#chapter master

Last time I said that I wanted to finish these for a Pariah Nexus campaign this past Thursday. You will notice it is Sunday, and may be concerned that I didn't get it done in time. I in fact did, I just couldn't be arsed to type up a post.

In the order seen above, I present to you:

Chapter Master of my homebrew Chapter, The Fire Thieves, Draephecto. Veteran of the Damocles Crusade and one of the 23 survivors of a 250 year holdout, who are considered First Generation Fire Thieves. I'll explain that another time.

Carrahk’Aksa, one of the chapter's top techmarines, responsible for maintaining their air assets. Also a first generation FT. I'll show you his babies after I've painted the last one.

Ankarydios, an apothecary, maybe chief, we'll see how he does in this campaign. I don't really have any lore for him yet.

Sergeant Iknillitus and his Scouts. Following the chapters penchant for up-armoring and bolters, the scouts adopt heavy weapons and modified MK VIII helmets for increased durability and an intimidating flair. Noteworthy achievements include wiping out a band of chaos cultists and forcing a squad of chaos space marine legionaries to retreat during a kill team campaign.

These next two images are two versions of two characters, so while it's two painted models a piece, it's still really one unit or character.

Deucalion, aka 'The Duke', was the acting Chapter Master during the early years of the Indomitus Crusade. The first generation of the chapter was assumed to have been completely wiped out at some point, so when the Primaris reinforcements were sent out into the galaxy, the Second Generation Fire Thieves were given the identity to honor the lost members, or because it made the bureaucracy easier. Willingly, if not happily, he surrendered the title of Chapter Master when the First Generation survivors were rediscovered. (Left Old, Right New)

Gallicles the Steadfast, is a fucking monster. I like letting the dice tell stories, and they chose him to be the protagonist. He was the Sergeant of my hellblaster squad. His first game on the table, 2nd round, his squad was wiped out by a 6 man squad of boltstorm aggressors. He blew one away on my turn, and then proceeded to tank all of the shots from the remaining 5 the next round (he didn't remain up the round after that though). Hence all the bullet holes on the old model, and why I gave him the Deathstroke style half mask (one of the many bolt rounds took out the eye). His second game, his squad was once again wiped out, this time by kabalites. So for the shits and giggles of it, I had him rush out into melee and lock down a dark Eldar raider. The man managed to once again, make all the saves necessary and survived the melee combat for 3 rounds, locking the raider in place till the end of the game. Finally, a few games later, he managed to survive a round of melee combat with a Custodes Blade Champion. It was at this point I said, fuck it, this guy need a promotion to captain. My buddy playing said Custodes was so entertained by this he donated the castellan axe to put on his captain model.

"I... I... gone," He rasped. "The spirit... the angel... f-father... gone. Torn from... m-me."

Tears brimmed as he weakly squeezed the chaptermaster's hand.

Dante ran his fingers through the other's hair.

"Easy," He soothed. "I need you to focus on getting better. We need you."

Mephiston managed a nod, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

***

Protocol was simple. Don't dwell on any corpses or blood spatter. Drop off the tray quickly and where he can reach it. Do not speak to him. Follow the Marine's orders. Report anything and everything.

They found this ineffective and ridiculous. Even if the previous ones died due to being within reach. Granted, the Techmarine had not been with those.

Said Marine let out several deep breaths. Despite being out of his armor, he was still large. Or perhaps they were indeed, very small.

As the lift descended further, the astartes hardened facade begun to break. Grief came through.

He bowed his head and muttered, "Please forgive me."

"You're forgiven," they said.

The marine didn't look up.

"Not you." Hissed the magos accompanying them.

"Okay."

The marine continued his prayer, and tears began to fall. They reached the intended floor. Guards were just outside. They led them over to a hatch and slowly unsealed it. The techmarine barely fit through. How did they get an entire primarch through this door?

They didn't have time to ask, scurrying after the marine and magos. The door slammed shut and was sealed once more. They were locked in. They liked escape rooms.

The hallway descended towards the silo, and the grated bars of the inner prison were just ahead.

They held the tray high above their head, struggling to keep up with the impatient astartes.

He reached the bars and looked down. He let out a choking sound. He hadn't eaten anything though?

They had to break into a run as the marine rushed downward to ground level.

"This is not proper protocol!" The magos snapped in binaric.

As they reached it, they saw him.

The massive figure lay against the wall. Feathers were scattered about the floor. His movable wing was a deep red at the tips. Droplets of blood flew off when he shook. A black mask had begun growing from his face, forming into a hard substance. Many upstairs spoke with fear that it was a sign of corruption.

They, themself did not see this. It was in the likeness of the Sanguinary Guards' Death Mask helmets, which were in the Primarch's own likeness.

It was what they could identify with. It had the spiked halo atop it. There were cricks and kinks within the spikes. Cracks ran along it. What once would have been a holy crown now looked like a punishing helm.

"My primarch," the marine called out, breaking protocol and being up against the bars. "My lord, it is I, your son. Simeon Amandro. Techmarine."

The primarch did not stir.

Protocol was already broken so what was doing it some more?

"I bring food, my lord," they spoke, shaking the tray so the blood bags jiggled.

The magos stood back, their disapproving gaze upon them like Orks on a Waaagh!

Sanguinius did not acknowledge anyone.

They shifted their optics to zoom in on his back, near where wings met skin. Necrosis was growing.

They pointed this out to the techmarine, Simeon.

"Should that be reported?"

The marine shook his head, "No, it will only cause another 'acid bath'."

They nodded, having already been briefed on those. They did not understand how these could be considered a bath when a hose was utilized to spray the primarch from afar as he hissed and shrieked. Attempts to restrain him to properly treat it were futile. It was not a viable solution. Very ineffective and inefficient.

The magos scoffed, "I can turn up my hearing if you wish to continue to whisper."

Simeon continued to call out to his genefather, begging him to show any sign of life.

They, meanwhile, looked around, then up at the Primarch.

"Your attempts at preening seem counterproductive to healing," they commented.

He still did not acknowledge their presence.

They shifted upon their feet, as Simeon looked back with a glare.

"Are you going to break them off since they may need to be amputated?"

A fist slammed against the bars just above their head. The demigod wailed and threw himself to the ground. He gripped his hair, pulling it out in chunks. More blood spilled as he shrieked and hunched over.

"Father!" Simeon cried out. "Please stop!"

They themselves flinched as they heard a wet crack. The black mask clattered to the ground.

"I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ALIVE!" He yelled out.

"I don't think you should do that," They said.

Sanguinius took a deep breath and let out sobs.

Simeon joined in and lay prostrate on the ground, begging for forgiveness and uttering apologies.

The magos was flush against the wall, too terrified to run.

Minutes passed before Sanguinius finally calmed his breathing.

"I should be dead," he muttered.

"But you're alive now," Simeon insisted.

Rage had never been so clearly read as it was in the Primarch's eyes.

The techmarine choked and, prostrating himself once more, "I didn't know, I didn't know, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I wish I had never helped. I thought I was doing the right thing. Please. Forgive me. Tear my hearts out and take my blood if you must."

The primarch's expression was unreadable now, "Leave me."

The tray was jiggled again.

"I have the blood bags though," they stated. "They're like gelatin. Jello shots. I could do this all day."

They gently shook the tray to watch the blood bags wobble and jiggle. Mesmerized by the anomaly of this liquid-solid substance. It was fantastic to see the ripples throughout.

They only looked up upon hearing a snort.

Two eyes met their optics. One fully red with a yellow pupil. The other black with a red iris.

"You're not afraid," he chuckled.

"That function has been disabled," They answered.

The Primarch averted his eyes, "I am pathetic."

"You're wounded." Insisted Simeon from the ground.

Sanguinius spat out a blood clot.

"Obviously." He muttered. "I'm in the worst pain imaginable and flashes of my previous life haunt my eyes whenever I close them. And all it takes to get a laugh is an ad mech with gelatinous blood."

He flopped to his side, staring past them.

"You should eat," they insisted, holding out the tray.

Simeon sat up, hope etched across his features.

The primarch sighed, "Very well."

The ad mech clicked their heels and hurried over, giving one last jiggle before presenting the tray.

Each bag was emptied quickly. He looked back at them.

"What is your name?"

"Expo Epsilon but the other's call me Nepo-baby," they answered. "I'm not sure why I have that nickname."

His eyes narrowed, "You're going to help me get out of here, aren't you?"

Expo saluted, "Sir, yes, sir! Oh, I love breaking rules!"

The magos finally broke their silence, "Absolutely not! I shall be reporting this to the -"

He never finished. He dropped to his knees as plasma burned in his chest.

"Yes, Expo!" Simeon beamed.

"Yay!" Cheered the ad mech, waving the pistol around. "I did it!"

Simeon went to grab the body, "He will still have memory files on him."

Hands reached through the bars, "There will be nothing left. I'm still hungry."

Expo turned to see the primarch's face now dark and a feral look in his eyes. Simeon brought the body forward.

The ad mech watched in fascination as Sanguinius's fangs grew longer and his jaw unhinged.

They clapped their hands when he finally bit down, the crunch of bones and metal sounding as he devoured the body, flesh, and metal. Simeon didn't dare look away.

"This is going to be so wonderful to serve you, my lord!" Expo cheered.

Sanguinius coughed, "Thank you. Water. Bring me water, please."

***

Dante ran towards the astropathic choir, the Librarian who fetched him hot on his heels.

He could hear them. They weren't chanting, yelling, or screaming. They sang. Beautifully.

He saw the astropath floating in the air and writhing.

"I'm here!" Dante declared.

The astropath lurched and golden light poured from his eyes, nostrils, and mouth.

The voice echoed into the very marrow of his bones, "Just as the sins of the first son were not made to stand, the sins of the inquisition shall not either. Our Father has been brought back against his will, and the Emperor's will. The inquisition thinks itself above the wisdom of the Emperor. Even now they hold our father."

Dante stepped forward, "Forgive my doubt, but how can we know this is a true message and not something from the ruinous powers?"

Golden wings formed behind the astropath and grew till another figure was behind him. The choir dropped to a low hum.

The Sanguinor stepped out, looming over Dante. The astropath still spoke for him.

"Is this sufficient proof?" He asked.

"What will our father have us do?" Dante asked, standing tall.

"Demand him back and if the inquisition denies it or us, then it is war."