FORCES OF CHAOS
The Thousand Sons (Sorcerer Iotop)
To be revealed....
Hedonistarii
The Hedonistarii are Slaanesh worshiping renegades and pirates but their leader, Lord Comus, saw more in them. Spending time under the lord of the Black Legion and working with the chosen of the Alpha Legion and the Kakophoni of Emperor's Children he brought their lessons back to his warband. His soldiers grew in perfection and infiltration. Noise Marine numbers grew and his connection to Lord Drathoni has given him access to heldrakes. The smell of weakness and a target of opportunity has drawn Comus to Pyrriah. His apostles are already building cults to Slaanesh so that the sacrfices can be made. Abbadon has opened the door but Comus wish to release a flood of daemons and excess on the universe. Death to the False Emperor. May he rot on his tomb throne.
Retinue:
The Shrouded Screams
IT IS TIME. Three voices spoke in the mind of Arvex Enshaden, The Shrouded Lord. Pyrriah is where you will become a true Prince. But you must choose. Blood, Plague, or Ecstasy. Cover the system in darkness and fear. Leave the mark of chaos and terror indelibly burned into the system. Murder them. Infect them. Savor their screams. Most importantly: Choose. With that message the Night Lords known as the Shrouded Screams descended onto Pyrriah.
In the reaches of Imperial Space legionaries whisper ghost stories when their commissars can’t hear. One story is that of a Night Lords warband so beloved by three of the gods that they, to a man, devoted themselves to daemonic possession. They did not change at first, maintaining personality and form. The changes came later, for their dark masters would not let them die for long. Every time one of them died the shadow of the warp claimed the body before it hit the ground. Every time their ships returned to the warp their fallen comrades were there waiting to rejoin the warband. Lost limbs were replaced with claws, holes blasted through them were now gaping maws full of teeth, even those obliterated with plasma or lascannon fire were regrown, stronger than before. A wave of darkness that never left any survivors for, once you were chosen to die, their hunt for you would never stop. Some say that even speaking their name, calling upon the Shrouded Screams even once, will add you to their never-ending hunt.
The Shrouded Screams are led by Arvex Enshaden, Winged (jump pack) chaos lord nearing his ascension to Daemon Princedom. His followers are :
The Fecund Ones
In a faction dominated by biological warfare, the Fecund Ones Vectorium stands out. It is foremost among the Death Guard when an Imperium agri-world needs to be rendered worthless to the false Emperor. These plagueblessed specialize in ranged stand-off engagements, spreading disease and death among the sapient residents of a world, while their very presence begins to blight and decay the vegetation. Wherever the Fecund Ones tread, crops die. Their very footfalls cause the land to seep pus and blood, and from these putrid footprints, Plaguebloom rises. This barbed plant is hued in sickly shades of green and purple, and is forever coated in a mixture of gore and Nurgle's Rot. To touch, consume, or inhale any element of these blossoms is utterly fatal to those who aren't blessed by the Plaguefather. Further, baseline humans who die from contact with Plaguebloom will rise as Poxwalkers, while Astartes who are wounded in its proximity will be infected with incredibly painful diseases. They are then presented an option by the grace of Nurgle - succumb to these judgements, or rise anew as a Plague Marine, wearing the deep, rotted green and corroded red steel of the Fecund Ones.
Leviticus the Famine Caller is the leader of the blessed Seventh company of the Fecund Ones, The Blight Shepherds. Due to Mortarion's reclusive nature, the Death Guard have not been on campaign in millennia. Without a sustained campaign, where constant pressure upon an enemy is needed, agricultural worlds make for somewhat pointless targets. The Blight Shepherds have corrupted countless agri-worlds since their fall to Chaos during the Heresy, but without reinforcement of an ultimate goal, these attacks were, more or less, for naught. However, with the coming of Mortarion's new crusade, a full-scale war now rages across the galaxy. The Fecund Ones have been given a chance to prove themselves to Mortarion and the Plaguefather both. They are tasked with the destruction of as many agri-worlds as possible, and thus, with the starvation of the hated Imperium. The Blight Shepherds were directed by Tyhpus himself to Pyrriah, as the Herald of Nurgle believed that it was going to be the site of a major conflict. There was something powerful there, and the First Captain wanted to ensure that, by the time a major vanguard of the Weeping Legion and Pallid Hands Vectoriums arrived, the enemy was already on their way to starvation. And so Leviticus, eager to prove his worth and jolly in the righteousness of his task, departed the Plague Planet with his company. With his eyes set on the breadbasket of Pyrriah's fields...
The Revolution
Dig if you will, the picture,
Pyrrah embraced in Decadence
Cultists striking curious poses,
Tell me Demonettes, can you picture this?
Death Guard
He could still hear the faint voices of his former battle-brothers, calling out orders in solidarity and in agony and defeat. His former legion had trained him in the ways of healing his former brethren and preserving their lives, or their gene-seed should they fall in combat. Each of these memories came to him as faint shadows of his former life, brought forth by the part of him that was still human. Most of it was lost, decayed over time, but he still remembers his last day as a mortal.
His former life had taken him to the cutting edge of genetic development, and he had believed it was possible to isolate the genetic flaws that made his brothers fall victim to the pull of the dark gods. He was carrying out the Emperor's will, and when they captured one of the brothers who turned against them, he finally believed that he could turn the tide of the war.
He was wrong.
The day they captured the traitor would be his downfall. Their former brother had been drawn in by the warp, the veins across his torso and up his neck running a blackish, dark purple with the terrible contagion that had gripped him. Ignoring the warnings of his commanders, he managed to extract the corrupted gene-seed from the captive before his plans went terribly wrong.
His clearest memory was of the crash. Their gunship torn asunder, alight with showers of molten metal. Yawing and pitching downward through their low orbit, he remembered the weight of the bulkhead crushing him when they hit the planet's surface and the vial bursting under his body. Somehow he understood what fate would await him as he watched the liquid - now a brighter violet - shimmering in splatters across the medical deck.
He was not so naive then.
Time passed and he was gone for what seemed like an eternity, until finally awoken by the one that gave him new life, his master. The traveller had come from eons and light years away to breathe him into his new form.
What was that if not his destiny?
His master could wield contagion to manipulate the very being of all manner of races. When he saw the virulent decay for himself, he saw the plagues cutting them down like wheat in a field... xenos and man alike. He knew then that there was no one true ruler of all. No powerful and benevolent God Emperor could allow this to happen, and just after that realization had come another just as quickly: his own destiny.
The traveller had given him new life and purpose beyond what he thought was possible. He spent the next ten thousand years learning the natural order of things - birth, growth, decay, death, rebirth - and through that order he discovered how to bend the very souls of men to his own will. The dark gods had given him power, but was never given limits. He was a god unto himself, and he set out to do what no all-powerful God or Emperor could ever do.
Trypanos would bring forth that natural order to everything in the universe.
He would put an end to it all.
To be revealed....
Hedonistarii
The Hedonistarii are Slaanesh worshiping renegades and pirates but their leader, Lord Comus, saw more in them. Spending time under the lord of the Black Legion and working with the chosen of the Alpha Legion and the Kakophoni of Emperor's Children he brought their lessons back to his warband. His soldiers grew in perfection and infiltration. Noise Marine numbers grew and his connection to Lord Drathoni has given him access to heldrakes. The smell of weakness and a target of opportunity has drawn Comus to Pyrriah. His apostles are already building cults to Slaanesh so that the sacrfices can be made. Abbadon has opened the door but Comus wish to release a flood of daemons and excess on the universe. Death to the False Emperor. May he rot on his tomb throne.
Retinue:
- Fidelius of the Infinite Pleasure- Daemon Prince of Slaanesh. Defeated in single combat by Comus and now serves as his second. Bound to him by the sigils in Comus's Slaanesh blessed armor.
- Zaltuus the Stalker-A chaos lord who has joined Comus. A former night lord he leads a small band of raptors.
- Grana Giver of Grains-Head of the Dark Apostles under Comus. His title is due to his habit of given tainted food to those in cities he preaches. Soon after the eaters of grain either kill each other or turn into spawn much to his God/Goddess's pleasure.
- Mazzyx of the Many Books-Lord of the circle of sorcerers in the Hedonistarii. Trained in the dark art he and his circle of sorcerers guide the Hedonistarii through the warp and bring the blessings of the Dark Gods to bare in combat.
The Shrouded Screams
IT IS TIME. Three voices spoke in the mind of Arvex Enshaden, The Shrouded Lord. Pyrriah is where you will become a true Prince. But you must choose. Blood, Plague, or Ecstasy. Cover the system in darkness and fear. Leave the mark of chaos and terror indelibly burned into the system. Murder them. Infect them. Savor their screams. Most importantly: Choose. With that message the Night Lords known as the Shrouded Screams descended onto Pyrriah.
In the reaches of Imperial Space legionaries whisper ghost stories when their commissars can’t hear. One story is that of a Night Lords warband so beloved by three of the gods that they, to a man, devoted themselves to daemonic possession. They did not change at first, maintaining personality and form. The changes came later, for their dark masters would not let them die for long. Every time one of them died the shadow of the warp claimed the body before it hit the ground. Every time their ships returned to the warp their fallen comrades were there waiting to rejoin the warband. Lost limbs were replaced with claws, holes blasted through them were now gaping maws full of teeth, even those obliterated with plasma or lascannon fire were regrown, stronger than before. A wave of darkness that never left any survivors for, once you were chosen to die, their hunt for you would never stop. Some say that even speaking their name, calling upon the Shrouded Screams even once, will add you to their never-ending hunt.
The Shrouded Screams are led by Arvex Enshaden, Winged (jump pack) chaos lord nearing his ascension to Daemon Princedom. His followers are :
- Venlan Huntkeeper, a Dark Apostle and keeper of the record of the hunt. Constantly whispering the names of all who are marked to die. The names of all who see the warband or speak its name are added to the list by the will of the gods. The only way off the list is to join the hunt, or die.
- Korak Kain, the Bladebound. A possessed exalted champion whose bloodlust allowed him to dominate the bloodthirster bound in a legendary sword, melding with it and earning a permanent place in the graces of Khorne. Leader of the Undying, the ground troops and mostly mutated members of the warband.
- Orton Tawl, Shadebringer. An extremely powerful winged psyker whose presence dims the brightness of nearby stars, throwing any system he enters into darkness.
The Fecund Ones
In a faction dominated by biological warfare, the Fecund Ones Vectorium stands out. It is foremost among the Death Guard when an Imperium agri-world needs to be rendered worthless to the false Emperor. These plagueblessed specialize in ranged stand-off engagements, spreading disease and death among the sapient residents of a world, while their very presence begins to blight and decay the vegetation. Wherever the Fecund Ones tread, crops die. Their very footfalls cause the land to seep pus and blood, and from these putrid footprints, Plaguebloom rises. This barbed plant is hued in sickly shades of green and purple, and is forever coated in a mixture of gore and Nurgle's Rot. To touch, consume, or inhale any element of these blossoms is utterly fatal to those who aren't blessed by the Plaguefather. Further, baseline humans who die from contact with Plaguebloom will rise as Poxwalkers, while Astartes who are wounded in its proximity will be infected with incredibly painful diseases. They are then presented an option by the grace of Nurgle - succumb to these judgements, or rise anew as a Plague Marine, wearing the deep, rotted green and corroded red steel of the Fecund Ones.
Leviticus the Famine Caller is the leader of the blessed Seventh company of the Fecund Ones, The Blight Shepherds. Due to Mortarion's reclusive nature, the Death Guard have not been on campaign in millennia. Without a sustained campaign, where constant pressure upon an enemy is needed, agricultural worlds make for somewhat pointless targets. The Blight Shepherds have corrupted countless agri-worlds since their fall to Chaos during the Heresy, but without reinforcement of an ultimate goal, these attacks were, more or less, for naught. However, with the coming of Mortarion's new crusade, a full-scale war now rages across the galaxy. The Fecund Ones have been given a chance to prove themselves to Mortarion and the Plaguefather both. They are tasked with the destruction of as many agri-worlds as possible, and thus, with the starvation of the hated Imperium. The Blight Shepherds were directed by Tyhpus himself to Pyrriah, as the Herald of Nurgle believed that it was going to be the site of a major conflict. There was something powerful there, and the First Captain wanted to ensure that, by the time a major vanguard of the Weeping Legion and Pallid Hands Vectoriums arrived, the enemy was already on their way to starvation. And so Leviticus, eager to prove his worth and jolly in the righteousness of his task, departed the Plague Planet with his company. With his eyes set on the breadbasket of Pyrriah's fields...
The Revolution
Dig if you will, the picture,
Pyrrah embraced in Decadence
Cultists striking curious poses,
Tell me Demonettes, can you picture this?
Death Guard
He could still hear the faint voices of his former battle-brothers, calling out orders in solidarity and in agony and defeat. His former legion had trained him in the ways of healing his former brethren and preserving their lives, or their gene-seed should they fall in combat. Each of these memories came to him as faint shadows of his former life, brought forth by the part of him that was still human. Most of it was lost, decayed over time, but he still remembers his last day as a mortal.
His former life had taken him to the cutting edge of genetic development, and he had believed it was possible to isolate the genetic flaws that made his brothers fall victim to the pull of the dark gods. He was carrying out the Emperor's will, and when they captured one of the brothers who turned against them, he finally believed that he could turn the tide of the war.
He was wrong.
The day they captured the traitor would be his downfall. Their former brother had been drawn in by the warp, the veins across his torso and up his neck running a blackish, dark purple with the terrible contagion that had gripped him. Ignoring the warnings of his commanders, he managed to extract the corrupted gene-seed from the captive before his plans went terribly wrong.
His clearest memory was of the crash. Their gunship torn asunder, alight with showers of molten metal. Yawing and pitching downward through their low orbit, he remembered the weight of the bulkhead crushing him when they hit the planet's surface and the vial bursting under his body. Somehow he understood what fate would await him as he watched the liquid - now a brighter violet - shimmering in splatters across the medical deck.
He was not so naive then.
Time passed and he was gone for what seemed like an eternity, until finally awoken by the one that gave him new life, his master. The traveller had come from eons and light years away to breathe him into his new form.
What was that if not his destiny?
His master could wield contagion to manipulate the very being of all manner of races. When he saw the virulent decay for himself, he saw the plagues cutting them down like wheat in a field... xenos and man alike. He knew then that there was no one true ruler of all. No powerful and benevolent God Emperor could allow this to happen, and just after that realization had come another just as quickly: his own destiny.
The traveller had given him new life and purpose beyond what he thought was possible. He spent the next ten thousand years learning the natural order of things - birth, growth, decay, death, rebirth - and through that order he discovered how to bend the very souls of men to his own will. The dark gods had given him power, but was never given limits. He was a god unto himself, and he set out to do what no all-powerful God or Emperor could ever do.
Trypanos would bring forth that natural order to everything in the universe.
He would put an end to it all.