his mask, which the Khan realised was an exhausted kind of chortle. "So the choice has been made."

Mortarion informed Jaghatai that their respective star ships were at war. This was not what they had been promised by the White Scars' Warrior Lodge brothers, but the Death Lord refused to lose a fleet for this fight. Feeling the dust stir around his feet, coils of marsh-green teleportation energy rippled downward. He saluted the Khan mockingly, and spears of hard-edged light lanced down from above, bursting through the cloud cover and crashing through the heart of the ruined Tizca pyramid they had been fighting within. The Khan sprang forward, seeing too late what was happening. In an instant, the Death Lord and his retinue were snatched away, sucked into the vortex of the Warp. The world's wind howled in their empty wake, ash stirred and the lightning forked. Jaghatai, carried by the momentum of his final thrust, staggered though the empty space where his brother turned enemy had been.

Seeking Answers

Chagrined by his defeat at the hands of Jaghatai Khan, Mortarion abandoned the pursuit of the White Scars and instead lead his Death Guard in a spiteful, punitive rampage across the systems of the lost Prosperine empire. World after world soon fell to this horrific onslaught, and yet the insular and secretive Primarch seemed preoccupied by some other, unspoken goal. Finally he found what he sought for upon the world of Terathalion, a former library-world where knowledge coalesced, all under the benign guidance of distant masters on Prospero. When his voidships emerged from the Mandeville jump point in the Imperial year 007.M31 and spread out through the local system, they were not the sleek and gloriously decorated crimson-colored system-runners of Magnus the Red's XVth Legion , but corpse-grey, vast-hulled leviathans. Moreover, it was no mere squadron that had arrived, but an entire battle group. Mortarion ordered the orbital bombardment immediately. When the bombardment finally relented, the few survivors crept slowly from whatever refuge they had been able to find. Thinking for a moment that the worst was finally over, they soon saw dirty contrails of Drop Pods split the smoke-barred skies. The entirety of the Death Guard Legion had come to the doomed world. Though still gravely wounded and in deep pain, the Death Lord teleported down to the surface, seeking a mortal woman. Upon discovery, he had his captive teleported with him back aboard his flagship, Endurance. Within his private quarters he interrogated the woman, who in truth, was a Daemon in possession of the woman's body. Mortarion had never encountered its kind before, believing his father, the Emperor, that such fell creatures did not exist. Now one of the denizens of the Empyrean stood shackled before him. The Primarch sought answers from the daemon. He wanted to know why his brothers Lorgar and Fulgrim willingly trafficked with the creature's kind. The Daemon explained that Mortarion's brothers had come to see the true order of things.

Despite all that had occurred, Mortarion still believed that all sorcery was a cancer. He still believed that they must guard against it -- push it back. After destroying an entire world in his search for answers, he yearned to know the truth about Chaos. Mortarion knew that he was now surrounded by the damned. Jaghatai had been right -- the Death Lord was on his own with them. The Aether stained everything. But he would endeavor to understand it -- to overcome it. The daemon's final task would be to show him how. The foul creature laughed at Mortarion's efforts. Like thousands of other mortals the creature had encountered over the aeons, each one was convinced that they alone could find a way to negotiate with the gods with little to no consequence. The Daemon explained to the Primarch that the Empyrean had many great forces in the Aether, and one of them had Mortarion's name etched over his rusting throne. He was still waiting, though not for very much longer. It mattered not how many trinkets the Primarch rattled or waved -- he would not be denied. He had claimed Mortarion. The Primarch was enraged at the creature's proclamation -- even his Father could not claim him. Mortarion admitted that he was guilty of patricide long before the seeds of treachery were sown in the Warmaster's heart. He had seen them all -- the tyrants, the witches, the xenos filth. Only he remained pure of it all, free of corruption. The Daemon could see through the Primarch's lies, and taunted him -- he didn't look pure to her at all.

The Daemon continued to taunt the Primarch, goading him on. If he wanted to know the truth, then it would be revealed. The creature's bonds were suddenly shattered and her human shell peeled away, revealing a glossy, insectoid true-form. Though the Primarch's physical strength was enormous, the Daemon knew that it would not help him, for she was a creature of anti-physics, held only by laws that the Primarch feared to invoke. In an attempt to resist the Daemon's brutal attack, he tore at it with his hands, still relying on the immeasurable strength in his post-human musculature. Enraged by this, Mortarion called upon his innate abilities buried deep down within him. The glorious stink of learned sorcery and hedge-magick was now pungent and inescapable. It was within him, he was using it, in spite of every protestation. As the Daemon sagged back against the wall, feeling her soul pulled back to the Empyrean, the Primarch continued to hammer her furiously with his fists, pouring out all of his fury onto the broken physical shell. She was the first to see a fragment of what he would eventually become. As the creature died, and her quintessential matter was sucked back into the maw of the Æther, she managed a mock salute, "Hail, Master of the Plague!" Mortarion stood over the crushed heap, breathing heavily. For too long, he had been used by all sides. The void now seethed with witchery, more virulent than ever. He could feel its tendrils grasping for him. The Death Lord knew he would have to learn more. He would have to master all the paths of ruin. He would, as perhaps he had known but refused to believe for a long time, have to become the very thing that he hated. "So be it," he thought to himself, "It starts here."

The Doom of the Death Guard

During the subsequent assault on Terra itself at the end of the Heresy by the Traitor Legions, the Death Guard were part of Horus' invasion force. However, en route, the entire Death Guard Fleet became trapped in the Immaterium due to the actions of First Captain Calas Typhon, trapping them in a perpetual nightmare. It was whilst on campaign with the Word Bearers Legion earlier in the Great Crusade that Typhon had learned of a different path for the Legiones Astartes to follow, a future where his hard-won but hidden psychic abilities would be a source of greatness instead of a taboo to be hidden from sight. The foremost Chaplain of the Word Bearers, Erebus, inducted Typhon into the secrets of the Seven Pillared Lodge, one of the Warrior Lodges that had begun to spread throughout the Space Marine Legions in the later days of the Great Crusade. It was during this time that Typhon caught a glimpse of what the Astartes could truly become if they shrugged off the yoke of the Emperor's ambitions.

Perhaps Typhon's revelation was instrumental in Mortarion's own fall to the Ruinous Powers; perhaps Mortarion would have walked a dark path on his own. Either way, the troubled Death Guard Primarch saw a worthy master in Horus, whereas in the Emperor he saw only a self-serving and pompous pretender who had stolen Mortarion's hard-won kingship in a single day. As the Heresy that Horus initiated slowly but surely escalated into a galactic civil war, Mortarion ordered his fleet to head for Terra with all haste, intending for the Death Guard to join the other Traitor Legions in the destruction of the False Emperor. By this point, Calas Typhon served one master alone, and it was not his Primarch. Typhon had seen to it that the fleet's Navigators were killed to a man (claiming their loyalty was still to the Emperor), but reassured Mortarion that the Warp-gift he possessed would see them through their journey in the Empyrean safe enough. Though he hated the concept of relying on witchery, Mortarion was left with little choice. The Death Guard fleet made transition into the Warp, and in the process damned themselves to an eternity of war as the puppets of a foul and ancient god.

In leading the Death Guard into the Warp, Typhon had delivered them into the clutches of his new master, Nurgle, the Lord of Decay. The strange tides of the Empyrean are notoriously fickle, and during their voyage the entire Death Guard fleet was becalmed. As their warships lingered, directionless and without hope, the cloying influence of Father Nurgle began to take hold. The Death Guard were subjected to the terrible infection of the Destroyer Plague and Nurgle's Rot, as Nurgle's power managed to infiltrate the vessels of the XIV Legion. It polluted the vessels themselves as easily as it did the transhuman warriors within. The virulent plagues infected the fleet while they drifted aimlessly through the Warp, making a mockery of the Death Guard's legendary resistance to poison and contagions. The plague that came could not be resisted, something that terrified Mortarion and the Death Guard. It transformed them into bloated mutants, yet none could die, their own body being their undoing. None suffered more than Mortarion, for it was like being on the mountain top again, surrendering to the toxins, but this time without the Emperor to save him. Eventually, Mortarion could suffer no more and gave himself to Chaos. Desperate, Mortarion offered his Legion and his own soul up to the Ruinous Powers in exchange for deliverance. Father Nurgle responded and took the XIV Legion and Mortarion for his own.

What emerged from the Warp bore little resemblance to what had gone in. The Death Guard Space Marines' once gleaming grey armour was corroded and shattered, barely containing their bloated, pustule-riddled bodies. Their weapons and armour were powered by the energies of Chaos and they became known as the Plague Marines, although they would still use the name of the Death Guard for themselves. Mortarion himself left his humanity far behind and was transformed into Nurgle's greatest mortal Champion: the Prince of Decay, the very image of death. Condemned to a deathless state of decay, the Death Guard would spread their pestilent diseases the length and breadth of the galaxy for the greater glory of Chaos.

In the end, Horus was defeated by the Emperor, but unlike the other Legions, who splintered and fled into the Eye of Terror, Mortarion's Legion, now calling themselves the Plague Marines, made an orderly withdrawal, wave after wave of Loyalists breaking themselves on the Legion. Mortarion led his forces, in an ordered formation, back to the Eye of Terror. Mortarion claimed the Daemon World known as the Plague Planet as his new homeworld and it proved to be an ideal base for launching attacks from out of the Eye of Terror into the physical universe. He shaped it so well that Nurgle promoted him to become the greatest of his Daemon Princes. Mortarion had finally gotten what he wanted, a world of his own. He ruled over a toxic death world of poison, horror and misery. For better or worse, the Death Lord had come home.

Source: http://warhammer40k.wikia.com