Time for Satan

Their life’s ambitions now denied to them, these Ghost Leaders instead set about creating petty kingdoms and domains which they rule over as undead tyrants, compulsion driving them to pursue the goals of glory and power that are now out of their reach. They create crude makeshift sceptres and crowns, striving to fulfil the aspirations that still gnaw at them, granting them no rest; empty symbols of meaningless titles they vainly declare themselves to hold. The most powerful of them become Ghost Kings, holding shadowy courts in the ruined temples and desecrated basilicas of No Man’s Land, making insane proclamations and setting policies for their followers to enact, even though each day is the same as the one before for the Ghosts.

There is nothing but coldness, a terrible sense of emptiness, and slow decay into black, sentientdust. Lofty plans of conquest and the expansion of their domains only leads to the same end, a pointless rule over cold, barren land and corpses. Such existence drives the vain Ghost Kings into deep pits of despair and hatred, driven by a burning jealousy towards all the living.

The Ghosts envy the mortals who can still hope to attain their ambitions, while the dead are doomedfor all eternity. Even the warmth of the flames of Hell is denied to them. Only in battle can the undead feel even the tiniest spark of significance. When they sense the presence of the living, the Ghosts fall silently but eagerly into rank, and await their leader's command to go forth into battle once more.

A Trench Ghost warband may stalk their prey for years, holding fierce grudges against any they fight. This includes other Trench Ghost Warbands, for the ghosts are proud and vain. The mightiest Ghost kings and queens, tyrants, duchesses and marquises are venomously jealous of each other, frequently declaring wars and blood feuds upon their rivals, whom they see as usurpers and false kings.

Such undead despots often go to war riding tank palanquins.

Scavenged from armoured vehicles and broken tanks abandoned in No Man’s Land, the aristocracy of the Trench Ghosts are not powered by diesel or petrol. Instead, the vehicles become animated by the souls that serve the Ghost King in eternal slavery. A servant who displeased their master in life may be punished in death by becoming one of the enslaved wraiths pulling the tank palanquin in NoMan’s Land.

Some of these damned wretches are chained to the tanks with barbed hooks, collars and shackles, while others are ground to dust and imprisoned in the tank engines, their wails echoing through its structure as the vehicle lurches into motion, draining the spirit of those trapped within. There is no fate more miserable for a Trench Ghost.

Atop the tank palanquin rides the proud wraith lord itself, the palanquin acting as both a hideous parody of a throne as well as granting its rider a great degree of protection and a lofty position to rain down a hail of rusted bullets upon their enemies. Despite the rust and decay eating away at it, bullets bounce off of the ghastly tank, as almost no weapon has the power to penetrate their armour.

Over the years, Tank Palanquins become festooned with trophies, captured banners and flags, as well as armaments taken from the enemies of the Ghost King. Their troops bring gold, works of art and artefacts of old as tributes, which are then crudely attached to the vehicle. The spectral nobles try to fill the gnawing emptiness within by surrounding themselves with testimonies of their past victories. Yet no matter how many relics they tie to their mobile throneswith barbed wire, or how many banners of vanquished companies they fly, ultimately the Ghost Kings know that they sit on a meaningless throne of nothing. So they trundle onwards, to the next battle, to the next slaughter, to the next conquest to add to their roll of domains, carefully recorded by ghostly scribes who endlessly drone the lists of their dread master’s victories in anattempt to appease their cold wrath.

When the eerie search lights of the Tank Palanquins flicker in the mists rolling across No Man’s Land and as the wailing choir of barbed wire banshees announces the arrival of their lord, the wise turn and run.

For once you hear the rumbling of the Tank Palanquin and the Undead lord’s cold eyes have seen you, it will be too late to flee.

Commanded by the High Captains, the powel of the Heretic Fleet is three-fold. First, there are the Behemoth Capital Ships, built in nockery of the Ark that God once bade Noah to construct. These are enormous capital ships, floating cities that act as mobile bases for fast strike craft and the insidious submarines that prowl the shipping lanes and ambush military convoys. For land operations the fleets employ their infamous Naval Raiding Parties as marine infantry

Naval Raiders' armour is modified to double as diving suits, allowing entire strike teams to infiltrate the shoreline batteries or harbour defences undetected. The diving cylinders of the Naval Anointed (such as one shown here) hold oxygen mixed with unnatural fumes from the Lake of Fire, providing up to sixty-six hours of breathable gas and bestowing a high degree of resistance to decompression sickness. Thus they can stay submerged for extended periods of time, gathering large infantry strike forces undetected right at the enemy shores

The Heretic Naval Raiders rarely have problems in finding fresh recruits: severa mighty nobles of Hell lay claim over the Seven Seas attracting many of their worshippers to the fleets, and there is plentiful loot, as well as many chances for promotion and finding favour in the eyes of their infernal overlords through deeds of wanton murder - despoiling the places where saints once spread the faith of the Tyrant-God the Heretics hate with white-hot rage

A favourite tactic of the Naval Raiders is to sneak upon their target in the cover of night, striking at dawn in honour of the Morningstar, This serves the dual purpose of taking the enemies when they are at their most vulnerable, as well as a blasphemous ritual in honour of the throne that the Infernal Lords one day wish to erect on Mount Zaphon after toppling the seat of YHWH