#oc astartes legion

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

Interesting things to note about my OC very much not Codex Compliant Chapter the Mourning Suns, that's really a Legion:

-They know how to make and repair Heresy Era power armour. They're very good at it, and do trade with traitor and other exiled legions.

-If they like you, they sell you the good stuff, if they don't they can and will scam the shit out of you.

-Theire best scammer Trader, is an Astartes known only by the nickname Feather Dick. Feather Dick choose his nickname not because he's mocking his Matriarch, or Sanguinius, he's referring to himself, for Feather Dick does not have pubes; he has fubes. Feather Dick is very proud of himself for his nickname. Feather Dick is also a techmarine. Responsible for keeping in touch with Mechanicus who he personally think are weird. Because why worship when befriending the machine spirits work so much better? Feather Dick might be slightly off his rocker.

-Chava and Zaavan are biological twins from a hive world, with Chava being a female astartes and an Apothecary, whilst Zaavan is a Librarian. Zaavan really wishes Lilith would just let him summon her soul and create a ritual for her to be reborn instead of a wild goose chase. Both twins are psykers.

-At their largest, they were 40,000 strong, now they are 4000 strong after the devastation of Baal, though they are steadily growing again. (Don't tell Guilliman)

-Lilith is their primarch, or Matriarch as they call her. Her blood runs through their veins, and their geneseed, while pure, is very different from Sanguinius which was once their geneseed. It's surprisingly stable. Though it would be considered impure due to how different it is.

-They have an apothecary named Luciano who was once a Revenant. He's been around for a long time, and very fond of Lilith's flower as tea, and seems to have contributed to his rather long life alongside having her blood within him. Luci is perpetually grumpy, but really has a soft heart. Very good with aspirants, and knows how to soothe them.

-Their flagship is called the Thorned Rose, and it is actually covered in thorns. They don't have a planet for a homebase, but are searching for one, and currently are what's known as the Migrant Fleet, due to the fact they can usually be found amongst Ghoul stars. Have their eye on a death world near the edge of one the ghoul stars.

-Like any good legion descent from Sanguinius, they have a burning hate for the black legion and have been responsible for sabotaging them on countless occasions. At their largest, this was done to keep them from coming into real space, often going to war in the warp in order to fight the black legion.

-Mourning Suns have mutations in the form of their Matriarchs claws. Some get her feathers, but all have her talons which are capable of cutting through ceramite and bone alike. They do their best to keep their talons out of the reach of the traitors, but sometimes it cannot be helped.

-Golden or red eyes are very common, and gold eyes are considered to be that of Sanguinius coming through, rather then to be Lilith, though both are from her.

[little-miss-bioweapon121]

Realized I’d never posted my homebrew lore so here it is! I created this back when I had a lesser understanding of the 40k universe so I’ll probably be making edits in the future but for now pls enjoy lore

[vvictuss]

A mutual got me back into Star Wars but I'm also still on the wh40k hyperfixation train. So here's some clones and an Astartes just hangin' out. There's something Very Cute about those boys all together

[toto-the-cactus]

A fun question for the girl dad Primarchs. How do they feel about finding out that their daughter has a space marine lover from another Chapter. (Like mother, like daughter. They saw a big man in armor and decided they wanted to climb that like a tree.)

Guess what anon? You got me writing shit.

Hope you like this family drama and especial mention to @jaghatai-khock who let me use his sweet blorbo Callahan to be inserted in this shit show.

-°-

It was no secret that Lion El’jonson held a certain amount of irritation about anything that had to do with the Space Wolves Legion. Whether it was their own behavior or their beliefs that clashed with those of the Dark Angels Legion, it was a matter thrown out in the air for anyone to guess.

That’s why Eireen simply knew that the instant her father got wind of her meeting secretly with one the astartes that belonged to her uncle’s legion, hell will be brought upon her and, in consequence, making her already ermetic and busy schedule become even more unbearable.

Besides… it wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong!

It was a nice and friendly… meet up with someone that she had become quite close after a few conjoined campaigns that her father had with uncle Russ.

Cadoc had been a bit abrasive and loud the first time she met him, staying just respectful enough to not be considered rude or out of line. Her entourage of serfs had been scandalized when he had simply come up to her and asked for a sparring match to test her fighting skills out of genuine curiosity.

“This is probably one of the few chances I’ll get to spar with the trueborn of a Primarch. I’m really excited about it!” he had told her that day and, for a reason that still escapes her understanding, Eireen had felt her face burn at his words.

The redhead astartes had flashed a sharp smile back then, a challenge in that expression to try and get a reaction out of her and for the first time in her life… she felt like someone actually treated her as the warrior that she had been raised to be and not just some maiden to be protected.

Now? It became almost a ritual for them both to try some nice training session before deciding to take a nice break hidden behind the lush bushes of her mother’s garden. After some Dark Angels had ruined the flowers of the Lady of Caliban by walking alongside Eireen one morning, it had been nailed over everyone’s head that anyone wearing ceramite armor was forbidden to get close to the garden.

It was quite the convenience that the garden wasn’t so terribly far from the sparring arena.

Eireen had even memorized the schedule of it to make sure that no astartes of her father would see them both training.

For as much as the young lady felt like she wasn’t doing something criminal of any kind, even her mother had suggested to keep her little friendship hidden from her father until she knew how to tell him that her first ever friend (and crush) was a Space Wolf astartes.

“He can be a bit… overbearing sometimes, my dear. Especially if he thinks that this will be the perfect excuse for Leman to rush in and take you away from him” the look on her mother’s face said enough that even she found that logic a bit extreme and farfetched, but her next words almost made her scoff in disbelief. “He cares for you dearly and the idea of you going away scares him”

Eireen honestly felt like she was in her right to be skeptical about her father’s priorities when regarding her future.

All her life she had been reminded of the responsibilities she’ll have to carry on in the Imperium as the child of a Primarch. A weight that had been sitting over her neck ever since she could understand words.

But Cadoc was the one fresh gush of wind that she didn’t know she needed.

She could complain about her father and his astartes without looking like some traitor in the making. Instead of judgmental stares, the redhead marine would point out her mistakes in posture and correct them without belittling her worth.

‘I don’t want this to end’, she thought with a mix of joy and resignation.

“Hey!” he called her, finally pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts once a stalemate was met between the two when both battle axe and long sword didn’t yield a bit. “There was something I wanted to ask you but it also involves the Primarch and Legion Mother of the Dark Angels”

Oh no. That was going to be complicated.

“O-oh… Well… that’s going to…”

“EIREEN!”

Oh no no no no!

“Lion! By the damned throne, stop this nonsense!” and just right behind her father, there was her mother running with all her might to try and catch up with the Primarch.

“I’m not speaking with you, woman!”

Eireen admitted with some shyness that she had clumsily scrambled in panic to get back up from where she and Cadoc rested after their spar, a heavy weight dropping like a rock on her stomach at the scowl merring her father's face when looking over her friend.

The fact that the red-haired Space Wolf just smiled at her father after bowing his head in respect to the Primarch didn’t help at all.

“Eireen, you were supposed to be attending your diplomatic and history lessons” said the demigod in a strange mix of awkwardness and anger. It was easy to see how it took a lot of effort from him to not scoff when his eyes landed once again on her companion and friend. “Not lazing around here at your mother’s garden”

‘With him’ was the unsaid part of that sentence. Years of learned discipline were the only thing preventing the young girl from letting a very unladylike growl at how her father regarded the one single friend she had ever made.

“I… I had a few minutes free before my lessons, father” she defended, barely able to keep her stutter in check before her father scolded her for it. “I thought… I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to train my abilities with the long sword”

Lion opened his mouth ready to berate her for it (that was pretty obvious), but her mother interrupted just in time to save her from the awkwardness that was starting to build up between the few presents. It was a miracle that no Dark Angel had followed her parents here, but considering how stern the Lady of Caliban was when regarding her garden, Eireen counted her blessings by choosing this place as their hiding spot.

Small mercies.

“That’s very responsible of you, my love” it was amazing how easily her mother knew how to play with her father’s own methods and words against him. “Don’t you think, Lion? You always say that Eireen needs to practice her swordsmanship technique on the offensive. Even one of the astartes of your brother’s Legion is helping her!”

More than hearing, both ladies felt the rumble of a growl that begged to be free from the Primarch’s throat, who clearly didn’t find amusing being called out in his own hypocrisy.

“Enough of this disrespect! Eireen, go to your brother” said Lion after he managed to get a grip over his temper. “Callahan will make sure that you assist your lessons… without distractions”

Now it was the turn of the young lady to feel her face blush in embarrassment at the idea of being treated like she was still a toddler; one that needed to hold her brother’s hand all the time to find her way around everywhere they went.

“Actually! This is an excellent chance, my Lord and Lady. There was something important that I need to discuss”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Cadoc… what are you-”

“I wish to start my courting towards the Primarch’s daughter: Eireen”

The poor young girl swore that if more blood rushed to her face, she'd end up fainting on the spot.

The reaction of both her parents were quite a poem of different emotions; ranging from enraged shock to amazed confusion from both her father and mother respectively.

For a long moment, no one dared to even breathe too loud.

Eireen found herself staring straight at Cadoc’s face to try to see if this was some tasteless attempt of teasing from him… but the only thing that she managed to discover was a warm and peaceful look on his hardened expression when he stared at her back.

Oh, Grandfather almighty! She felt her heart flip inside her ribcage.

This was bad. Horrible bad timing too. The girl already saw the groundbreaking refusal her father was about to throw at Cadoc’s courting proposal.

“ABSOLUTELY…!”

“FINALLY!! JUST SAY YES TO HIM, EIREEN!”

And now, the poor girl could only cover her face in crushing embarrassment at the scream her brother had thrown while waiting for her at the edge of their mother’s garden.

How long had he been hearing?!

-°-

Dis me each time yall feed me ideas

[wolframtheregulator]

Fractal Guard Master of Possessions Morpheus [WIP 1]

Any suggestions for a better title?

His lore is in the “Notable Suspects” section!

VVV More photos below VVV

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: I'm making a prologue to a couple of things. This will be remastered, but I will link the first chapter always before I can change it.

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: A man finds himself where he shouldn't be...

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.

TW // Violence, Death.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Chapter 1} ⚠️Chapter 1 needs remastered.⚠️

His breath is broken; labored. He’s been running from the unknown in this damn foggy ass forest for so long that he’s unsure he could get out of it. He had lost his way a long time ago; that part was something he couldn't ignore. It feels like hes been in this forest for ages, when in reality it could have been only a couple hours. He hasn't slept, that means the day didn’t pass, right? …Where was his group? He was with a group of people he trusted with his life beforehand. He can't even find them anymore. They were close together, knowing how dangerous a foggy forest filled with things of shadows could be. Now there is nothing of them, no trace as if they had abandoned him. He definitely felt like it too: abandoned by his own brethren and sisters.

No, he can’t afford to even think right now. He knows something is pursuing him. Something smaller then huge, he's unsure. The… aura keeps shifting around him from all of his hairs on his body rising quickly up to the area feeling a lot more colder despite all of his running to keep him heated. It was… it was unusual. It feels otherworldly. Was he just getting hunted by two things or just one? Was he just imagining it with the shadows that move within the fog? He has to be. Nothing moves so quickly within the shadows like a damn phantom. He doesn't believe in ghosts!

He inhales, pausing his run to try and leave the accursed forest that looks like something out of a spooky horror movie: winding, leafless branches trying to block out the moon. The dead patches of grass here and there: creating puddles of mud. The thick fog that makes you think there is something with you, and maybe there is, for him. No, he knows there is, but he just can’t see it. He’s… he’s unable to. He doesn’t have… he doesn’t have something. He is not some apex predator like the thing hunting him.

His skin prickles at the coldness of the dark, twitching at the slightest sound. His eyes trying to see through the thickness of the fog and the night that’s only luminous by the moon. He swears he can see something small, human-sized before it’s replaced by a bigger figure a few feet away in the grayish fog, he swears it. Was this smaller figure running too? Was it a possible squad mate? If it was… he wasn’t keen on retracing his steps to just see if it was a squad mate or not. A coward he maybe called, but he really didn’t want to die to somebody else’s choices, even if it was his own.

Something snaps, echoing through the forest, and he immediately jumps back into action, not wasting his time. His legs carrying him in a direction, in any direction to get him to feel safe. He doesn’t care where at the moment. Not like he knows where he is, but he is afraid. He didn’t think he would die so soon. The age 37 didn’t play well in his heart nor mind to die at as he wished he could live until he was over a hundred. He wished he didn’t criticize the old for wanting to live that long when there was beauty left in the world he has never gotten access to see. He wished he was back a few hours ago, laughing with his squad mates. He wished he was back into the protection of his guardians.

He just fucking wishes he wasn’t in this damn spooky forest!

He lets out a quiet, dreading whimper while his own thoughts consume him for a moment. His boots thudding rhythmically; harshly into the ground. The metal decorations of his gear slightly giving a tink with each exhausting movement he does in order to keep his instincts alive. His head pounding way too fast, too loud in his head. He wants everything to stop! He doesn’t like this long feeling of fear draping over his shoulders, taunting him! Laughing at him! Urging him to—

The man yelps, falling to the ground, faceplating into the cold mud he had slipped on. The whole front of his gear and body now covered in the cold slick of the earth. His lips quivering as he looks up to the moon with glossy eyes and heaving breaths. The shine of the moon rays revealing an abandoned truck, troubled with vines and flora off to the left side of him, and he wonders… Maybe… the moon would lead him to safety? It’s the only thing that’s been helpful to him since he’s been in this damned forest of fear. Leading him to god knows where, but he follows the damn light like a kid running away with sugar they are not supposed to have.

Despite his belief of the moon saving him. He quietly whines to himself in frustration and dread. His hands grasping tightly at the mud that goes between his fingers with a squelch while he shimmy’s himself underneath the truck, taking it as a temporary safe haven until morning. If he can make it that far. His own heart is still pounding in his own ears while he tries to quiet down his whimpering breath. God! This forest is a fucking death trap! How was he supposed to get out?! Would he even get out at all? Was that possible at this point? Should he give up? 

No, he’s gotten this far—

His breathing stutters in his own lungs and stops. A whole new fear washing over him. His eyes staring at the boots that stand next to the truck, giving a little squish sound as this person shifts their weight. They were a bit small to be a male, and they seemed light, trying to be stealthy. Was this a squad mate of his? It can’t be, could it? No, they weren’t hiding like he was. They seemed more confident in their abilities… Were they… the hunter? Was this the person hunting him? This is what he was afraid of? A singular being?

Something cracks through the area again then, a low, rumbling growl as he closes his eyes briefly, expecting to be hit before slowly opening them again. It’s a warning call it sounds like, and the man takes quick note of how the persons boots… twitch at the sounds before quickly moving away, back into the shadows of the forest. That was not the person he was— should be afraid of. Something bigger is out there. Something that has complete control over the surrounding area.

He waits with bated breaths. Shifting his body onto his back. Eyes flickering up and down the underside of the truck, taking in its rusted form. Trying to calm his racing heart so he could finally hear what kind of beast was around him. Hunting him. He hopes the thing would leave him alone, forget about him, at least till the morning when he could see better. Maybe he could please the thing by giving it more of a challenge—

He lets out a scream. The truck he was hiding under was picked up and thrown away with ease. A cloud of rust eloping him, stinging his fearing eyes as he can hear the scrapped truck taking the trunks of tree’s down with a horrifying creak and rumbling thud that shook the ground. His form desperately scrabbling back with palms and boots; away from this– this dark creation of god! No, not even that. It wasn’t even a demon. This– this was something darker, something that a god didn’t– couldn’t create. This was– is a monster of pure evil. He was taught of these despicable creatures. They were not known for mercy, and he wasn't known to scream blood while the vibrant, red glare of the creature stares directly into his soul as if they were taking it out of him, collecting it for their own amusement while he chokes on his own battered body.

Perhaps… he should have never accepted the truth of these creatures. He should have stayed oblivious to their ways. Should have repented his hate as he wouldn’t be seeing the lifeless corpses up in the treetops, simply hanging there by their necks. Uselessly watching his own death come to play as if the dead knew all along that he would fall beneath their dull, blind eyes. It was a dangerous sign he realized before he took his last choking breath.

He dared to defy them and the creature would make him— them watch his death by their hand as they have died the same unfortunate fate.

[foolscr0w]

the serpent himself

[marsskop]

Sketched my Black Crusade character, Kimer Akeddon. Ex Black Legionnaire, he is a mercenary for hire

He has +40 Intimidation skill and -10 Charm... A charming fellow 🐺

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Ones and Zeroes

Author’s note: Selkie Squad reporting in! Husbandry AU

Summary: Doronius makes his Debut- and speaks with Talos. Totally normal interaction with a 'Raven Guard' and an 'Ultramarine'.

Warnings: None? Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

Doronius is a Tech Marine, it's not a particularly unusual specialty, but here on Ancient Terra, any brother with any kind of specialty training is worth their weight, and depending on the specialty, more than double their weight in ceramite and ammunitions.

"So- you wanted my help on certain matters?" Doronius inquired to Talos, who'd gone through the proper channels to request aid from a Tech marine.

He'd taken the request- as hidden within the request was the imbedded in it that this was an Alpha legionary request. Their armor had some... quirks to it that made it more interesting to work on.

The machine spirits within their armor more exacting and the prayers and needed rituals to maintain and appease them. As well as the repair of their armor made it more interesting than the armor of their cousins of other gene-lines.

Talos explains about his issues he's having with his armor. While, due to the nature of their work they have to be more independent have a wider knowledge base, having a specialist help when certain issues crops up help when it's out of one's expertise with certain things.

So, Doronius assess his armor and helps him fix the issues that he doesn't know how to handle and they go over certain other things that are Alpha-legion adjacent.

"I think I and my squad will be in the area for a while," Doronius says casually.

"That'll be nice." Talos says.

[captsalazoo]

Commissioned Homebrew chapter 40k Contemptor Dreadnought !

[doolallymagpie]

oh no I'm making an OC Primarch again, and now it's a third Alpharius, Numos, who occasionally goes by "Nemo" specifically so they can say "I am nobody" instead of "I am Alpharius"

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Saorlaith Clannmorna, The Lost Primarch of the Eleventh Legion and Warrior Queen of the Black Eagles

In the annals of Imperial History, there stand heroes greater than any other. These are the Primarchs, the Sons of the Emperor of Mankind, the patriarchs of the Twenty Legions of the Adeptus Astartes who united a frayed and divided galaxy in a long ago age when people still looked to the stars with hope... and the events of the Horus Heresy had not yet doomed the galaxy to darkness, suffering, and despair. But of these, only Eighteen are remembered: The Nine who Turned Traitor, and The Nine Who Remained, steadfast and loyal. Here then is a tale, a tale of the Eleventh Primarch, lost to history and imperial records. It is the tale of Saorlaith Clannmorna, Queen and Matriarch of the Black Eagles Legion.

Saorlaith was always an outlier. As the sole deliberate attempt by the Emperor to craft a female Primarch, it is unclear what he’d hoped to achieve, or what role Saorlaith would have been intended to serve in had events played out their planned course.

Such plans, clearly, were not to be.

Scattered like her brothers by the furious winds of Chaos, Saorlaith was deposited by chance or destiny upon a misty and mountainous world. It was a primitive world not unlike the forgotten highlands of the ancient British Isles of Holy Terra, green with moss and heather, black with stone, and grey with numerous lakes that stretched like battle scars across its face. These endless highlands were called Dún na Badb, a name which carried beneath it the world’s dark and violent history.

Saorlaith was found by a local woman, Morna. Enigmatic and feared, Morna was a Queen of a great and remote land, as well as a respected and wise priestess of the Old Deer God and The Horned Huntress. Morna had powerful sorcerous gifts, and used her fell gifts to ferret out secrets from her rivals, deliver sickness and bad luck to her enemies, or heal her friends, and her wrath was swift and fatal if crossed, with powerful armies that crushed her opposition. Yet the imposing woman genuinely loved Saorlaith, and doted on her as a daughter. She inculcated in the young Primarch the ways of blood and sorcery, and the thrill of battle. Saorlaith grew up with many visitors paying homage to her mother or seeking her advice, but few for long term company, leading to a brilliant yet aloof and suspicious young woman who found difficulty connecting with others, especially as few if any ever sought to truly gain her friendship rather than attempt to leverage her position and title in some way. She was always "the Princess" or "the Heirress", and never simply "Saorlaith" to most. Despite her loneliness, or indeed perhaps because of it, she quickly learned the ways of a Warrior Princess, bonding well with her instructors, from whom she knew and understood the social equation and status quo. Never did they seek to use her connections, or use her to worm their way into her mother's favor; they were invested in her advancement and survival, and she was invested in the skills they had to teach her. Progressing quickly, eventually supplanted her mother at the head of her kingdom's vast armies by the age of 16, though Morna remained a close advisor to her daughter long even after she eventually abdicated the throne in Saorlaith’s favor. 

It is said that the day before Saorlaith assumed the throne, she heeded her mother's wisdom and traveled alone into the misty crags and moors to seek the blessing of the old gods and their court. She traveled unarmed and undressed, wearing just a simple and undecorated gown, a mark of humility before the great powers whose favors she hoped to win.

During her wandering, Saorlaith came across a great and vast lake she had not seen before. Taking a moment to rest, she was engaged by a mysterious man and woman. The man was dressed in furs and moss, and his hat was rimmed with the teeth of mighty predators and crested with antlers from a mighty deer. The woman was clad in leather and hides, and a hauberk of green mail. Saorlaith spoke for some time with the travelers, who claimed to be acquainted with Morna. Upon learning that Saorlaith was Morna's daughter and heir, the two became delighted, and engaged the young princess all day and night with conversation and games of riddles and clever wit. As morning came, the travelers thanked Saorlaith for her hospitality, and the woman waded into the waters, and drew from them a mighty shimmering spear, Géar-Anail, the White Breath, bestowing it upon the princess as a coronation gift fit only for the true heir of Queen Morna. As the travelers passed back into the mist, Saorlaith could not help but feel as though perhaps she'd known them when she was very young. Taking her prize back to her home, she was crowned by her mother, and took her place as Queen of her mountain realm and commander of her army.

Saorlaith became known as “The Unbreakable”, as her campaigns claimed triumph after triumph, and though her skills as a strategist and tactician were certainly fitting for her labors when required, her victories came more from her wild and savage charges, overwhelming her enemies in a stampede of relentless violence in simple pursuit of glory and the win, pure battle and conquest for its own sake. Saorlaith was a warrior at heart. A capable queen, yes, but her heart ever longed for greater battlefields beyond. She ached for new battles, new foes, and greater glories. It was not in her restless nature to simply sit on what she had already accomplished, for she knew in her bones that it would be in that way that her victory itself would be the one to finally defeat her.

Having conquered her own world, Saorlaith grew despondent that such incredible success would be the end of her. There were no further gains to make, no great foes to keep herself sharp against. While Saorlaith reconstructed her newly unified planet into a mighty and glittering kingdom where the druidic sorcerous ways of her ancestors ran like blood through the lowest levels, upholding everything, she began to fear that her greatest triumphs might be behind her. All that lay before her had been conquered and reshaped. The occasional rebellion offered no challenge, no real chance to prove what else she might do.

One day, the magic whispered to Saorlaith that a stranger from afar would soon arrive, though her attempts to scry specifics went maddeningly unanswered. Whoever this stranger was, her blood raced at the thought of it. Some great warrior, perhaps? Some mighty challenge to overcome? Perhaps the Old Stag God had finally answered her prayers.

The day the Emperor came to Dún na Badb, Saorlaith was beside herself with anticipation, warmly welcoming the stranger and treating him to the finest hospitality of her people. She could tell at once that glory rode in this man’s wake, and that it was his destiny to show Saorlaith hers. She told him she would follow where he led, but formality required him to defeat her in the holy Carnfēth, the War Judgement – a sacred battle rite to determine leadership. As Queen, she would be shamed if she knelt before another warrior who had not defeated her in battle. Either the Emperor would defeat her in single combat without sorcery, or be denied his Primarch. The duel was the stuff of legend, and it is said to have lasted for nine days. Saorlaith was not the type to show quarter, and nor was the Emperor willing to relinquish his Eleventh to this backwater world. From the lowest valley to the highest peak, the two clashed, neither showing the slightest hint of false judgment or failed skill. Eventually, however, Saorlaith began to worry that the battle might have no end. Perhaps they were equally skilled, and the battle might last forever… neither fit to command or to be commanded, neither able to cow the other. In this moment, the battle was decided, for Saorlaith, distracted for the slightest measure, lost her footing and fell upon the sword she had given the Emperor. Yet Saorlaith was delighted – in having lost, she found renewed purpose. She had not finished her list of glories, and this loss symbolized that for her. The Emperor promised her an army unlike anything she had ever seen, and he promised her not simply a planet to conquer, but a galaxy in which to seek her glory. Saorlaith would never have refused such an offer.

During the ritual ceremony in which Saorlaith returned governorship of Dún na Badb to the Queen Mother Morna, the Emperor visibly recoiled, startled, in the Queen Mother’s presence as she caught his eye. It is not known why. The two leaders spoke no more with each other than the ceremony demanded, and the Emperor uncharacteristically left with barely-disguised haste, as though being in Morna’s mere presence was either panic or pain-inducing.

Returning to Holy Terra with the Eleventh Primarch, the Emperor was pleased to see her eagerness to take up the Great Crusade, and even more pleased to see that she had healed from her battle wound quickly. He judged, correctly, that she would indeed be a force to be reckoned with once paired with warriors who matched her skills and ferocity.

The Eleventh Legion, the Storm Sovereigns, was indeed a fine army as promised, but the largely Terran recruits disgusted Saorlaith. Clean-shaven Astarte warriors and standardized livery made them all look identical in the eyes of the Mountain Queen, and she immediately set about instilling her way and her image among her new army, just as she’d done at Dún na Badb. Her warriors would decorate their bronze-colored armor with personalized and intricate highland knotwork emblematic of her home world. Their hair and beards would be encouraged to grow wild, often being elaborately braided or otherwise decorated with feathers and beads. Before battle, they performed ritual war chants, songs, and dances, and decorated their flesh with blue paint. This was no mere physical affectation, but a vow to become as beasts who knew no retreat or surrender. The act of painting focused the Astarte’s resolve, steeling them for the blood and carnage to come. Further, like her brother Primarchs, she began to draw new recruits for the legion from her homeworld, filling its ranks with boisterous and passionate, but highly skilled, barbarian highland warriors she knew the measure of and trusted more than the "outsiders" she'd been saddled with. These warriors now had the technology and the means to follow their Queen to the cosmos, and to elevate their kind of warfare to a scale and level they had never previously dreamed possible, and the newly forged “Black Eagles” legion took wing to the stars, taking their appetites for blood and battle with them, ready to find glory and conquest wherever they landed.

The Black Eagles were much changed by Saorlaith’s leadership – she brought with her not just the battle traditions of her people, but also their sorcery. Those who she considered the most capable and trustworthy of her “Sons” were inducted into secret rites and taught a kind of magic that exposed weakness in the enemy, by revealing secrets or bringing flaws to the surface where they could do the most damage, in a way that simply appeared to be a horrific “run of bad luck” when it could be least afforded. The mystic chants of the highland marines’ sorcery and eerie bellowing of their animalistic war horns presaged doom to a thousand worlds that dared defy the Legion and the Great Crusade as their imminent assault would batter and break an enemy that was never as ready to face them as they might have believed or hoped.

Despite Saorlaith’s incredible battlefield successes, she found few friends among her Brothers. Angron was too much of a brute in her eyes; she was all for testing her mettle in battle and achieving glory, but Angron was simply about slaughter, like a rabid war dog Saorlaith would have happily put down herself had she been allowed to. Mortarion was perhaps her first real rival among the Primarchs, detesting her and her legion for their Druidic Craft, while Lorgar Aurelian saw in their rites and traditions the mark of heresy. Fulgrim she dismissed as a preening peacock too concerned with glamor to find true glory, Alpharius as a fool and a tryhard leader too clever for his own good by half, wasting his and the Imperium’s time on his overly complex schemes instead of simply winning when a simple win presented itself, and Pertuabo and Ferrus Manus confounded her with their hatred for weakness rather than their love of strength. Roboute Guilliman, Horus Lupercal, and Rogal Dorn all but outright hated her for her unwillingness to yield to their strategies and authority. Even Vulkan’s legendary patience and compassion met its limits with Saorlaith, who was far too independent to listen to his counsel. And in Sanguinius… Saorlaith saw something worrying. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but in Sanguinius she saw a lurking darkness that terrified her, and she avoided her angelic brother to no end. She made an effort to befriend fellow outsider Konrad Kurze, but his growing instability brought their friendship to an early end. Corvus Corax’s secrecy and tendency to favor subtler means, as well as his favoring of loyalty and obedience, grated on Saorlaith’s nerves. Jaghatai Khan rubbed her the wrong way, simply by being too much like her for them to have ever gotten along. While she didn’t dislike Magnus the Red, she felt his focus was too much on the mysterious and the ethereal, and the way he regarded her almost as a puzzle box to solve unnerved her. Ironically, Lion El Jonson, who had an upbringing relatively similar to hers, and in many ways might have been considered the other side of her coin, and therefore might have understood her better than any of the other Primarchs, held her in disdain for her “Barbarian ways” even if she secretly admired his results and composure. It was Leman Russ who was perhaps the most kindred of spirits, a true brother to her when all others grated, drifted, or avoided her. The Eagle and the Wolf, the Celt and the Viking, the Queen and the Chieftain, frequently fought alongside each other and for a time, they shared a close friendship, and the Black Eagles and Space Wolves accomplished great things together, but like all good things, this too was doomed to come to an end. Finally, Ailani, Saorlaith’s lone sister, and Primarch of the Imperial Hospitallers, never gave up hope on the wild warrior queen. Despite their frequent disagreements as Ailani’s peaceful healing ways clashed wildly with Saorlaith’s violent lust for conquest, Ailani was always there to listen to Saorlaith’s grievances and frustrations, and while they never saw eye to eye, the two sisters grew close as the Crusade went on.

However, the fate of the Eleventh Legion was already sealed, and they would not see the Horus Heresy play out. With her growing frustrations with her brothers gnawing at her, Saorlaith had become more headstrong and reckless than ever, and Leman Russ began to see her as a liability. Further, Russ began to question her loyalty, as, ever the soul of tact, Saorlaith bitterly complained of the Emperor's crackdowns on the Druidic Craft of her people and their worship of the Old Stag God. In her mind, this was not what she had signed up for. She had been promised glory for her and her people, not this... colonialist cultural censorship that threatened to eradicate keystones of her culture and heritage. As the Emperor began to make increasing strides towards banishing religion and sorcery from the Imperium, Saorlaith chafed more and more, becoming bitter and paranoid towards her brothers. She knew they disliked and even mistrusted her, and some like Mortarion and Alpharius were already claiming they could handle her campaigns more effectively than she could. Saorlaith deigned to let them try.

As Saorlaith and the Black Eagles outright began to refuse orders in pursuit of chasing their own glory independently, Leman's already waning patience wore out, and he brought his case to the Emperor, who advised the Sixth Primarch to “chastise” his sister and her legion. Unfortunately, by this time, Ailani had already begun conspiring with her sister to leave the Imperium entirely with their respective legions and peoples, with a dream to establishing their own free realm in the wilds of space, far apart from an Imperium both had gradually become increasingly disillusioned with. The gentle Ailani's blood boiled at the Emperor's treatment of her; she had never particularly willingly agreed to his Crusade, and for hundreds of years he had taken her home world hostage to ensure her continued compliance. Seeing in her so-perfectly opposite sister such incredible similarity, the two had plotted to desert. Let the Emperor have his Grand Vision. In some back corner of the universe, the two sisters would have theirs: a place where they and their people could live free from the Emperor's tyranny. Saorlaith began pulling her veteran warriors from the lines and assembling a small but elite force meant to safeguard and evacuate Dún na Badb. These were marines recruited from the planet, who had ties and roots and loyalties there. Her Terran recruited marine veterans remained on the front lines, mentoring the youngest and least experienced Marines to allay suspicion that her dedication to the cause might be lacking until she had already left. Let those wayward sons of hers know nothing of her plot, that way they might be kept safe, or as safe as possible, from the consequences of her decisions. Perhaps there would even be room for reconciliation in the future, should the winds of destiny blow in that direction.

However, upon returning home to Dún na Badb to evacuate it, Saorlaith was shocked and angered to find the Space Wolves already assembled there, with Leman Russ at the head of his force to deal with Saorlaith in person. Her heart sank, and her anger soared, as she assumed Leman Russ had already discovered her plot to desert. In fact, he had not, and he had simply been hoping to resolve what to him was a disciplinary matter that had far exceeded an allowable scale. Two clashing sets of intentions and views of reality among leaders neither of which being particularly known for diplomatic restraint is seldom a pleasant matter, and it was not long before an unforgivable mistake was made. Who fired first is both unknown and unimportant, but it was held that the battle was titanic; indeed, it was the most ferocious either the Sixth or the Eleventh legions had ever partaken in, for no Space Marine had ever faced a threat quite like another Space Marine. Yet for all the battle’s horror, it was ultimately mere prelude to the nightmares of the Horus Heresy to come. It is generally held that the Space Wolves emerged victorious. To her own shock, Saorlaith lost a second time, this time to Leman Russ, who gravely wounded her in single combat, though he was either unwilling or unable to complete the kill. Arriving in the Primarch's greatest moment of need was Medrawt, the feared First Captain of the Black Eagles, and her mightiest and most favored champion. Medrawt was a peerless warrior in the legion, long rumored to be the Primarch's biological son. Whatever the case he was among the first to be recruited to the Legion at Dún na Badb, and it was also at Dún na Badb that evidence suggests Medrawt proved his mettle and did the impossible by managing to distract and hold off Leman Russ long enough to facilitate Saorlaith's retreat from the battlefield, and then retreat in turn. Despite her escape with Medrawt and a host of survivors, her legion’s numbers were significantly culled in the battle. Three out of five Black Eagles who took part in the battle perished, crippling the Legion, and the novice Black Eagles and Terran veterans carrying the Legion's part of the Great Crusade elsewhere in the galaxy with no knowledge of the betrayal were no safer, being swiftly turned on by their supposed allies and eradicated without ever receiving an explanation why.

While Leman Russ and his legion purged Dún na Badb, he was puzzled to find Morna, the Queen Mother, completely absent. Reporting his findings to the Emperor, the Emperor showed a rare and fleeting moment of genuine fear upon hearing that the Old Crone Queen had vanished. But, this soon vanished, as, coupled with his rage at Ailani’s much more successful rebellion and rout of the World Eaters, in part due to the survivors of the battle of Dún na Badb arriving to assist in the evacuation of Ailani’s homeworld of Takiko, the Emperor turned his formidable psychic prowess to burning the errant women from history, along with their traitorous sons. The two had dared defy him. They had made a mockery of his power and authority. Their rebellion and flight from the Imperium threatened to undermine all he hoped to build by showing that ways other than Imperial Unity might be viable. It could not stand. It would not. Even Leman Russ, who personally fought his sister at the climax of the battle, forgot her in an instant. The records were purged. The monuments were destroyed. The Second and Eleventh Legions’ victories were “assigned” to other legions. All evidence of them was destroyed, except for the hole they left behind.

It is no wonder that the Eleventh Legion and their Primarch failed to aid Terra during the Horus Heresy. Of course, they had fled so far it would be ages, thousands of years, even, before they learned of the Heresy. Saorlaith’s feelings on the matter are unknown, but most assuredly complicated as she weeps for her lost people and quintimated sons.

Among those who are able to intuit the existence of the old Second and Eleventh Legions, and their Primarchs, doubtless a sense of wonder must set in.

What must have happened, that nobody can remember their names, their faces, or their deeds? Could it have been even worse than the Horus Heresy? Obviously it must have been, for the Traitor Primarch’s names are still remembered and the Second and Eleventh have been totally buried and forgotten.

Do these Primarchs live still? Do they regret their rebellion and treason? And perhaps… might they one day return? Surely if Guilliman and Jonson have returned in the Imperium’s darkest hours… all things must be possible. What redemption might lie ahead for Saorlaith Clannmorna of Dún na Badb, the Weeping Eleventh?

[sleepyfan-blog]

Imposter

Summary: Nadesir comes home to find an Imposter talking to his human.  Next

Warnings: none

Tagged: @kit-williams

Nadesir adjusted the carcass of the large quadrupedal animal that he had been hunting for days in the forest that surrounded his bonded's home, pleased with his kill. Despite the animal's size, it had been quicker than he'd been expecting, and the pointed antlers it had used in a desperate charging in defense of it's life had somewhat dented his armor. Per the request of his human bonded, he had left a note on their "Communication Board" as she had called it saying that he was out for a hunt, and would be back in a few days. Ancient Terra was a far cry from the endless towers and thin, pollution-choked skies of what The Fools believed to be Holy Terra... But if divinity did exist - beyond Chaos being utter Bastards - Nadesir privately thought that it was in the natural beauty of this and worlds like it.

In the stillness of forests, In the thrill of the hunt.

... In the unexpected pull he had felt, years ago, to a small but fiery human woman who had growled at a half-dozen Salamanders who had found Nadesir half-dead and bleeding on the edge of small town that she served as one of the primary human medical professionals of. He had later learned that they were part of the Bonded Astartes who protected the humans from the predations of Feral Space Marines as apparently there were Human Killers. They had assumed that he was once such human killer, having been left behind due to being unable to keep up with the feral warband.

Nadesir, having been thrown through the warp from a truly shitty situation seconds ago, had not a single fucking clue what was going on. He'd been caught by some of the Red Corsairs who had been trying to soften him up for when their leader deigned to ask if he would join their warband. His precious bonded had shooed off the Salamanders and had spoken to him with more gentleness than he'd ever been given. Of course he'd been immediately smitten, and he had lived as long as he had by following his instincts - which had told him to follow this baseline human. She'd brought him to the small hospital and had the Apothecaries patch him up.

And not a single one of them had been thrilled to do it. Between the passive aggressive Ultramarine Apothecaries and the barely hidden hostilities of the Salamanders, the two loyalist chapter members had likely hoped that he would limp off to lick his wounds and leave them alone.

The joke had been on all of them, as Nadesir's bond with his human had only deepened over the weeks he'd spent in the hospital as she checked up on him at least once a day. There had been no question in his mind as to what he was going to do, when he was finally released. He had asked her, having done his very best to learn her language, if he could stay with her. He had phrased it as a debt that he owed her, for saving his life - knowing that at least one of the Ultramarines was listening and wanted to keep the... The softness, the yearning pull he felt for her from being known about and used against him. Her agreement had settled a nervous part of his soul that Nadesir hadn't known still existed.

That had been six years ago. The rest of the bonded Astartes had long since figured out that the two of them were bonded, and Nadesir had graciously agreed to patrolling the outskirts of the small town and pass along any intel about wandering war-bands that he was able to discover. 

His bonded's voice broke him from his musing on the past, her warm, lovely voice soothing the part of him that always worried about her when he wasn't at her side "-at's when Doctor Jacobsen ordered another round of tests, like I had suggested weeks ago. Hopefully the lab facilities in the big city nearby will be able to help Mx. Sherdan. What do you think, Vanya?"

An astartes deep voice rumbled back, in an approximation of his voice. Utter confusion and dread filled Nadesir - Vanya was the name that his bonded had gifted him, and one he held close to his heart. As far as he knew, there was no one else named Vanya living near here, so why...? He didn't even notice that the elk he'd killed had dropped to the ground with a graceless thud as he broke into his fastest sprint, wings flaring a little in panic as his legs shortened the distance between himself and his beloved bonded. He could see several sets of Astartes sized footprints in the snow around her home - but the tread wasn't one he recognized... And besides, none of the other bonded astartes would dare go so close to his nest without sending him a vox message beforehand.

He slammed through the back door of their nest, the solid oak door having no chance against his enhanced bulk. He called out in Nostraman (he had been teaching her his first tongue), trying to keep his voice from trembling from the emotions roaring through him "Precious? Where are you?" He knocked down the doors between himself and from where he could hear the heart-beat of his bonded, staring at the imposter who dared take his form and voice. 

His bonded blinked in confusion, looking at himself and the imposter several times, slowly starting to stand up from where she had been sitting on the couch, next to the imposter "I... What's... How?"

The imposter froze, staring at him for several seconds before blurting out "He's an imposter! I'll deal with him, stay here."

"LIAR! You are the imposter! I am the real Vanya! You dare sneak into my nest, try and charm my bonded while I am hunting for her?" None of the local astartes would dare, even if they had the capabilities. Which meant -

Fuck, he had been warned about this by the Salamander Captain who was the Defacto leader of the bonded astartes in this area. Nadesir sent a high priority vox message to Captain Urar [Alpha legionnaire invaded my nest. More likely close by.]

The Alpha legionnaire disguised as himself shrank back a little, but was still staying put "I am -" He started, only to be cut off by Nadesir's incredible, wonderful bonded.

"That's enough. I have no idea what the fuck is happening, but I do know of a couple of ways to figure out which of you is my Vanya. I am going to have one of you outside of my home, and the other inside - I am well aware of how sharp your hearing is, so I will have the one outside my house standing against the wind so as to not hear the questions I will ask. The real Vanya will answer correctly. Whichever of you is the imposter will be revealed and I want to know why you did this. Then you can seek shelter as yourself at the Astartes base in town."

"As you wish. Which of us is going outside?" Nadesir asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He really hoped that she would kick out the imposter, as the desire to rip and tear into this threat to his bonded, to his place was high, but he knew that his beloved disliked violence, and was just barely restraining himself. Still, as the imposter looked him in the eyes, he began to growl, bearing his teeth under his helmet, claws unsheathing on instinct.

Before his human could respond, several of the Teal Fuckers in their true colors came sprinting in through the back door, calling out in Gothic "Captain! We need to go! The salamanders are out in force and... If you're going to... Take the human... Ooooh fuck. She really does have a Night Lord."

Nadesir hissed loudly, scooping up his bonded before the serpentine bastards could attempt to kidnap his human, holding her firmly, careful to keep his claws from slicing through her clothes or worse, hurting her, spreading his wings and howling loudly (but not enough to deafen or injure his human. Ancient terrans were so delicate) "LEAVE! LEAVE NOW OR I WILL DISEMBOWEL EACH OF YOU AND MOUNT YOUR HEADS ON MY FENCE! I WILL WEAR YOUR SKIN AS CLOAKS AND USE YOUR SHITTY BONES AS DECORATION ON MY ARMOR!"

And, like the cowards they were, the alpha legionaries scrambled out the door, scurrying away like the filthy vermin they were. From the startled yelps and cursing, directly into the Salamander patrol that Urar sent. 

Excellent response time, captain. Nadesir held his human tightly, removing his helmet and hiding his face in her neck, trembling. "I am your Vanya. My birth name is Nadesir, but you gifted me the name Vanya the third time we met in the hospital, before we could communicate with each other. Your favorite meal is venison steak with a foraged mushroom and green salad, with homemade bread. During our third year together you gave me this." He pulled out from beneath his armor a small, hand-carved wooden talisman that she'd given him. "You like to knit in the evenings after work, in order to destress. You hum in excitement when you're reading when you find a particularly thrilling passage. You-"

His human pressed two of her small and delicate fingers to his scarred lips, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek "I can definitely tell you're my Vanya. I didn't know that space marines could shapeshift. Do you know who those marines were? I thought the one posing as you was a little off, but I thought that the fake you'd been sulking after an unsuccessful hunt."

"I do not sulk! Besides, when have I ever failed to provide for you?" Nadesir huffed, a small scowl appearing on his face.  He was not pouting, no matter what his bonded would claim otherwise. "As for the shapeshifters... Those were Alpha Legionnaires. Spies, thieves. Snakes in the grass who are capable of changing their colorings in order to try and trick others. I don't know why some would come here. This town is small. They like intrigue and causing havoc at a large scale."

"I see... I'm glad that you're home." His human murmured, hugging him tighter. "Stay with me?"

"Always." He promised, dark eyes warm as his grip on her tightened a little. They stayed curled around one another for the rest of the night, falling asleep on the astartes-sized couch.

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

I love Mircalla just for the sheer hilarity that is seeing a bunch of Blood angels only to find that with the Angel's daughter there's a fucking Night Lord and the night lord is perched on her lap with a dumbass smile on her face.

like that is both horrifying and adorable. Of course that's as a serf. In public they do be a little more restrained. Sort of. They have been caught kissing in hallways. Usually you can't tell because of Lilth's wings but rest assured if she's trying to hide something with her wings, it's most likely Mircalla who has no qualms at all about being with her girl friend openly even if it's borderline scandalous.

[brothersspacemarinecomic]

BROTHERS: A Tale of Treachery & Doom

ARC 0: GATHERING, COMIC 1 CHARYBDIS

SO IT BEGINS.

FIRST // ARCHIVE // NEXT

CLICK HERE TO CHECK OUT MY BLUESKY! CLICK HERE TO CHECK OUT THE REST OF THE COMIC!

[wolframtheregulator]

Mors Dictares Joint Task Force

—Kill Team Project Megapost—

Our Kill Team campaign will start shortly, my friends had a session 0 the other day and atm were racing to get our models finished in time for the first night of matches.

Here’s what I’m starting the campaign with.

Moritat Bres, the Spitebound (Chosen with plasma pistol) [FINISHED]

https://www.tumblr.com/wolframtheregulator/757282462536810496/should-fortune-turn-away-turn-to-me-ancient

[UNNAMED] Balefire Acolyte [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Anointed [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Icon Bearer [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Heavy Gunner [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Gunner [WIP]

[UNNAMED] Butcher [FINISHED]

https://www.tumblr.com/wolframtheregulator/761089425946099712/regulators-butcher-badulf-transferred-to-the