Primarch: Angelus
Talent: Ruler / Seer
Psychic Ability: High
Mutation: Wings
Homeworld: Argos
Origins
Listen, all ye who would hear, the story of Angelus, the tale of woe, and despair! Hear the tale of a winged grotesque who fell from the sky upon the black soil of Argos! Mourn the far-seeing yurog whose visions guided him to glory and madness, he whose shadow fell upon the stars themselves and cloaked them in darkness.
For once, before the strands of fate wove the web of sorrow, our Argos was a beautiful world, full of wonder. Great forests of emerald green covered the land, which gave plentiful bounty to all who would take it. Crystal-clear lakes and oceans of deepest velvet blue, proud mountains and plains teeming with game blended with peaceful, well-tended cities.
In those days, the people of Argos were living a blissful existence, surrounded by gentle nature and fearing none. We were as children, innocent and pure, basking in the lazy rays of the afternoon sun without a thought of the coming night. When the sky opened with unearthly light, they cheered, for they found it beautiful and wondrous, worthy of admiration and awe.
That night, the devils came. From the scarlet sky they fell in countless thousands, carried forth by the blackest magicks and unspeakable horrors. Where they landed, abominations walked, twisted shapes born of this reality and the next, merciless and forever hungry for flesh and souls. We, who called Argos home, had no defense against such monstrosities, for our weapons were few and our spirits unused to war. In a single night, all we had built was given to fire and hunger of the devils from beyond.
But in spite of it all, we survived. Our cities were lost and our spirits wounded, but still the folk of Argos wandered the now desolate wastelands, keeping to the darkness while twisted horrors ruled the day. Our world became a murderous place, like a bent mirror distorting familiar shapes into nightmares, but we changed with it. We learned how to hide from the monsters, how to hunt the altered wildlife and to scavenge from the devil-infested ruins. We sought guidance from the first seers, the yurogi, as some of our children were now blessed with the second sight. We became people used to hardship and deprivation, lean and tough folk who lived by tooth and claw, and died by it.
When the star fell from the western sky, the yurogi cried out as if in great pain. Was it the final judgment of the cruel gods, we wondered, huddling around the campfires or hiding in the secret villages behind impassable mountains? What kind of horrors would heavens bring to the people who weathered it all?
But the warriors sent to seek answers found no new abominations, no nightmares from the sky. Surrounded by the torn and mangled bodies of dead monsters was a single child, albeit strange and twisted in body, hunched and with a pair of sinister, leathery wings. Some amongst them argued that the boy was another devil in an imperfect disguise, a crude imitation of a human. To others, the boy was an unfortunate cripple, a malformed foundling abandoned to die in the wilds.
None thought the child would speak. Fewer still failed to be moved when the boy told them of deliverance waiting for them, calling each of the warriors by name and telling them their fates and innermost desires.
Some of us said that Angelus, the winged savior who would lead the folk of Argos to safety, heard the voices of the gods. Others laughed at them, for the gods were long dead, and their ashes were scattered to the cruel winds. But all agreed that Angelus was a yurog, and the gift of second sight was strong with him.
One by one, the tribes traveled across the blasted wilds to see the wondrous child. Each came away inspired by his sage words and awed by his prodigious strength as he battled monsters and devils, slaying nightmarish creatures and leading us to reclaim our world. As Angelus grew, so did the epic tales of his victories.
Little did we know that the evil we fought against for so long took root in the hearts of men! For some of us took to live alongside the devils and worshipped them, damning their bodies and souls in exchange for power infernal. It was them, the misguided fools who cast their lot with the enemy, who denounced us, whose minions raided our camps and enslaved our brothers for their hellish masters. Some of them, held in favor by their diabolical patrons, were changed into something no longer human, and others clamored for that fate at any price.
Angelus led us against these treasonous curs, uniting the villages and the proud, solitary clans into one great army. Mighty were we under his gray banners, invincible and victorious against the insidious devils. Just as our steel battled the hell-forged iron, our yurogi, taught by great Angelus himself, matched wits and powers against the vile sorceries unleashed by the enemy.
In the end, victory was ours, but the price was great. Many of our warriors and seers lay dead at the hands of the monsters, yet many more stood proud as Angelus ascended the great spire where the winged lord of the devils and his debased followers lived. Many more watched with baited breath as the two great princes, one the champion of humanity and another its enslaver, dueled in the twilit sky, above their mortal and infernal kin. All of us cheered as the great yurog cast the monster down and crushed his wicked skull, forever shattering the devils’ hold on Argos.
Oh, to live in those times! To allow oneself a glimmer of hope as we drove the last of the monsters into the hiding places we once dwelled in, to reclaim the legacy of our ancestors and the future of our children!
But as always, fate made itself known. On the night of the great victory feast celebrating the slaying of another diabolical abomination, another star fell from the western sky, brighter even than the one which foretold of Angelus’ coming. Was it the sign of another invasion, the yurogi wondered, or perhaps another messenger from the gods?
Swiftly did Angelus travel to the site of the fallen star, refusing the company of the best of Argosian warriors and seers. Through the fetid swamps and the blackened forests infested by the surviving devils, through the blasted plains now home to the twisted and murderous wildlife did he fly like a giant bird of prey, never stopping, never tiring. For five days he was gone, and none knew his fate but for the flashes of light on the horizon, thunder in the west that made mothers hold their children closer to their breasts, and warriors sharpen their weapons with wariness and anxiety.
On the sixth day, Angelus returned, but he was not alone. Striding by his side was a radiant giant, a luminescent god whose very image made seasoned warriors fall to their knees in awe. On that very day, Angelus proclaimed that he would ascend to the high heavens alongside his mighty father, and only the strongest warriors of Argos would be fit to accompany him on a far greater struggle.
Little did we know, in our jubilation, that our sorrows were only beginning.
The Great Crusade
Far and wide did the sons of Argos rage. Kings and despots fell by their hand, and monsters from the deepest nightmares were vanquished by their roaring blades. The warriors of distant Terra fought side by side with the brethren of the home world, learning our ways and adopting our traditions.
With the wisdom of the Imperium on his side, Angelus gave his sons the wings of metal and ceramite. With the power of Mars in his thrall, the Grey Prince bestowed the finest weapons and armor to those who would wield them in the name of the Emperor, and for the glory of Argos.
The sky, which was once the domain of monsters and unnatural abominations, became the bringer of death to the enemies of man as the Fourteenth Legion stroke fear into their hearts. Gargoyles, they were called, for the fear that the grotesque creatures inspired, but also for their other property – warding off evil spirits. Thus, spoke Angelus to his men, would his sons forever push back the darkness of the age.
But the children of Argos have a savage fire that beats in our chests. Not for us the life of statesmen or the attraction of finer arts and beauties. Our way of war is swift and merciless, for our enemies knew no mercy for our kind, and all thoughts of compassion were scorched away from our hearts even before the coming of the Grey Prince. Just as we learned war and sacrifice with mother’s milk, we brought our conviction to the wider beyond.
And then, tragedy struck.
Parias, the wretched world with parched skin and hot, poisonous air. Parias, the burning orb where greed and misery ruled, and virtue and honor were but forgotten tales. Parias, where the bonds of brotherhood were forever severed.
For yes, Angelus had brothers, though none would ever seek to understand him. Such is the fate of all yurogi, and it is a lonely one, fraught with doubt and isolation. Only those with the strength could hope to bear the burden of second sight – and what a great burden it is!
The lord of the Peacekeepers, Gideon, was a just and noble man, but even he could not see past the darkness that clouded the Grey Prince’s heart. Who is to say what the gods might have told Angelus? Was it the fiery nature of his sons, or some premonition that only he could have witnessed? Was it a necessary step, or the moment when the fire inside the Gargoyles burned too bright, too fast?
The poor, wretched folk of Parias! How they struggled against the assembled might of two Legions! How they burned as their cities of stone and metal collapsed all around them, burying guilty and innocent alike!
That night became the Legion’s shame, and a blood feud with the sons of Gideon was born. For the Tenth Legion, misguided though may be, never took kindly to the blood and the fire wrought in Gargoyles’ wake.
Savages, they called us, violent mongrels no better than the tyrants we slew! Base creatures who only knew bloodshed and destruction, too vile to serve the noble ideals of the Imperium!
Never before did we know such shame and fury, to be called so by the warriors who would rather stand back than fight hand to hand and claw to claw. Such insult against our honor could not stand.
Some said that the Grey Prince foresaw it, and sought to leave the confrontation. Others yet whispered that perhaps, the gods were no longer speaking to him, or were giving him half-truths and obscure visions. For his wisdom, once so eloquent and clear, became clouded; his voice, once heard above all, became muted in the deep, dark void.
And yet the Legion endures. On its great warships, still the sons of Argos traverse the void, and plant their banners of war under the strange skies. Still their blades taste the lifeblood of enemies of man, even if the visions of the yurogi tell of darker portents and tenebrous futures. For as long as Argos stands, our destiny remains unfulfilled.
Organization
The Legion follows a relatively standard organizational pattern for Legiones Astartes, with multiple Companies making up the bulk of its forces. Each Company size tends to be larger than similar formations in other Legions, while remaining well under Great Company or equivalent size. Most Companies can be anywhere between 200 and 600 Marines strong, although some could go above or below that number.
The Legion has two unique formations. The first one is the Zarivat, a council of senior officers hand-picked by the Primarch to serve as his advisors, as field commanders on multi-Company missions, or for other important purposes. The Zarivat is not a static body, and the number of Marines within it as well as their qualifications tend to change dramatically. The second unique formation are the Hell Guard, the Primarch's bodyguards, who, alone amongst the Fourteenth Legion, utilize Terminator armor. As the Gargoyles prefer quick, brutal strikes over ponderous engagements, the Legion's supplies of Terminator armor are small, and the veterans of Hell Guard are often relegated to ceremonial duties.
Gene-Seed
There is a well-noted tendency towards violent, impulsive, and aggressive behaviors amongst the sons of Angelus, and even the Legion's Terran Marines are not immune to it. The gene-seed is also noted for producing rather powerful psykers amongst the Legion's Librarians, albeit it comes at the cost of higher rejection rate amongst the new recruits. As a result, the Gargoyles were always a slightly smaller than average Legion.
Talent: Ruler / Seer
Psychic Ability: High
Mutation: Wings
Homeworld: Argos
Origins
Listen, all ye who would hear, the story of Angelus, the tale of woe, and despair! Hear the tale of a winged grotesque who fell from the sky upon the black soil of Argos! Mourn the far-seeing yurog whose visions guided him to glory and madness, he whose shadow fell upon the stars themselves and cloaked them in darkness.
For once, before the strands of fate wove the web of sorrow, our Argos was a beautiful world, full of wonder. Great forests of emerald green covered the land, which gave plentiful bounty to all who would take it. Crystal-clear lakes and oceans of deepest velvet blue, proud mountains and plains teeming with game blended with peaceful, well-tended cities.
In those days, the people of Argos were living a blissful existence, surrounded by gentle nature and fearing none. We were as children, innocent and pure, basking in the lazy rays of the afternoon sun without a thought of the coming night. When the sky opened with unearthly light, they cheered, for they found it beautiful and wondrous, worthy of admiration and awe.
That night, the devils came. From the scarlet sky they fell in countless thousands, carried forth by the blackest magicks and unspeakable horrors. Where they landed, abominations walked, twisted shapes born of this reality and the next, merciless and forever hungry for flesh and souls. We, who called Argos home, had no defense against such monstrosities, for our weapons were few and our spirits unused to war. In a single night, all we had built was given to fire and hunger of the devils from beyond.
But in spite of it all, we survived. Our cities were lost and our spirits wounded, but still the folk of Argos wandered the now desolate wastelands, keeping to the darkness while twisted horrors ruled the day. Our world became a murderous place, like a bent mirror distorting familiar shapes into nightmares, but we changed with it. We learned how to hide from the monsters, how to hunt the altered wildlife and to scavenge from the devil-infested ruins. We sought guidance from the first seers, the yurogi, as some of our children were now blessed with the second sight. We became people used to hardship and deprivation, lean and tough folk who lived by tooth and claw, and died by it.
When the star fell from the western sky, the yurogi cried out as if in great pain. Was it the final judgment of the cruel gods, we wondered, huddling around the campfires or hiding in the secret villages behind impassable mountains? What kind of horrors would heavens bring to the people who weathered it all?
But the warriors sent to seek answers found no new abominations, no nightmares from the sky. Surrounded by the torn and mangled bodies of dead monsters was a single child, albeit strange and twisted in body, hunched and with a pair of sinister, leathery wings. Some amongst them argued that the boy was another devil in an imperfect disguise, a crude imitation of a human. To others, the boy was an unfortunate cripple, a malformed foundling abandoned to die in the wilds.
None thought the child would speak. Fewer still failed to be moved when the boy told them of deliverance waiting for them, calling each of the warriors by name and telling them their fates and innermost desires.
Some of us said that Angelus, the winged savior who would lead the folk of Argos to safety, heard the voices of the gods. Others laughed at them, for the gods were long dead, and their ashes were scattered to the cruel winds. But all agreed that Angelus was a yurog, and the gift of second sight was strong with him.
One by one, the tribes traveled across the blasted wilds to see the wondrous child. Each came away inspired by his sage words and awed by his prodigious strength as he battled monsters and devils, slaying nightmarish creatures and leading us to reclaim our world. As Angelus grew, so did the epic tales of his victories.
Little did we know that the evil we fought against for so long took root in the hearts of men! For some of us took to live alongside the devils and worshipped them, damning their bodies and souls in exchange for power infernal. It was them, the misguided fools who cast their lot with the enemy, who denounced us, whose minions raided our camps and enslaved our brothers for their hellish masters. Some of them, held in favor by their diabolical patrons, were changed into something no longer human, and others clamored for that fate at any price.
Angelus led us against these treasonous curs, uniting the villages and the proud, solitary clans into one great army. Mighty were we under his gray banners, invincible and victorious against the insidious devils. Just as our steel battled the hell-forged iron, our yurogi, taught by great Angelus himself, matched wits and powers against the vile sorceries unleashed by the enemy.
In the end, victory was ours, but the price was great. Many of our warriors and seers lay dead at the hands of the monsters, yet many more stood proud as Angelus ascended the great spire where the winged lord of the devils and his debased followers lived. Many more watched with baited breath as the two great princes, one the champion of humanity and another its enslaver, dueled in the twilit sky, above their mortal and infernal kin. All of us cheered as the great yurog cast the monster down and crushed his wicked skull, forever shattering the devils’ hold on Argos.
Oh, to live in those times! To allow oneself a glimmer of hope as we drove the last of the monsters into the hiding places we once dwelled in, to reclaim the legacy of our ancestors and the future of our children!
But as always, fate made itself known. On the night of the great victory feast celebrating the slaying of another diabolical abomination, another star fell from the western sky, brighter even than the one which foretold of Angelus’ coming. Was it the sign of another invasion, the yurogi wondered, or perhaps another messenger from the gods?
Swiftly did Angelus travel to the site of the fallen star, refusing the company of the best of Argosian warriors and seers. Through the fetid swamps and the blackened forests infested by the surviving devils, through the blasted plains now home to the twisted and murderous wildlife did he fly like a giant bird of prey, never stopping, never tiring. For five days he was gone, and none knew his fate but for the flashes of light on the horizon, thunder in the west that made mothers hold their children closer to their breasts, and warriors sharpen their weapons with wariness and anxiety.
On the sixth day, Angelus returned, but he was not alone. Striding by his side was a radiant giant, a luminescent god whose very image made seasoned warriors fall to their knees in awe. On that very day, Angelus proclaimed that he would ascend to the high heavens alongside his mighty father, and only the strongest warriors of Argos would be fit to accompany him on a far greater struggle.
Little did we know, in our jubilation, that our sorrows were only beginning.
The Great Crusade
Far and wide did the sons of Argos rage. Kings and despots fell by their hand, and monsters from the deepest nightmares were vanquished by their roaring blades. The warriors of distant Terra fought side by side with the brethren of the home world, learning our ways and adopting our traditions.
With the wisdom of the Imperium on his side, Angelus gave his sons the wings of metal and ceramite. With the power of Mars in his thrall, the Grey Prince bestowed the finest weapons and armor to those who would wield them in the name of the Emperor, and for the glory of Argos.
The sky, which was once the domain of monsters and unnatural abominations, became the bringer of death to the enemies of man as the Fourteenth Legion stroke fear into their hearts. Gargoyles, they were called, for the fear that the grotesque creatures inspired, but also for their other property – warding off evil spirits. Thus, spoke Angelus to his men, would his sons forever push back the darkness of the age.
But the children of Argos have a savage fire that beats in our chests. Not for us the life of statesmen or the attraction of finer arts and beauties. Our way of war is swift and merciless, for our enemies knew no mercy for our kind, and all thoughts of compassion were scorched away from our hearts even before the coming of the Grey Prince. Just as we learned war and sacrifice with mother’s milk, we brought our conviction to the wider beyond.
And then, tragedy struck.
Parias, the wretched world with parched skin and hot, poisonous air. Parias, the burning orb where greed and misery ruled, and virtue and honor were but forgotten tales. Parias, where the bonds of brotherhood were forever severed.
For yes, Angelus had brothers, though none would ever seek to understand him. Such is the fate of all yurogi, and it is a lonely one, fraught with doubt and isolation. Only those with the strength could hope to bear the burden of second sight – and what a great burden it is!
The lord of the Peacekeepers, Gideon, was a just and noble man, but even he could not see past the darkness that clouded the Grey Prince’s heart. Who is to say what the gods might have told Angelus? Was it the fiery nature of his sons, or some premonition that only he could have witnessed? Was it a necessary step, or the moment when the fire inside the Gargoyles burned too bright, too fast?
The poor, wretched folk of Parias! How they struggled against the assembled might of two Legions! How they burned as their cities of stone and metal collapsed all around them, burying guilty and innocent alike!
That night became the Legion’s shame, and a blood feud with the sons of Gideon was born. For the Tenth Legion, misguided though may be, never took kindly to the blood and the fire wrought in Gargoyles’ wake.
Savages, they called us, violent mongrels no better than the tyrants we slew! Base creatures who only knew bloodshed and destruction, too vile to serve the noble ideals of the Imperium!
Never before did we know such shame and fury, to be called so by the warriors who would rather stand back than fight hand to hand and claw to claw. Such insult against our honor could not stand.
Some said that the Grey Prince foresaw it, and sought to leave the confrontation. Others yet whispered that perhaps, the gods were no longer speaking to him, or were giving him half-truths and obscure visions. For his wisdom, once so eloquent and clear, became clouded; his voice, once heard above all, became muted in the deep, dark void.
And yet the Legion endures. On its great warships, still the sons of Argos traverse the void, and plant their banners of war under the strange skies. Still their blades taste the lifeblood of enemies of man, even if the visions of the yurogi tell of darker portents and tenebrous futures. For as long as Argos stands, our destiny remains unfulfilled.
Organization
The Legion follows a relatively standard organizational pattern for Legiones Astartes, with multiple Companies making up the bulk of its forces. Each Company size tends to be larger than similar formations in other Legions, while remaining well under Great Company or equivalent size. Most Companies can be anywhere between 200 and 600 Marines strong, although some could go above or below that number.
The Legion has two unique formations. The first one is the Zarivat, a council of senior officers hand-picked by the Primarch to serve as his advisors, as field commanders on multi-Company missions, or for other important purposes. The Zarivat is not a static body, and the number of Marines within it as well as their qualifications tend to change dramatically. The second unique formation are the Hell Guard, the Primarch's bodyguards, who, alone amongst the Fourteenth Legion, utilize Terminator armor. As the Gargoyles prefer quick, brutal strikes over ponderous engagements, the Legion's supplies of Terminator armor are small, and the veterans of Hell Guard are often relegated to ceremonial duties.
Gene-Seed
There is a well-noted tendency towards violent, impulsive, and aggressive behaviors amongst the sons of Angelus, and even the Legion's Terran Marines are not immune to it. The gene-seed is also noted for producing rather powerful psykers amongst the Legion's Librarians, albeit it comes at the cost of higher rejection rate amongst the new recruits. As a result, the Gargoyles were always a slightly smaller than average Legion.
During the Heresy
Already one of the forces held under constant suspicion,
the Gargoyles were quick to fall into the embrace of Slaanesh on the world of
Taramin, even before Iskanderos’ own conversion. The Dark Prince offered the
Fourteenth Legion a chance to fully embrace their savage natures, and to
abandon whatever ties they still maintained to humanity, which made them
natural allies to Iskanderos. As Angelus himself retreated into the blissful,
quasi-animalistic state where he let go of all human notions and all concerns
of being, his position was usurped by the New Zarivat, a collection of
corrupted commanders led by Isaiah, formerly one of the Legion’s most brutal
assault company officers.
Ordered by the Council to suppress the Imperial Redeemers
at Apella, the Gargoyles had no intention of following Rogr Hemri’s orders, and
turned on the loyalists at the first opportunity. When the Iconoclasts had
similarly changed sides, the outcome was an outright massacre.
Though the Fourteenth Legion was never the most
disciplined force, Iskanderos realized that with their recent conversion, they became
as dangerous to his careful war planning as they were to the Council. As a
result, the Conqueror ordered Isaiah to take the Gargoyles to the galactic
north, where their campaign of wanton destruction and genocide would hopefully
draw off considerably Council forces.
As the news of the Fourteenth Legion’s rampage began to
reach Terra, Rogr Hemri dispatched Kthuln and Jaws of the Deep to bring the
traitorous sons of Argos to justice. Though Kthuln was one of the most
formidable warriors the galaxy had ever produced, the corrupted Gargoyles were
easily as savage as their opponents, and the confrontations between the two
Legions turned to some of the most bloody fighting in the rebellion. More than
once, Imperial scouting teams happened upon the sites of battles where entire
squads or even companies were torn to shreds with chainswords or even teeth,
leaving no survivors as the last of the Space Marines bled out trying to finish
off their enemies.
Under the influence of Slaanesh, the Gargoyles slowly became
less willing to throw their lives away, forcing them to shift towards
hit-and-run tactics while still pillaging any habitable world they encountered.
Several commanders, learning more about Warpcraft than was necessary or
conducive to sanity, began to take their forces in separate directions, often
pursuing objectives that had nothing to do with the Legion’s goals. It was
during one of these expeditions that the Gargoyles learned of particular
importance of Eldar soulstones, and of their value to She Who Thirsts,
prompting many aspiring warlords to abandon all pretense of the civil war in
search for the Eldar to slaughter and sacrifice to Slaanesh.
Alarmed, the Eldar of the Biel-Tan Craftworld contacted
Kthuln and offered him a temporary alliance to stop the rampaging Gargoyles.
Though Kthuln had his own misgivings at trusting the notoriously duplicitous
xenos breed, he was growing frustrated with his inability to bring the
Gargoyles to decisive battle, and decided to coordinate the campaign with his alien
allies.
This alliance bore fruit almost immediately, uncovering
the hidden Gargoyles base under the ice on a frozen ocean moon and forcing the
confrontation the Fourteenth Legion sought to avoid. Great was the slaughter,
costing many aspiring champions life and limb, however, despite the Gargoyles’
savagery the outcome was not in doubt. Their cause was harmed even further when
the sacrifice of Eldar soulstones gave Isaiah his daemonic ascension, throwing
the remaining command structure of the Legion into disarray. With the Jaws of
the Deep able to utilize their amphibious warfare expertise to their fullest
extent, the Gargoyles were on the verge of total annihilation when salvation
arrived from the unexpected corner.
In the aftermath of the battle, the Gargoyles were able to
salvage a considerable proportion of their strength before joining the armada
of Iskanderos in his push towards Segmentum Solar. Their arrival was timely;
though the Conqueror was able to subvert the Doom Reavers and to make considerably
headway against the loyalist defenses, the more numerous and better equipped
Council Legions were now beginning to fully mobilize, and the rebels sorely
needed any reinforcements they could get. As Griven Kall declared for
Iskanderos, the Gargoyles found themselves a part of the offensive into the
heart of the Council Territory.
Understanding the nature of the Fourteenth Legion,
Iskanderos did not attempt to control them as he might have with a more
reliable force. Instead, the Gargoyles were allowed to freely roam throughout
the Segmentum, given a mandate to terrorize and force the Council to divert
forces to the defense of otherwise unimportant worlds. In this role, the
hardened killers of the Gargoyles excelled, drawing off Peacekeeper garrisons
and formations while taunting the Tenth Legion with the recordings of slaughter
of their brothers on Taramin. Because of the Gargoyles’ actions, Iskanderos was
able to focus his strength against the other Council forces, destroying them
piecemeal or isolating pockets of enemy strength where he could defeat or
bypass them.
In the assault on Terra, the Gargoyles were unleashed
against the civilian population as well as against the Imperial Army
formations. It is estimated that the actions of the Fourteenth Legion were
responsible for the depopulation of the Throne World during the apocalyptic
conflict, though these did not come without cost. As the Gargoyles hunted
civilians and lesser soldiery for sport, they became vulnerable to the
precision attacks from the Consecrators, who often used the Fourteenth Legion’s
lack of restraint against them in luring them into ambushes.
Post-Heresy
Though the Gargoyles were instrumental to war in Segmentum
Solar, there is considerable evidence that Iskanderos intended to do away with
the Fourteenth Legion in peacetime due to their general unreliability and
excesses. If these plans were made, the death of Iskanderos ensured that they
never came to pass, and the coterie of murderers and monsters calling itself
the Gargoyles continues to terrorize the galaxy to this day.
Already a Legion with a strong
independent streak, the Gargoyles began to fracture long before their fateful
march on Terra. A number of the higher ranking Legion commanders had already
placed their personal desires before the Legion needs, resulting in a number of
daemonic ascensions, and creating a crisis of leadership. The death of
Iskanderos removed the last authority the Fourteenth Legion had recognized, and
no single Legion officer had enough prestige (or, for that matter, interest) to
keep the Legion together as a cohesive whole.
As a result, the Gargoyles of
the present era are less a Legion and more a designation given to an array of
renegades who vary wildly in composition and capabilities, have no singular
structure or chain of command, and who may be found in any corner of the galaxy
pursuing their own unfathomable objective. Some Gargoyle raiders took
particular pleasure in attacking the worlds of Topian Dominion, committing
atrocities in the name of their long-standing rivalry with the Peacekeepers,
while others may be found as mercenaries in the ranks of Chaos-aligned warlords
of Segmentum Solar. A number of ambitious commanders bearing the colors of the
Fourteenth seek to discern the whims of Slaanesh to secure their own daemonic
ascension, willing to commit any atrocity imaginable for the slightest chance
at immortality.
The records differ on the
ultimate fate of Angelus. Some chroniclers claim that he was slain by his men
as he began to regain a semblance of lucidity, challenging their takeover of
his Legion. Others believe that the Grey Prince received the ultimate reward
from the Ruinous Powers, ascending to daemonhood and retreating from the
affairs of the mortals. And yet, there are cautious whispers in the dark, away
from the ears of the Remnant security agents, that tell yet another story.
Though Argos has been
transformed by the coming of the Imperium, the civil war had cut it off from
most communication. Once again, storms of wild magicks dance across its dark
skies, while its primitive and superstitious people huddle by their weak fires
and pray to the savage gods armored in grey to protect them from the monsters
in the night.
There is a monster, the tales
say, who is too powerful even for the grey gods to defeat, too stealthy for the
mortal eyes to observe unless it is the last thing they would ever see. On dark
wings of black storm it flies, its talons the color of dried blood and violent,
unmerciful death. Earth itself trembles when it wanders close to makeshift
villages, as the fearful elders leave pallid offerings of their young in hopes
of placating the creature and of extending their own survival. No village, no
kingdom is spared its wrath; no blade is equal to the task of ending its
rampage, and no two rumors describe it the same but for one thing – its mad,
joyful, almost human laughter…
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