The Horus Heresy Book Two-Massacre - Ebook download as PDF File .pdf) or read book online. for warhammer 40k. The Horus Heresy Book Two - Massacre - Ebook download as PDF File .pdf) or read book online. book. that was the Mechanicum before the Horus Heresy formed. Alongside the . Crusade Fleet Support Wing (The Horus Heresy Book Two - Massacre, page ).

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kaz-news.info+Horus+Heresy+2+-+ kaz-news.info >/HHG/'s Legion demographics kaz-news.info Download Horus Heresy Book Two - kaz-news.info, Size: MB, File name: Horus Heresy Book Two - kaz-news.info, Uploaded. Word of Horus' treachery escapes Isstvan III and now the Legions loyal to the Emperor mobilise to make Horus and those who follow account for their crimes.

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Pop into your inbox and click the link we've just sent to prove you're not a brain-wiped servitor. Black Library is a division of Games Workshop. Useful Information. To contact us either send an email to contact blacklibrary. All Rights Reserved. For men to follow me and obey my orders without question as the Astartes do, they must see that I am right there with them, sharing the danger.

How can any warrior trust me to send him into battle if he feels that all I do is sign orders, without appreciating the dangers he must face? His eyes, always so bright and full of power met hers and she felt the light of her belief in him swell until it illuminated her entire body. Aximand and Torgaddon said nothing, knowing when to leave the first captain to his choler and when to back off. Loken, however, was still relatively new to regular contact with Abaddon, and his anger with him over his defence of Erebus was still raw.

That sounds a damn sight more sensible to me than having them write stupid poems or paint pictures. And they will tell it.

Thousands of years from 77 False Gods now, people will look back at these times and they will know us and understand the nobility of what we set out to do. Ours will be an age of enlightenment that men will weep to know they were not a part of it. All that we have achieved will be celebrated and people will remember the Sons of Horus as the founders of a new age of illumination and progress. Think of that, Ezekyle, the next time you dismiss the remembrancers so quickly. The first captain met his gaze then laughed.

The remainder of the Mournival did likewise, guiltily standing to attention before the commander. The dark complexioned woman with the black hair and fanciful dress stood at his side, and though she was tall for a mortal, she still only just reached the lower edges of his chest plate. She stared at them in confusion, no doubt wondering what 78 Graham McNeill she had just seen. She is to be my documentarist and I, unwisely it seems now, decided it was time for her to meet the Mournival.

Very well, this insolent young pup is Garviel Loken, recently elevated to the lofty position of the Mournival. Next to him is Tarik Torgaddon, a man who tries to turn everything into a joke, but mostly fails. Aximand is next. They are a voice of reason in my ear when all around me is confusion.

The Horus Heresy: Book Two - Massacre (Forge World Series)

They are as dear to me as my brother primarchs and I value their counsel above all others. In them are the humours of choler, phlegm, melancholia and sanguinity mixed in exactly the right amount I need to keep me on the side of the angels.

Learn this, Petronella Vivar, and your time with me will not have been in vain: The other Astartes on the embarkation deck saw what was happening and a hush spread throughout the chamber.

Even the background noise of the deck seemed to diminish at the incredible sight of the Warmaster kneeling before his chosen sons. Loken raised the oath paper and read the words the commander had written. Will you take your vengeance to those who defy you and turn from the glory of all you have helped create?

Do you swear that you shall leave none alive who stand against the future of humanity and do you pledge to do honour to the XVI Legion? Loken nodded and handed the wax seal to the Warmaster as he rose to his feet. Blood welled briefly from the cut and Horus dipped the oath paper in the clotting red fluid before affixing the oath paper to his breastplate and grinning broadly at them all.

Loken felt his admiration for the Warmaster fill his heart, all the hurt at their exclusion from his deliberations on the way here forgotten as he held each of them close. How could they ever have doubted him? The others joined in and the chant spread until the embarkation deck reverberated with the deafening roars of the Sons of Horus.

At intervals of seven seconds, each Stormbird fired until all six were launched. The pilots kept them close to the Vengeful Spirit, waiting for the remaining assault craft to launch from the other embarkation decks.

But greatest of all were the lander vessels of the Mechanicum. Vast, monolithic structures as big as city blocks, they resembled snub-nosed tubes fitted with a wealth of heat resistant technologies and recessed deceleration burners. Inertial dampening fields held their cargoes secure and explosive bolts on internal anti-motion scaffolding were primed to release on impact.

Such was the proliferation of craft heading for the surface that no one could keep track of them all, not even the bridge crew under Boas Comnenus, and thus the gold-skinned landing skiff that launched from the civilian bay of the Vengeful Spirit went unnoticed.

The invasion fleet mustered in low orbit, orbital winds clutching at streamers of atmospheric gases and spinning them in lazy coils beneath the vessels.

As always, it was the Astartes who led the invasion. Atmospheric disturbances and storms wracked the skies and the Astartes Stormbirds were tossed like leaves in a hurricane. Loken felt the craft vibrate wildly around him, grateful for the restraint harness that held him fast to his cage seat. His bolter was stowed above him and there was nothing to do but wait until the Stormbird touched down and the attack began. He slowed his breathing and cleared his mind of all distractions, feeling a hot energy suffuse his limbs as his armour prepared his metabolism for imminent battle.

Their conduct on Murder and Xenobia had been exemplary and many of the newly elevated novitiates had been blooded on those desperate battlefields.

His company was battle tested and sure. Pops and crackles punctuated the hiss, but he could hear nothing else.


Loken concentrated, listening for whatever Nero was hearing. And then he heard it. Faint, as though coming from somewhere impossibly far away was a voice, a gargling, wet voice. Folly… seek… doom of all things. If he dares come here, he will die. And in death shall he live forever. Blessed be the hand of Nurghleth. Blessed be. He pulled open the hatch where the flight officers and hardwired pilots fought to bring them in through the swirling yellow storm clouds.

He could hear the same, repeating phrase coming over the internal speakers here. A signal that powerful we could have traced from orbit. And find the source. Too similar to be accidental, he thought. He opened a channel to the other members of the Mournival, receiving confirmation that the signal was being heard throughout the speartip. That we turn around and head back to Davin?

Ignore this stain on my honour? Others should be careful around us.

The Horus Heresy: Book Two - Massacre

He made his way back to his cage seat and strapped himself in, suddenly sure that they were walking into a trap. The harness restraints disengaged and the warriors of Locasta smoothly rose from their cage seats and turned to retrieve their stowed weaponry as the debarking ramp dropped from the rear of the Stormbird.

His armoured weight sank up to mid calf, an abominable stench rising from the wet ground underfoot. The Astartes of Locasta and Brakespur dispersed from the Stormbird with expected efficiency, spreading out to form a perimeter and link up with the other squads from the Sons of Horus. The Sons of Horus were forming up around the magnificent figure of the Warmaster, ready to move out, and spots of light in the yellow sky announced the imminent arrival of the Army drop ships.

The Captain of the 19th Company had volunteered some of his heavy weapon squads and Loken knew he could rely on their steady aim and cool heads. Wretched bogs and dank fens rendered the landscape a uniform brown and sludgy green, with the occasional blackened and withered tree silhouetted against the sky.

Clouds of buzzing insects hovered in thick swarms over the black waters. He took a few ungainly steps through the swampy ground, each step sending up a bub86 Graham McNeill bling ripple of burps and puffs of noxious gasses. As the noise of the Stormbirds faded, the silence of the moon became apparent. The only sounds were the splashing of the Astartes through the swampy bogs and the insistent buzz of the insects.

Loken had to agree with him: Where we are now should be covered in forests. He disdained the wearing of a helmet, his superhuman physique easily able to withstand the airborne poisons. Four blocks of Astartes marched, phalanx-like, into the mists, with each member of the Mournival leading nearly two hundred warriors.

Behind them came the soldiers of the Imperial army, company after company of red-jacketed warriors with gleaming lasguns and silver tipped lances. Initial landings of armour proved to be disastrous, as tanks sank into the marshland and dropships found themselves caught in the sucking mud.

Though the greatest of all the engines of war were those that emerged from the Mechanicum landers. Even the Astartes had paused in their advance to watch the descent of the three monstrously huge craft. Slowly dropping through the yellow skies in defiance of gravity like great primeval monoliths, the blackened hulks travelled on smoking pillars of fire as their colossal retros 89 False Gods fought to slow them down.

Even with such fiery deceleration, the ground shook with the hammerblow of their impacts, geysers of murky water thrown hundreds of metres into the air along with blinding clouds as the swamps flashed to steam.

Each thunderous footstep of the mighty Titans sent shockwaves through the swamps for kilometres in all directions, their bastion legs sinking several metres through the marshy ground to the bedrock beneath.

Loken watched the arrival of the Titans with a mixture of awe and unease: Strange groans and hisses, like the expelled breath of a corpse, bubbled from the ground and blurred shadow forms moved in the mist.

Each time he raised his bolter to take aim in readiness, the mist would part and an armoured figure in the green of the Sons of Horus or the steel grey of the Word Bearers would be revealed.

The mist gathered in thickness with unsettling speed, slowly swallowing them up until all Loken could see were warriors from his own company. They passed through a dark forest of leafless, dead trees, the bark glistening and wet looking.

Writhing maggots and burrowing creatures curled and wriggled within the rotten sapwood. Rotten with it.

The Horus Heresy Book Two - Massacre

He wiped his stained gauntlet on his leg armour and set off after Vipus. The eerily silent march continued through the fog and, assisted by the servo muscles of their armour, the Astartes quickly began to outpace the soldiers of the Imperial Army, who were finding the going much more difficult.

He lifted his armoured boot from the swamp and took another step forward, this time feeling something crack under his step. Glancing down, he saw something round and greenish white bob upwards in the water. Even without turning it over he could see it was a skull, the paleness of bone wreathed in necrotic strands of rotted flesh and muscle.

A pair of shoulders rose from the depths behind it, the spinal column exposed beneath a layer of bloated green flesh. Even as he saw the rotted cadaver, more bobbed to the surface, no doubt disturbed from their resting places on the bottom of the swamps by the footfalls of the Titans. He called a halt and opened the link to his fellow commanders once again as yet more bodies, hundreds now, floated to the surface of the swamp.

Its bloated, rancid flesh was alive with wriggling motion, burrowing carrion insects and larvae nesting within it. Sure enough, mouldering scraps of a uniform hung from it and Loken wiped a smear of mud from its shoulder. Suddenly the hard bangs of bolter fire and the whoosh of flame units could be heard from all around them. Torgaddon nodded, demanding contact reports from all companies. Garbled shouts of impossible things came over the link, along with the louder bark of heavy bolter fire.

Gunfire sounded to his left and he spun to face it, his bolter raised before him. He could see nothing but the staccato flashes of weapon fire and the occasional blue streak of a plasma shot. Even the external senses of his armour were unable to penetrate the creeping mist. Its gangrenous, rotten flesh barrelled into him, its bulk sufficient to knock him onto his back and into the swamp. Before he went under the dark water, Torgaddon had the fleeting impression of a yawning mouth filled with hundreds of fangs and a glaucous, cyclopean eye beneath a horn of yellowed bone.

Wired into the very essence of the Titan, they could feel its every motion as though it were their own. Despite the mighty war machine beneath him, Jonah Aruken suddenly felt powerless as this unknown enemy arose to engulf the Sons of Horus. Expecting armoured opposition and an enemy they could see, they had been little more than a focus for the Imperial forces to rally around so far.

Fast moving and heading towards us. Do you have a solution, Aruken? Instead, they had been buffeted by violent storm winds and could see nothing but the yellow skies and banks of fog that seemed to be gathered around another unremarkable patch of brown swampland ahead.

Though the Warmaster had politely, but firmly, declined her request to travel to the surface with the warriors of the speartip, she had been sure there was a glint of mischief in his eye. Taking that for a sign of tacit approval, she had immediately gathered Maggard and her flight crew in the shuttle bay in preparation for descent to the moon below. Unable to keep pace with the invasion force, they had been forced to follow the emission trails and now found themselves circling deep in a soup of impenetrable fog that rendered the ground below virtually invisible.

I want to get out of this mist so I can see something worth writing about. She gave up, deciding that the dress was beyond saving, and returned her gaze to the windshield as the pilot gave a sudden yell of terror.

Hot fear seethed in her veins as the mist before them cleared and she saw a huge mechanical giant before them, its proportions massive and armoured. Saw-toothed bastions and towers 95 False Gods filled her vision, massive cannons and a terrible, snarling face of dark iron. For something as apparently fragile as a rotted corpse, the thing was possessed of a fearsome strength and he was dragged to his knees by the weight and power of the creature.

With a thought, he flooded his metabolism with battle stimms and fresh strength surged into his limbs. He gripped the arms of his attacker and pulled them from its reeking torso in a flood of dead fluids and a wash of brackish blood. He pushed himself to his feet and took stock of the situation, his Astartes training suppressing any notion of panic or disorientation. From all around them, the bodies he had previously thought to be lifeless were rising from the dark waters and launching themselves at his warriors.

Bolters blasted chunks of mouldered flesh from their bodies or tore limbs from putrefied torsos, but still they kept coming, tearing at the Astartes with diseased, yellowed claws.

More of the things were rising all around them and Loken shot three down with as many shots, shattering skulls and exploding chests with mass-reactive shells. Hundreds of dead things surrounded them, mouldering corpses and bloated, muttering abominations, each with a single milky, 96 Graham McNeill distended eye and a scabrous horn sprouting from its forehead.

What were they? Monstrous xeno creatures with the power to reanimate dead flesh or something far worse? Thick, buzzing clouds of flies flew round them, and Loken saw an Astartes go down, the feeds on his helmet thick with fat bodied insects.

The warrior frenziedly tore his helmet off and Loken was horrified to see his flesh rotting away with an unnatural rapidity, his skin greying and peeling away to reveal the liquefying tissue beneath. The bark of bolter fire focussed him and he returned his attention to the battle before him, emptying magazine after magazine into the shambling mass of repulsive creatures before him.

The tide of the battle began to turn as more and more of the shambling horrors went down and stayed down. The green-fleshed things with grotesquely distended bellies took more killing, though it seemed to Loken that they dissolved into stinking matter as they fell into the water of the swamp. More shapes moved through the mist as a thunderous roar of heavy cannon fire came from behind them, followed by the bright flare of an explosion high above. Loken looked up to see a golden landing skiff trailing smoke and fire wobble in the sky, though he had not the time to wonder what a civilian craft was doing in a warzone as yet more of the dead things climbed from the water.

Too close for bolters, he drew his sword and brought the monstrously toothed blade to life with a press of the activation stud. A ghastly thing of decomposed flesh and rotten meat hurled itself at him and he swung his blade two handed for its skull. The blade roared as it slew, gobbets of wet, grey meat spattering his armour as he ripped the sword through from brainpan to groin. He swung at another creature, the green fire of its eyes flickering out as he hacked it in two. All about him, Sons of Horus went toe to toe with the terrible creatures that had once been members of the 63rd Expedition.

Rotted hands clamped onto his armour from beneath the water 97 False Gods and Loken felt himself being dragged down. He roared and reversed his grip on his sword, stabbing it straight down into leering skulls and rotted faces, but incredibly their strength was the greater and he could not resist their pull.

Help me! Loken felt himself rising and kicked out as the swamp creatures finally released him. He scrambled back and clambered to his feet. Together, he, Luc and Nero fought with bludgeoning ferocity, although there was no shape to the battle now, if there ever had been. It was nothing more than butcher work, requiring no swordsmanship or finesse, just brute strength and a determination not to fall.

Loken returned his attention to the battle and, with Luc Sedirae and Nero Vipus in the fight, he was able to gain some space and time to reorganise.

The Sons of Horus reloaded bolters and cleaned chunks of dead flesh from their swords. Sporadic bursts of gunfire still sounded from the swamp and strobing flashes lit the fog with firefly bursts. Off to their left Loken saw a burning pyre where the skiff had come down, its flames acting as a beacon in the midst of the obscuring fog.

Then a voice cut across every channel and Loken almost cried aloud in relief to hear it. Converge on this signal. Head for the flames! Loken killed with a methodical precision, each shot felling an opponent.

He began to feel that they finally had the measure of this grotesque enemy. Whatever fell energy bestowed animation upon these diseased nightmares was clearly incapable of giving them much more than basic motor functions and an unremitting hostility.

He vowed that this Nurghleth would pay dearly for each of their deaths. All she remembered was a fury of noise and light, a metallic shriek and a bone-jarring impact as the skiff crashed and broke into pieces. Blood filled her senses and she felt excruciating pain all down her left side.

Flames leapt around her, and her vision blurred with the sting of the atmosphere and smoke. Torn up bodies clothed in her livery littered the ground — the pilots and flight crew of her skiff — and there was a lot of blood covering the wreckage.

Even through the respirator, she could smell the gore. Cloying banks of leprous fog surrounded them, though the heat of the flames appeared to be clearing it in their immediate vicinity. Shambling shapes surrounded them and relief flooded her as she realised that they would soon be rescued.

The Horus Heresy: Book Two - Massacre (Forge World Series)

Maggard spun, drawing his sword and pistol, and Petronella tried to shout at him that he must stand down, that these were their rescuers. Then the first shape emerged from the smoke and she screamed as she saw its diseased flesh and the rotted innards hanging from its opened belly. Nor was it the worst of the approaching things.

A cavalcade of cadavers with bloated, ruptured flesh and putrid, diseased bodies sloshed through the mud and wreckage towards them, clawed hands outstretched. The green fire in their eyes spoke of monstrous appetites and Petronella felt a gut-wrenching terror greater than anything she had ever known.

Only Maggard stood between her and the walking, diseased corpses, and he was but one man. She had watched him train in the gymnasia of Kairos many times, but she had never seen him draw his weapons in anger. He fired and fired until his pistol was empty, and then holstered it and drew a long, triangular bladed dagger.

As the horde approached, her bodyguard attacked. He leapt, feet first, at the nearest corpse and a neck snapped beneath his boot heel. Maggard spun as he landed, his sword decapitating a pair of the monsters, and his dagger ripping the throat from another. His Kirlian rapier darted like a silver snake, its glowing edge stabbing and cutting with incredible speed.

His body was always in motion, leaping, twisting and dodging away from the clutching hands of his diseased attackers. There was no pattern to their assault, simply a mindless host of dead things seeking to envelop them. Maggard fought like nothing she had ever seen, his augmetic muscles bulging and flexing as he cut down his foes with quick, lethal strokes.

No matter how many he killed, there were always more pressing in and they steadily forced him back a step at a time. He staggered towards her, bleeding from a score of minor wounds. His flesh was blistered and weeping around the cuts and there was an unhealthy pallor to his skin, despite his respirator gear.

She wept bitter tears of horror as the monsters closed in, jaws opening wide to devour her flesh, and grasping hands ready to tear her perfect skin and feast on her innards. A corpse with mouldering, sagging skin lurched past Maggard, his blade lodged in the belly of a giant, necrotic thing with green flesh that was thick with flies. She screamed as it reached for her.

Deafening bangs thundered behind her and the creature disintegrated in an explosion of wet meat and bone. Petronella covered her ears as the thunderous roar of gunfire came again and her attackers were torn apart in a series of rancid explosions, falling back into the fires of the skiff and burning with stinking green flames.

She rolled onto her side, crying in pain and fear as the terrifyingly close volleys continued, clearing a path for the massive, armoured warriors of the Sons of Horus. A giant towered above her, reaching for her with his armoured gauntlet. He wore no helmet and was silhouetted by a terrible red glow, False Gods his awesome bulk haloed by blazing plumes of fire and pillars of black smoke. Though blood and dark slime covered his armour and his cloak was torn and tattered, Horus towered like a war god unleashed, his face a mask of terrifying power.

He lifted her to her feet as easily as one might lift a babe in arms, while his warriors continued the slaughter of the monstrous dead things. More and more Sons of Horus were converging on the crash site, guns firing to drive the enemy back and forming a protective cordon around the Warmaster. I ordered you to stay aboard the Vengeful Spirit!

He had saved her. The Warmaster had personally saved her and she wept to know his touch. The gold armoured warrior held himself erect, despite the pain of his wounds. Maggard, of course, did not answer, looking over at Petronella for help in answering.

House Carpinus chaperones removed his vocal chords. How is it that the slightest touch of its edge slays one of these creatures? Be proud of what you did here today.

You have proven yourself to be a warrior, and no warrior of such courage should kneel before me. The meaning of the gesture was clear. It said what Maggard himself could not. I am yours to command. All four phalanxes had rendezvoused around the crash site as the attacks from the diseased and dead things ceased for the time being. Sedirae volunteered his men to secure the perimeters, and False Gods Loken simply waved his assent, knowing that Luc was hungry for more battle and for a chance to shine in front of the Warmaster.

Vipus re-formed the scouting parties and Verulam Moy set up fire positions for his Devastators. Loken was relieved beyond words to see that all four members of the Mournival had survived the fighting, though Torgaddon and Abaddon had both lost their helmets in the furious melees.

Tore my helmet right off and I think I must have drunk about a bucket of that swamp water.

Had to gut him with my combat knife. Abaddon and Aximand had similar tales of close run things, and Loken desperately wanted the fight to be over. Restored communications revealed that the Byzant Janizars had suffered terribly under the assault from the swamp and had hunkered down in defensive positions. Not even the electro-scythes of their discipline masters were able to coerce them forward.

The horrific enemy had melted back into the fog, but no one could say with any certainty where the creatures had gone. The Titans of the Legio Mortis towered over the Astartes; the Dies Irae reassuring the assembled warriors by the simple virtue of is immensity.

It is time we avenge them. Maggard and Petronella went with them, none of the Astartes willing to retreat and escort them back to the Army positions.

Legion apothecaries tended their wounds and helped them through the worst of the terrain. Eventually, the mists began to thin and Loken could make out the more distant figures of Astartes warriors through the smudges of fog. The further they marched, the more solid the ground underfoot became, and as Erebus led them onwards, the mist became thinner still.

Then, as quickly as a man might step from one room to another, they were out of it. Behind them, the banks of fog gathered and coiled, like a theatre curtain in a playhouse waiting to unveil some wondrous marvel. Before them was the source of the vox transmission, rearing up from the muddy plain like a colossal iron mountain. Its towering gothic spires, like the precincts of a mighty city, lay fallen and twisted, its buttresses and archways hung with decaying fronds of huge web-like vines.

Swathes of mossy greenery covered the hull and her command spire speared into the sky; warp vanes and tall vox masts bending in the moaning wind. Loken thought the scene unbearably sad. That this should be the final resting place of such a magnificent vessel seemed utterly wrong to him. Someone here activated it when they knew we were coming. Are you mad? There could be thousands more of those… things inside, or something even worse.

Loken kept his bolter at the ready, conscious of the sounds of splashing water behind them, though he told himself that they were just the False Gods normal sounds of this world — whatever that meant.

About you leading us into the unknown. Horus paused in his advance and turned to face Loken, his face serious. I value your counsel above all things, Garviel.

Why would you even ask such a question? Having us play a role, instead of allowing us to keep you true to your course. Can we not at least let them soften up the target first with their cannons?

It has been too long since I wielded a blade and fought in such a battle — against abominations that seek nothing more than our utter destruction.

All three mighty war engines braced themselves and, at a command from the Warmaster, unleashed a rippling salvo of missiles and cannon fire into the massive ship. Fires caught throughout its hull, and thick plumes of acrid black smoke twisted skyward like signal beacons, as though the ship were trying to send a message to its former masters. Once again, the Warmaster led from the front, the mist following them in like a smoggy cape of yellow.

Loken could still hear noises from behind them, but with the thunderous footfalls of the Titans, the crackling of the burning ship and their own splashing steps, it was impossible to be sure what he was hearing. We watch our backs. And here I was all set to walk into a potential trap with my guard down.

The rear quarter of the crashed Glory of Terra reared up before them, its command decks pitched upwards at an angle, blotting out the diseased sky. It enveloped them in its dark, cold shadow, and Loken saw that getting into the ship would not be difficult.

The gunfire from the Titans had blasted huge tears in its hull, and piles of debris had spilled from inside, forming great ramps of buckled steel like the rocky slopes before the walls of a breached fortress. The Warmaster called a halt and began issuing his orders. Your flame and melta units will be invaluable in case we need to quickly cleanse an area or breach bulkheads.

Find a way in and then rendezvous with me in the middle. If that bastard Temba tries to run, I want him crushed between us. Then the Warmaster turned to the Mournival.

Little Horus, take my right. Torgaddon and Loken, form the rear. Secure this area and our line of withdrawal. He could see that the others of the Mournival, especially Torgaddon, were similarly surprised.

To be left behind? As Loken expected, Luc was first inside, vanishing into the darkness with barely a pause. His warriors followed him and were soon lost to sight, as Abaddon and Aximand found other ways inside, clambering up the debris to reach False Gods the still smoking holes that the Titans had torn.

Aximand gave him a quick shrug as he led his own squads upwards, and Loken watched them go, unable to believe that he would not be fighting alongside his brothers as they went into battle. The Warmaster himself strode up the piled debris as easily as a man might ascend a gently sloping hill, Veralum Moy and his weapons specialists following in his wake.

Within moments, they were alone on the desolate mudflats, and Loken could sense the confusion in his warriors. They stood awkwardly, awaiting orders to send them into the fight, but he had none to give them. Torgaddon saved him from his stupefaction, bellowing out commands and lighting a fire under the Astartes left behind.

I mean, come on, Moy? Diseased streamers of black fungus and dangling fronds of rotted matter brushed against their heads and helmets, leaving slimy trails of sticky residue behind.

The perforated floors were treacherous and uneven, but the Astartes made good time, pushing ever upwards through the halls of putrefaction towards the command decks. The deeper into the ship they penetrated, the worse it got. Damn it. Making safe… but… make… False Gods gress. If the interference we are getting between our own warriors is anything to go by, it is unlikely our armour links will be able to reach him.

We are taking a needless risk here. Every day we spend away from Terra is a risk. Every decision I make is a risk.

We cannot avoid risk, my friend, for if we do, we achieve nothing. If the highest aim of a captain were to preserve his ship, he would keep it in port forever. You are a fine officer, Verulam, but you do not see heroic opportunities as I do. Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but delving into the unknown like this does not feel like heroism.

It feels like guesswork. I am the Warmaster and I have made up my mind. We go on. Then everything turned upside down. He turned in horror, hearing metal grind on metal with a deafening screech, and watching geysers of mud spout skyward as buried portions of the starship tore themselves free of the sucking mud. The upper sections of the vessel plummeted towards the ground and the entire ship began tipping over, the colossal rear section arcing downwards with a terrible inevitability.

He looked back in time to see the wreckage slam into the ground with the force of an orbital strike, the superstructure crumpling under the impact of its own weight and hurling lakes of muddy water through the air. Loken was tossed like a leaf by the shockwave, landing waist deep in a stagnant pool of greenish scum and disappearing beneath the surface.

Rolling to his knees, he saw tsunamis of mud rippling out from the vessel, and watched as dozens of his warriors were buried beneath the brownish sludge. At the beginning of False Gods , there is some mention of Loken's ample ability to tell a story by Tarik Torgaddon and other members of the 10th company, but little is made of this gift later in the series.

Loken develops close relationships with civilian members of the 63rd Expedition Fleet of the Great Crusade. He thinks of Kyril Sindermann as his mentor and is the first to take on a Remembrancer as his personal documentarist.

He is plagued with guilt following the massacre on the embarkation deck and his sympathies toward non-Astartes drive a wedge in his relationship with senior Luna Wolves such as Ezekyle Abaddon , and with Horus himself.

Loken is badly wounded in that battle but survives and is later retrieved from the planet by Captain Nathaniel Garro , who is by then in service of Malcador the Sigillite.

He had a sense of humour, frequently insulting other Astartes, especially from other Legions this started a rivalry between him and Lord Commander Eidolon and began a sparring match with the 1st company captain of the Imperial Fists. He was a member of the Mournival and a Lodge until the events of False Gods. In Horus Rising he injured his right hand and was forced to amputate it, later getting an augmetic replacement.

He is courageous, risking his life to save others when Xavyer Jubal mutates and attacks, and rescuing Solomon Demeter from a ruined bunker. Vipus is one of the few Luna Wolves left alive at the end of the Istvaan III attack, but is presumed dead after the final bombardment. His final, brief appearance is in Fulgrim. Apothecary Vaddon[ edit ] Vaddon was a Loyalist apothecary. His first appearance is in False Gods. He was once in possession of the "anathame", a Chaos-tainted alien weapon strong enough to stop a Primarch , which Fabius Bile took on the Warmaster's orders.

He was one of the loyalists aware of the changes of allegiance, having removed Astartes bolter rounds from a deceased Imperial Army Commander. One of his final acts was helping to heal the Emperor's Children 2nd Company captain, Solomon Demeter. He was often regarded as "a reminder of the old days", often saluting the now wrong, old way.

He is extremely loyal to the Emperor, but for some reason Horus did not send him to Istvaan III; however Loken trusts him, and Qruze helps the few survivors of a massacre on board the Vengeful Spirit escape. He is the only known Luna Wolf survivor. This belief seems to be confirmed in the short story "The Last Remembrancer" where he accompanies Primarch Rogal Dorn to a secret prison to interrogate a remembrancer that was sent to Terra by Horus.

He is later slain by Horus aboard the Vengeful Spirit when he and a band of other Knights Errant including Loken infiltrate it. He is depicted as wearing grey power armour with no sigils from any legion, and claims to be under orders from Malcador the Sigillite.

Aximand was originally very loyal, but reluctantly turned to Chaos to save the Warmaster's life, in the Lodge of the Serpent on planet Davin.

One of his notable actions was killing Tarik Torgaddon. He was afterwards overcome with regret over this. He had a close friendship with Tybalt Marr. He was angered when Garviel Loken chose to promote Nero Vipus to second in command of the 10th Company, after Loken had been accepted into the Mournival. His resentment for Loken and jealousy of Vipus allowed the Powers of the Warp to corrupt him. Namely, a demon by the name "Samus". Jubal killed his entire squad, before attacking Loken and the members of an accompanying squad, killing several.

The Powers of the Warp mutated Jubal into the visage of a slobbering, raging demon-beast. Jubal was eventually killed by Loken and Vipus. He is a file officer and does not aspire to anything higher, despite being extremely competitive. Most troops he comes to lead greatly respect him, except Lucius, who is enraged he gets all the attention however this is only after the bombing of Istvaan III.

Tarvitz is also liked by other marines from other legions, including Garro, Loken, Torgaddon, and Vipus. Notably, he shares a deep bond with Garro after they saved each other's lives in the past.A shiver of anticipation travelled along her spine as she heard far distant klaxons, and a distorted automated voice, coming from the gold-rimmed speakers in the corridor outside her suite, declared that her vessel had entered high anchor around the planet. Loken nodded and handed the wax seal to the Warmaster as he rose to his feet.

The creatures were less than a dozen metres from him, but their images were blurred and wavering, as though tears misted his vision. Maybe you could tell him about my compositions? Wh 40k Kill Team