Death Guard – Unbroken Resolve
I looked unto him and saw Death. Silent, gaunt and pale. He was the Emperor's Fourteenth Son, but he was more than that… he was the Reaper of Souls.
-Excerpt from the Stygian Scrolls, composed by Lackland Thorn
Origins-
There are few threats more pervasive to Mankind than xenos. Chaos is deemed the greatest threat to Mankind's soul, decreed so by Ecclesiarchy, while the Adeptus Arbites believe it is uncontrolled lawlessness and governmental corruption that threatens the Imperium most of all, but it is xenos that have haunted humanity far before the rise of the Imperium of Man and continue to do so.
Ever since the First Exodus from the Cradle of Mankind, alien races have fought, enslaved and exterminated humans. For countless millennia this has occurred uninterrupted, even during the Age of Technology where the first human empire spanned the galaxy effectively unopposed. The union between Terra and Mars gave birth to the Imperium, combining their resources for the great task ahead. Imperial Expeditionary Fleets rapidly expanded beyond the borders of Sol, eager to bring about Mankind's Manifest Destiny and spread the Imperial Truth. As the Expeditionary Fleets journeyed throughout the galaxy they encountered thousands of worlds where humans were enslaved and, on occasion, no more than livestock to xenos overlords.
One such world was Barbarus, a Feral World in the Segmentum Tempestus. Here a xenos species, thought to be an off-shoot of the Eldar or their more nefarious cousins, ruled absolute over the human population, having conquered the planet millennia ago with contemptuous ease. Barbarus was unlike most habitable worlds that Mankind had claimed for its own. It was a world thick with poisonous fog, dominated by vast mountain ranges that soared into toxic clouds where little lived. It was here in these unreachable heights that the xenos fortresses were protected from the human masses and from which they sallied forth to enslave and torment humans for their own amusement and to engage in endless wars with one another over territory and resources, using human corpses reanimated with necromancy as a never-ending supply of cheap cannon-fodder.
The xenos were, thankfully, not a united force, divided into hundreds of fiefdoms with competing ambitions. Century after century saw these xenos fight amongst each other, rarely changing the status quo. That was until the rise of the Warlord of Barbarus. It is unknown what the Warlord's name was or if he even had one, but the Warlord quickly proved himself a warrior and general without peer, rising from command of a minor fiefdom to controlling a quarter of Barbarus within a scant few decades. The other xenos, wary of this young lord of war, banded together in a coalition to stop the Warlord. In that, they were partially successful.
Victory had never tasted so foul to the Warlord. Despite the field of battle being his, he knew this success had ruined him. The greatest victory he had ever won, a single army arrayed against a dozen others, and only his warriors remained standing. Yet his army was barely a tenth of what he had marched from his border fortress. It would not be enough to conquer what remained.
The Warlord surveyed the battlefield, seeing millions of reanimated human corpses, thousands of war-vehicles, and even dozens of his own kind. Though the coalition had been defeated, their armies wiped out, they would recover faster than he would. In only a few years their armies would march on his lands, rebuilt and expanded, arrayed against his highly trained and well-equipped but much diminished army. He had the leadership and the equipment but they had the numbers and the desperation of those knowing that if they failed they would be victim to his non-existent mercy.
Contempt and frustration built up in him, coursing through his veins like poison. He roared in anger and lashed out with his powers, his retinue having shielded themselves from the psychic outburst but the nearby undead were not so lucky. Blood poured from their eyes, noses and ears, their moans of pain bringing little pleasure to the Warlord who typically enjoyed such things, though preferring them from living humans who could feel all his sadistic ministrations. His lieutenants and guard backed away, knowing their master's anger was rarely seen but never safe to be around.
Before another lashing out, a piercing cry erupted from nearby. He noticed it was not a cry for help or pain but of something else. Intrigued on what it could be in the midst of a field of death, the Warlord moved to where the sound originated. There, in a crater where a metal pod had crashed and broken apart, lay a baby. It was pale, hairless, and its crying annoyed the Warlord, yet he was fascinated that a mere human baby was breathing the air without a rebreather and not perishing instantaneous. Despite his curiosity, he frowned in disgust and reached for his manreaper, but the baby's crying suddenly ceased and it opened its eyes.
The Warlord did not know what it was about those pale, colourless eyes, but they held onto him, unmoving and unblinking. There was no fear. This was no mere human child… but something else, something created, not born. Releasing Silence, he reached down and scooped the infant up. Turning, he made way to his command aerocopter, pondering as to what would come about due to sparing of the star-child.
The Warlord had secured his greatest victory in his decades long war of conquest, but in doing so had crippled his forces, leaving him vulnerable to an inevitable counter-attack. The Warlord, despite his cunning and cruelty, would have undoubtedly lost to the combined might of the other xenos overlords. But fate or happenstance changed that outcome, for in the centre of his pyrrhic victory, the Warlord discovered a primarch, the Fourteenth Son of the Emperor, a demigod whom he named Mortarion, the child of death.
Intrigued by the primarch, the Warlord returned to his primary fortress that resided along the flank of one of the most imposing mountains on Barbarus. There the Warlord watched in mute awe as the primarch rapidly grew from a small child to a young man in barely a year. Mortarion was taught to be the most formidable weapon in the Warlord's arsenal and in this the primarch excelled, surpassing all expectations. The Warlord, who saw Mortarion as a son of sorts, nevertheless noted the primarch's vaunted resilience to the toxic atmosphere and the threat he could one day pose, and decided to move his personal mansion to the top of the mountain as a precaution, an environment where not even Mortarion could safely venture.
Despite his reservations of Mortarion, the Warlord had grown desperate as during the years of training his adopted son, the coalition had advanced steadily into his lands, halving them by the time the Warlord unleashed Mortarion upon them. Mortarion fought and won dozens of battles in rapid succession, defeating the coalition and reclaiming his adoptive father's lost territory. Despite lacking their numbers and quantity of equipment, the primarch more than made up these shortfalls with his flawless tactics and an uncompromising ruthless drive for victory. It did not take long for the Warlord armies, commanded by Mortarion, began to go on the offensive, taking the fight to the rest of Barbarus. One by one the xenos fortresses were taken, their non-human defenders slayed to the last creature while the undead humans were brought under the command of the Warlord's necromancers.
Another of the undead walked past him, shuffling, jaw slacked, eyes milky white. Its hands were bleeding but it did not notice. It carried a rusted bolt action projectile rifle and no armour. Its existence did not matter, it was but a tool of war, a resource to be used then uncaringly discarded. That's what he had been told, but Mortarion was not a fool. He publicly accepted that the reanimated corpses were leftovers from the world's previous inhabitants, merely brought back to a state of living and repurposed to be of use, but he privately knew them to be humans and that the constant resupply of them bespoke of a viable population that lived beneath the worst of the toxic fog.
But Mortarion could not go against his father's empire alone. He would act the compliant son, carrying out his wars and winning them all. While his father believed it was to bring glory and power to him, Mortarion had other reasons to conquer the world. Every fortress he captured, every one of the tall, lithe other-kind he killed was one less to fight against when he left the Warlord's service. Secreting equipment and armaments into hidden caches would also go a long way into arming the humans.
As another of the undead shuffled by atop the bastion's walls of his most recent conquest, he felt pity for the creature. It was of his species, no matter what the Warlord proclaimed. He had called them animals, soft and vulnerable, yet Mortarion knew himself to be one and he was far from weak. He knew his father feared him… and one day those fears would be proven right.
Mortarion took a deep breath, feeling the familiar burn the air brought, taking comfort in it, before shouldering his manreaper and walking back into the bastion proper, going off to execute the surrendered other-kind. His father had demanded no prisoners, and Mortarion was more than willing to do so. He bared his teeth, a rare and ghastly sight, in the knowledge that his 'father' was sowing the seeds of his own destruction.
In less than a decade, Mortarion had defeated all before him and the Warlord reigned supreme over Barbarus, yet it was not too last. Mortarion, long forbidden by the Warlord from descending into the world's deep valleys where the poison fog was thin, and even in some cases non-existent, had grown restless of his adoptive father's restrictions and sought what lived there in the valleys and chasms, wishing to confirm his suspicions that his own species resided there. And Mortarion was proved right when he came across a village, full of living, breathing human beings, the first he had seen. While observing, Mortarion heard laughter. Not the condescending or triumphant barking laughter of the Warlord or his other-kind warriors but of genuine, humour-filled laughter. After days of observation, Mortarion knew he could never return to the Warlord for he had finally found his people. Mortarion's hatred of his foster father and his ilk grew tenfold as Mortarion realised that for years innumerable the humans of the valleys had been naught but easy prey. The suffering his people had endured pained the primarch but took comfort in that they still had found ways to enjoy life, laugh, and love one another. Mortarion found himself admiring them, noting their strength and fortitude, intrigued by their sense of community and the well of strength that represented.
Mortarion approached the village, whose denizens hesitantly allowed the gaunt outsider to live among them though many held reservations. But Mortarion was patient and helped haul in their meagre harvest and repair their assortment of half-corroded machinery, allowing clean water and resources to be more easily accessible. Mortarion slowly gained the villagers' trust but knew they would not fully accept him, not unless they were threatened. And threatened they became.
A minor lieutenant of the Warlord led a host of xenos and undead to the village, intent on raiding it for slaves. The humans, armed with farming equipment, torches and little else, readied to fight the attackers as they had done innumerable times previously. The xenos had expected a typical easy raid but it quickly devolved as Mortarion took to the field. The primarch had brought a small cache of weaponry for the villagers to arm themselves with, of which they did so enthusiastically. Wielding his manreaper in one hand and a farming scythe in the other, the primarch quickly defeated the lieutenant's forces, leaving none alive. The villagers, thankful to their saviour, fully accepted Mortarion and elevated him to leadership of the village.
The primarch acted quickly as word of the host's destruction would soon reach the Warlord. Mortarion travelled to dozens of villages, using his blunt charisma and force of personality to win them to his side. He began training thousands of humans as soldiers, using hastily constructed firearms and bladed weapons in conjunction with secreted armament caches to arm the villagers. Under Mortarion's supervision, this ad-hoc motley collection of peasant farmers had transformed into competent warriors, disciplined and resilient. Within a few weeks another xenos host, larger and better equipped than the first, had arrived and was soundly defeated by Mortarion and his soldiers, whom he dubbed the Death Guard in the battle's aftermath.
After these early victories, the humans fought the xenos planet-wide, overrunning many of the remaining fortresses, using primitive suits of power armour created by Mortarion to reach and fight in the toxic fog that clung alongside the mountains. As each fortress fell, the weapons and resources at the Death Guard's disposal grew, and under Mortarion's leadership they lost not a single battle.
Finally, after years of endless campaigning and so much death, Mortarion had surrounded the last fortress, that of the Warlord. The capture of the fortress took weeks but its fate wasn't in doubt, but the Warlord withdrew to his fortified mansion atop the mountain's peak. The primarch was unable to reach him despite his advanced physiology for the poison fog was deadly, even to him. The Death Lord, as his followers reverently called him, crafted more durable power armour and more efficient rebreather equipment yet even these.
Thus the Warlord and the last few of his xenos remained alive but too few in number to reclaim the world they had once ruled with an iron fist while the humans were unable to reach their former oppressors. This all changed with the arrival of the Emperor.
The Emperor had arrived to the human war-camp at the base of the Warlord's mountain and revealed Himself to Mortarion. Mortarion, wary of another who dared stated he was the primarch's father, refused the Emperor's offer to join the Imperium. After much discussion between the two, the Fourteenth Primarch struck a bargain. Mortarion said he would only join the Imperium if he was unable to kill the Warlord within the next month but if the xenos overlord died by his hand then Barbarus would remain independent of the Imperium. The Emperor agreed.
Mortarion spent the next month constructing his most advanced and resistant power armour possible with the resources available to him. It would theoretically allow him to weather the mountain peak's upper levels of poisonous clouds. Day after day he tirelessly worked on it and on the thirtieth day, the primarch marched to confront the demagogue.
The air was thick with poison, armour visibly corroding with each step. His chest heaved, lungs extracting what little oxygen existed in the air. Every foot forward took immense effort, body weak and aching as it attempted to heal itself and slowly failing.
Mortarion's throat rasped as he fell to his knees before the gates of the mansion. So close, he thought, so damn close. He hit his hands on the black gate, hammering away, denting the metal but as he became weaker his blows became softer until finally there was no strength left. As his vision turned black, he at least felt relief that he would no longer serve another who dared to call him son. He would die his own man.
Mortarion awoke on the cold, hard earth of the mountain side. The pain was not gone, but it had lessened to a degree. His lungs felt scarred and a noticeable rasp escaped his lips with each breath. At first he thought he was alone, such was his disorientation at first, but alas he was not.
The 'Emperor of Mankind' as he so grandiosely named himself, sat across from him. Had he always been so short? Mortarion could have sworn the Emperor had been taller, broader in the shoulders but he appeared thinner, older. He blinked and the Emperor's aged appearance disappeared as if it never existed, replaced by the powerful figure who had first introduced himself to Mortarion a month ago. Though his 'creator' wore nothing but a dark cloak with a double eagle broach, the demigod knew the figure was more powerful than him. And there was something else, something otherworldly, a power of the other-kind that the Emperor held within. Mortarion could smell the witch-taint on him. It disgusted him, reminding him of the Warlord.
"I failed," he said.
"You did," replied the Emperor.
"I am to kneel then? Become your servant?"
"Not my servant, but my son, my warrior, and my commander."
"A servant all the same," he remarked bitterly. "I have unfinished business here."
"Yes, you do."
"And I cannot reach that motherless bastard. He is beyond me."
The Emperor stood and withdrew from his cloak two items. One was a rebreather of intricate design, the other a manreaper. Both were evidently crafted by a master artisan. On the manreaper's hardwood pole it sported eagles, lightning bolts, and skulls inlaid into it.
"It is not my place to finish what you started, Mortarion. You began the unification of this world," the Emperor extended the manreaper and rebreather, "and you will see it conclude, not I. And when you kill him, I will present you with a choice. Join the Imperium of your own free will, or deny me and rule your world independently, never to hear from me or the Imperium ever again."
Mortarion was silent, mind pondering. "You would take the risk that I would refuse your offer a second time?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I know you will make the right choice."
Mortarion found himself nodding slowly. He had made his choice. It was clear the Emperor wanted his allegiance but would not force it. Was his creator, his father, a man worth fighting for? Mortarion was beginning to feel that He was.
"Now go, my son, seek your revenge; kill the xenos for nothing is beyond you now."
Mortarion reached for the items, knowing everything was about to change.
Mortarion, now re-armed with the manreaper he named Perseverance and a highly modified rebreather of advanced design, ascended the mountain once more and this time was able to ascend to the peak with ease. There he broke down the gate of the Warlord's mansion, slew the guards and attendants, and confronted the tyrant in his throne room. Both wielded manreapers and both drew wounds, but the primarch found himself victorious, the Warlord's psyker powers proving ineffective against the demigod, and Mortarion slew the Warlord, taking Silence as a trophy and for remembrance.
Mortarion returned to the Emperor, fell to his knees in supplication and swore eternal allegiance to the Master of Mankind. It is said the Emperor smiled kindly and raised His Son up off from his knees and embraced him.
Great Crusade-
The Fourteenth Legion was quickly introduced to their primogenitor within months of Barbarus joining the Imperial fold. Brought before his sons, who were named Dusk Raiders for their favoured tactic of assault, Mortarion found himself proud of their accomplishments. To honour his mortal warriors who had helped cleanse the world of xenos oppression and the Legion he had just acquired, Mortarion renamed the XIV, stating, "You are my unbroken blade. You are the Death Guard. By your hand shall justice be delivered, and doom shall stalk a thousand worlds." Now led by their gene-sire, bearing new colours and name, the XIV returned to conquer the stars for humanity.
It was rumoured amongst the Imperial masses that for every xenos species wiped from existence, the Death Guard had a hand in its destruction. Though this is an unrealistic and untrue statement, the Fourteenth Legion nevertheless became renowned for its military actions against various alien species. Such was their proficiency that by the time the Great Crusade came to a sudden halt following the betrayal of the Fallen Eight Legions, the Death Guard held the record of most xenos species exterminated.
When asked by Roboute Guilliman why the Death Guard so rarely brought human worlds to compliance, the Death Lord explained that to do so would be a waste of his Legion's talents and as a result very few human worlds were brought to compliance by the XIV during the Great Crusade, preferring to leave such campaigns to their cousins more adept at integrating worlds into the Imperium. While others dismantled, rebuilt and re-educated, the Death Guard simply destroyed.
Farseer Yelsin Cassadarri limped through the smoke-clogged hallways of his Craftworld. Every corpse he passed saddened him, another burden upon an already weary soul. Not even the scattered few dead of the mon-keigh brightened his demeanour. They were too many and had suffered too few. Il'sariadh was lost. Another Craftworld destroyed by mon-keigh warmongering, another remnant of the Asuryani wiped from existence.
As he walked down the once elegant corridors of his ruined home, he reflected on how this had come to transpire. The mon-keigh had destroyed seven Craftworld in five years, their resolve to hunt down the Children of Isha having grown firmer in recent decades. Four Craftworlds, tired of being destroyed in their self-imposed isolation, had come together to combine their resources to ensure their survival, believing that the Imperium would be hesitant to take on such a powerful force.
They were wrong.
The mon-keigh, spearheaded by those monstrous Astartes in their white and green armour, attacked the four Craftworlds, using their numbers and tactical ferociousness of one of their god-like generals. Within hours the other defence fleets had been broken, the other Craftworlds boarded and overrun, while Il'sariadh fled. They had hoped to evade the Imperials and flee to safety. Again they had been wrong. A Space Marine battlegroup had lain in wait, predicting that a Craftworld would attempt retreat, and had crippled Cassadarri's home. Then they had been boarded and that was when the killings truly began.
Even now he could hear screams echoing through halls that once bustled with life and laughter. His species couldn't even die a noble death; rather they were being butchered like animals.
From his left, down the hall, a door exploded outwards and a squad of their monsters came storming in. They quickly spotted him but did not fire, recognising his rank via his staff and clothing, bloodied and dirtied that it was.
He attempted to use his powers but they were spent, his body and soul beyond weary. As he raised his staff to channel what little energy he had left his hand holding the staff exploded, one of their warrior's oversized guns smoking from firing. The psychic backlash threw Cassadarri to the wall, smacking his head against the smooth wraithbone wall. He was dazed, blood pouring from an open wound on his head.
Within seconds he felt a collar locked around his throat and his link to the Empyrean disappeared. A brute in dirty white amour with dark green trim lifted him up from the debris-littered ground one handed. Cassadarri could hear their primitive communication, despite their helms.
"Battle-captain, target secured. Orders?"
"We are to escort the target to the Endurance. The primarch will wish to interrogate the prisoner himself."
A sense of dread overcame the farseer. The Lord of Death was here? Then his fate was sealed… By the gods, he prayed, grant him a quick death.
While most Legions divided themselves into scores, if not hundreds of detachments, the XIV were very different in this regard. Mortarion greatly believed in the use of concentrated mass deployment of legionnaires, overwhelmingly the enemy with their disciplined numbers and unwavering resolve. Due to the Death Guard's poor relation with the Mechanicum and their preference to not fight alongside regiments of the Imperial Army, the Fourteenth Legion did not fight with an abundance of heavy equipment or vehicles nor had much in the way of mortal auxiliary support, thus creating an infantry-centred war doctrine. To better cleanse the galaxy of xenos filth, the Death Guard divided themselves into three large detachments of roughly thirty to thirty-five thousand legionnaires. One was commanded by the primarch, another by the First Captain and the last by the Commander, the third in command of the Legion. Though the Legion did come together for grand campaigns such as the Third Rangdan Xenocides, for which the Death Guard won the respect of many of its fellow Astartes, they were typically deployed in this division of three powerful taskforces.
Though this deployment ensured the Death Guard won many wars of extermination and helped solidify the Imperium's borders and expand the Emperor's Realm, it also planted the seeds of their near-destruction.
For the Ullanor Crusade, the Death Guard were unavailable, their three detachments all undergoing their own campaigns when the Emperor gathered His mighty host to take down Urrlak Urruk's empire. Mortarion is recorded as having attended the Ullanor Triumph and was a strong supporter of Horus Lupercal's elevation to Warmaster.
Months later at the Council of Nikaea, the primarch, despite his well-known distaste for psykers, remained neutral and chose to support whatever decision the Emperor made, surprising Russ and Corax who had counted on the Death Lord's support. Following the Nikaen Edict, the XIV returned to the Great Crusade's frontlines.
In the years after the Triumph of Ullanor, Mortarion focused his third of the XIV in cleansing the untamed Halcyon Nebula. Dozens of xenos species had been eradicated, Imperial colonists flooding into the conquered sector, when panicked astropathic reports reached him that the Warmaster had been gravely wounded on Davin and had subsequently been placed in stasis for transport to Terra to be healed. The Emperor called on Mortarion to assist Him in healing Horus, knowing of the Death Lord's proficiency with poisons and toxins. It was hoped by the Master of Mankind that with their combined efforts that Horus would be saved from what appeared to be impending demise. Mortarion quickly departed for the Throneworld with an honour guard of five thousand legionnaires, commanded by Battle-Captain Nathaniel Garro.
Arriving to Terra, the primarch assisted the Emperor in purging the virulent contaminants from Horus' body. During this trying ordeal, the Night Lords went rogue and Magnus unleashed psychic devastation on Sol. Amidst the chaos of the situation, the primarch put the command of the entire Fourteenth Legion, barring the five thousand honour guard, under his First Captain's command and ordered them to make way to Bellanor as part of the Retribution Armada. Meanwhile, the Death Guard legionnaires in Sol were ordered to help maintain order on the Throneworld, fighting alongside the Silent Sisterhood in purging cultist activity that erupted in Terran underhives.
While Battle-Captain Garro commanded his brothers in stabilising Terra and Mortarion helped heal the First Found, the remaining ninety thousand Death Guard Astartes made way to Bellanor IV to eliminate the rebel Night Haunter and his get.
Treachery Within-
Typhon the Black
The most notorious Astartes to ever originate from Barbarus was without a doubt Typhon the Black. Coming from humble origins as a peasant's son, Calas Typhon was selected for Legion induction mere months after the Warlord's death. He quickly passed all trials set before him and his body accepted the many surgeries placed upon it. For years Typhon fought as a mere battle-brother, earning the attention and favour of Mortarion. It is unknown by modern Imperial chroniclers when Typhon ascended to the rank of First Captain, but it is known he fought during the Second Rangdan Xenocides as a company officer and that there were three who preceded him in that post.
For over a century Typhon had been the primarch's second-in-command, ruthlessly following his gene-sire's orders. But this outward obedience was merely a façade. Underneath his supposedly loyal exterior was a man corrupted by one of the Fell Powers. There are conflicting reports on how and when Typhon became corrupted by Nurgle. The Death Guard state it occurred during one of his Great Crusade expeditions, while the Inquisition believes Typhon's family was a Nurglite cult on Barbarus though the First Founding Chapter fervently denies this. Nevertheless by the time Konrad Curze had gone rogue and Magnus' psychic prowess had assaulted Terra, Typhon was without a doubt a Chaos lord who had corrupted his third of the Fourteenth Legion due to its relative isolation from the rest of the Death Guard.
Since the Heresy, Typhon the Black has risen to command a vast host of warriors, the core being his Traitor Death Guard whom he renamed the Black Legion following the Dropsite Massacre. He has been a consistent blight upon the Imperium, leading to the mortal wounding of Roboute Guilliman and ravaging the Fifty Worlds of Ultramar in mid-M32, alongside dozens of other major incursions, including several Black Crusades. Typhon, going by the name of Typhus the Traveller, has remained a high valued target and is considered a Vermillion-level threat. His appearances in Imperial space are treated with extreme caution and see to the mass deployment of considerable Imperial resources to counter the threat the Master of the Black Legion poses. It is to no surprise that the Death Guard and its Successor Chapters are ever vigilant in pursuing Typhon, eager to end the stain on their honour that he represents. Thus far, they have been unsuccessful but not by lack of trying.
Typhon is one of the more powerful warlords within the Great Eye, having once contended against Tyberius Sakaeron millennia ago for the position of War Commander. Though he does not have the powerbase of Sakaeron, he does have the favour of Nurgle and has vast resources at his disposal, making him a vital asset to the Archenemy's cause. Imperial Intelligence predicts that Typhon and his Black Legion will constitute a major force within the traitor forces for the upcoming Eleventh Vengeance Crusade.
The Death Guard arrived to Bellanor to quash the Nostraman legionnaires. They were slotted for the first wave of the loyalist assault. Fifty-five thousand Death Guard legionnaires landed alongside the Blood Angels and Salamanders, securing the Angel's flanks. Some questioned why a third of the Legion was held in reserve and why Commander Ignatius Grulgor and not First Captain Typhon led them into battle. Such questions were deflected and ignored, and orders were given. For hours the loyalists fought against the Night Lords, securing drop-zones for the incoming second wave. But when the second wave came it brought not victory but treachery.
The loyalist Death Guard were severely mauled, its ranks cut down by the Word Bearers and their own brothers. Thousands died in the opening salvoes. Sanguinius rallied the Throne-loyal legionnaires and the Bellanor Exodus followed but at great cost. Out of the fifty-five thousand loyal Death Guard Space Marines that landed on Bellanor IV, only six thousand were able to escape. Another humiliation was that the flagship Endurance had been captured by those loyal to the First Captain. While the Blood Angels withdrew to the Grejor's System's Talas Station for refit and resupply, the depleted Salamanders split into two fleets. The first and largest was despatched to the Draco Sector by a near-dead Vulkan, ordered to fortify and ready the Drake Lord's realm for any traitor incursions and to protect his people. The second carried the mortally wounded Vulkan in a stasis pod and it was this fleet that the surviving XIV Astartes accompanied.
Porphyricus unleashed another bolt of lightning against the encroaching daemons, burning warp-flesh, daemonic ichor dripping to the floor with a hiss. Sapped of strength, he raised his bolt pistol and fired until it clicked dry. He withdrew, allowing a half-dozen warriors from two Legions to step forward to unload bolter fire unto the daemonic horde. The creatures screamed as their bodies died, their corrupted essence returned to the Immaterium. The daemons died before they reached the Space Marines. Astartes reloaded as they awaited the next wave. Four assaults had come and gone, with two reaching the legionnaires and the transhuman warriors suffering as a result, but each time the enemy had been pushed back, defied, and the line held. The battlecruiser Nuvarrok held nearly three hundred Astartes of the XIV and the XVIII and only together had they survived thus far. Sol was still far away and the enemy was relentless.
The Death Guard Librarian slumped to the metal floor, taking time to recover before the enemy returned. Atesh Tarsa, a Salamander Apothecary, knelt next to him, checking his vitals via a narthecium, tapping into his war-plate's machine-spirit for the data.
"I am fine, cousin. I just need to rest."
Tarsa nodded, patting Porphyricus on the shoulder before moving to help another legionnaire, a Barbaran who had been impaled by spikes of warp-energy, the wounds refusing to close. Minutes passed and the ship shuddered, its Geller Field suffering more malfunctions and the Librarian knew more of the enemy had boarded. Clutching an Aquila pendant, he rose to face it.
The trip to Terra was difficult, plagued by warp storms and daemonic incursions, as well as sabotage by Typhon-loyalists that had secreted themselves amongst the Death Guard fleet. Several times the loyalists became lost in the warp, the light of the Astronomican nearly lost to them by nefarious false gods. Ships were lost, casualties mounted, but the fortitude of the loyalists remained strong. The Salamanders and Death Guard grew close during this difficult endeavour, establishing bonds of brotherhood that are upheld even to this day over ten thousand years later.
Despite all the hardships suffered and seemingly impossible tasks overcome, the Salamander-Death Guard fleet eventually arrived to Terra after months of effort. There the Death Lord scoured his Legion of any Typhon-saboteurs. After a year of purging the ranks and ensuring Terra had been largely cleansed of traitor cults, the Death Guard departed Sol to return to the war and help whittle down traitor forces advancing on the Sol System.
Mortarion's Death Guard, just over ten thousand, fought in dozens of battles. Attacking supply depots and worlds sworn to the War Commander were the preferred tactics. As a result of their low numbers, Mortarion was forced to heavily rely on mortal support to carry out the many raids he organised, desperately needing Army manpower and battlegroups for his strategies. Therefore throughout the Fulgrimian Heresy, the Death Lord commanded a considerable Army fleet and ground assets that greatly bolstered his fighting strength and allowed for more daring attacks on traitor forces.
One of the more noted actions the XIV undertook was the surprise assault on the White Scars during the Heresy's second year. A significant portion of the Fifth Legion had anchored itself above the dead world of Prospero. Seeing the Chogorians as vulnerable and a rare chance to kill a Traitor Primarch, Mortarion attacked the White Scars.
Jaghatai's tulwar flashed through the air, too fast for mortal or even transhuman eyes and nearly too fast for a primarch. Mortarion blocked it, barely, and lunged forward with his fist, breaking the traitor's nose. In response, Jaghatai lunged and his power sword pierced through the armour and meat of Mortarion's left thigh. Hissing in pain, Mortarion swung Perseverance in a wide arc, forcing his brother to withdraw.
They had been fighting for hours, their bodyguards whittled down to only a handful of warriors. All around the Death Lord were the remains of a city that once shone with light, now naught but ruins and ruled by whispers of the dead. Despite the Burning happening well over a year ago, Mortarion could smell the lingering witch-taint. It seemed Russ was right all along, something had been wrong with Magnus. Maybe the Edict of Nikaea should have been more stringent, more limiting. Had the Librarian Compromise been too lenient, too forgiving?
Such thoughts were interrupted as the Khan flew at him, all rage, mobility and lethal finesse. Mortarion blocked most of the blade-thrusts but not all. Blocking with his manreaper, he quickly unsheathed a jagged Barbaran dagger and stabbed forward into Jaghatai's chest. Blood dripped from the wound as his brother turned to pull it out and spun back into the melee. Mortarion could take on far more damage than his brother but was not nearly as fast. They were in a stalemate.
"My primarch," came the wizened voice of Reaper's Scythe shipmaster.
"What?" he barked into the vox, blocking another tulwar strike.
"Lord, White Scar reinforcements have arrived in-system. I count over two hundred warships clustered around the Mandeville point with more emerging every moment."
Mortarion snarled, frustrated anger welling up in made his choice quickly. If he stayed he and his Legion would die useless deaths. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take.
"Order the fleet to disengage, head to Mandeville point beta-two. Use the 73rd Heavy Battlegroup as a shield. I am returning to you now."
"Lord." The link was cut. Mortarion knew the Army battlegroup would die to a man, their bravery and loyalty buying them an early grave. But they were many, easy to replace, while the Death Guard were few and difficult to replenish.
At a unique sequence of vox-clicks, he and the Deathshroud disengaged, withdrawing back to their dropships. The Keshig did not pursue, not risking their Khagan's safety for a chance to kill more loyalists. As Mortarion boarded his Stormbird, he looked back out over Tizca's ruined skyline. He could see Jaghatai Khan staring at him from the plaza they had fought in. And saw a wicked smile split Jaghatai's face, sending a chill down Mortarion's spine.
The Second Battle of Prospero ended indecisively. Both sides suffered losses but neither were crippled nor were their respective primarchs incapacitated, much to Mortarion's disappointment. The Legion's Army assets mauled by the White Scars in the retreat from Prospero, the XIV were forced to choose their battles more carefully. Despite their depleted numbers and limited resources at their disposal, the Death Guard remained active, harrying the traitors' rear. Fulgrim became so enraged at Mortarion that when a messenger came to report another supply convoy intercepted and destroyed the War Commander had the messenger skinned alive and hung in the Court of the Phoenician, his cries for mercy lasting days before perishing.
As the Heresy grinded onwards and the Traitor Legions readied for the invasion of Sol, Fulgrim ordered several taskforces to defend his rear flank while the vast bulk of the Traitor Legions invaded the Sol System. One of these taskforces was commanded by Ilyaster Faylech, a ranking officer in the Black Legion. Faylech commanded ten thousand Black Legion Astartes plus two million Army troopers and hundreds of Army warships around a core of Space Marine vessels, centred on the Endurance. These forces were concentrated around Yarant, a vital Imperial world near Sol that had fallen to the traitors months earlier after two largescale battles.
Mortarion knew he would not make it to Terra in time, that he would not be able to affect the war's endgame. Win or lose, the Heresy had temporarily lost all matters of importance to the Lord of Barbarus. Fulgrim's treacherous ambition was momentarily cast aside in favour of ending the betrayal of his wayward sons. The primarch's forces consisted of several thousand legionnaires plus a few score Army warships and forty-six Army regiments of various sizes, all having been through hell the past seven years of war, their regiments harrowed and ill-equipped.
Mortarion knew that his attack on Faylech's forces would be his last act. He was outnumbered, outgunned, running dangerously low on supplies and his fleet assets had not seen a proper shipyard refit since before the Dropsite Massacre. His Legion, once numbering ninety-five thousand, now fielded less than five thousand. It would be the death throes of a Legion that had remained true despite all that had assailed them. Treachery from within and without could not deter their fighting spirit, their loyalty to the Emperor, nor their bonds of brotherhood with those that stayed true to their gene-sire.
"Have I made mistakes, my son?" Mortarion asked. The primarch was in his arming chambers, where Legions serfs locked his war-plate onto the Lord of Death. A Mechanicum magos circled the primarch, flicking sanctified machine-oil onto the armour whilst praying in binaric.
Nathaniel Garro, Commander of the Death Guard since word of Typhon's treachery and Grulgor's death, stood off to the side of the chamber, hands clasped before him. Garro's pondered his father's question, detecting the bitterness in them, the frustration, but above all the sadness. The war had been exceedingly hard, Typhon's treachery nearly breaking Mortarion's spirit that had been laid so low by Horus' near-death. He wanted to lie, to tell his father that he was infallible but that is not what the primarch wanted to hear, not what he needed to hear.
"Mistakes have been made, sire. Some by you, but none are infallible."
Mortarion's gaunt face, so pale and wearied, split into a small smile. "That is why I prize your counsel, Nathaniel. You tell me the truth no matter what. No gilded lies or honeyed truths from you, just plain and simple, blunt and effective honesty. It is a mentality I welcome even more since the dark times began."
Garro said nothing. The serfs finished donning the armour onto the primarch's frame and stepped away into the shadows. The magos circled the primarch a final time to ensure all systems were installed and segments bolted on correctly. The Martian tech-priest bowed and retired. Mortarion walked to the weapon's rack where Perseverance lay, ready to wield once again but the primarch did not seize it, merely looked at the Emperor-crafted weapon and spoke to Garro without turning.
"I understand failure," Mortarion whispered, just loud enough for Garro to hear. "I understand what failure can do to one's self. I failed on the mountain side… but my father, my true father, gave me a second chance, a chance to redeem myself. And so I did." The primarch turned slightly to eye Garro from his peripheral. "Today marks our day of redemption. From the bitterness of failure to the gratification of redemption we strike. My failure with my sons will be corrected, starting today. We are the Death Guard and we shall make them dread us!" Mortarion grabbed Perseverance and walked to Garro, torn cape flowing behind him.
"To war, my son, to war! If we are to die today then they shall remember us and quiver with fear for the next ten thousand years!"
The Death Guard attacked the Black Legion in what would be known as the Third Battle of Yarant, knowing this would be the final nail in their coffin but unflinchingly did so, not considering retreat or their own safety, intent only on taking as many traitors as possible. For days the Death Guard fought, securing some void-space in Yarant high orbit, allowing the bulk of the Legion to assault Faylech's command centre, overrunning the entrenched enemy through determination and ferocity alone. But no matter the fierceness with which they fought nor that they had a primarch on their side, the traitors were simply too much. They became encircled, cut off from one another and slowly whittled away. The Death Guard would have died that day, a noble death but a permanent one. However, by the grace of the Emperor, help arrived.
Vulkan and seven thousand of his Salamanders arrived, quickly relieving the Death Guard, reinforcing their positions and striking towards Faylech and his command post. The Nocturnean and Barbaran Astartes displayed commendable cooperation, killing Black Legion Space Marines in their hundreds and their mortal Army allies in their tens of thousands.
While Vulkan maintained the loyalist positions, preventing Faylech from being reinforced, the Death Lord hunted down his traitorous son. Mortarion cornered Faylech and killed him, the battle over in seconds. With Faylech's death, the Black Legion was temporarily leaderless and morale had plummeted. The traitors began to flee, butchered by loyalist warships as they attempted to flee. Only the Endurance and its battlegroup were able to withdraw effectively, nearing a Mandeville point when something unexpected happened.
They had been awoken four days ago. He had told C04T to wake them when they were needed and the machine-spirit had listened. It had taken seven years but the time had finally come. Jue shrugged beneath the heavy black cloak he wore over his armour, a simple yet effective disguise. Many other Black Legion traitors wore such attire and as a result few questioned the two disguised Deathshroud as they made their way through the Endurance.
Jue was saddened to see the grand vessel so corrupted. Veins and arteries covered the walls, pulsing with yellowish-black liquid coursing through them. C04T, once of the Deathshroud but who had been given a temporary hold placed on his second death, had given them brief data-packets that had filled in some holes but not all. Jue had gone into cryo-sleep during a time of treachery and murder and had awoken in a nightmare of corrupted flesh and putrid smells. He knew Hekl, his mortis-brother who treaded beside him down another corridor that only madmen could have imagined, felt the same.
Between them they carried a large crate, its contents fragile and hyper-lethal. They moved carefully through the Gloriana-class battleship's underbelly. The mortal crewmen bowed as they passed, not daring to question. The two mortis-brothers noted many of the crew had been either bloated with sickness or shriven to near-death, stricken with disease. Fleas, cockroaches, and of course rats were everywhere, more so than would be typical on a voidship.
They knew of the battle that raged in the Yarant System and knew the Endurance, alongside its crew and contingent of four hundred Heretic Astartes, fled from the Death Lord's vengeful justice. Both mortis-brothers knew that the Endurance could not get away. The Space Marines aboard alone could conquer star systems, and supplied with so powerful a warship could see entire sub-sectors drown in their own blood. And with that knowledge, they had broken into a secured containment chamber and took its contents with them, contents that now resided in the crate.
After nearly an hour of walking they reached their destination: the principal air scrubber generator. Air was purified here, carbon dioxide pulled out and oxygen fit for mortals pumped back into the ship. A necessary function of any void-faring vessel, and it would suit their purposes satisfactorily.
"Lords, may I assist you?" asked the operational supervisor, a woman dirtied with soot and stank of unwashed flesh. She was rail thin, a lack of nourishment had even robbed her of her breasts. A green-yellow boil dotted her chin. She was miserable looking, exhausted, and terrified. Jue hesitated as she approached. Was she still loyal to the primarch and Emperor? Could she have remained free of the pervasive taint? He hoped but it lasted but a moment. This was not a time for hope. Any help she may have given was outweighed by the complications that might have arisen. Instead of speaking, Jue lifted his bolt pistol and fired into her chest in one smooth motion, the bolt detonating on impact. Viscera, bones, clothing and hair covered him before he took aim and killed another who might have still been a Throne-loyalist. Hekl followed suit, firing until the operations shift had been slaughtered to the last, their deaths at least quick.
Hefting the crate to the primary generator, they unboxed what was inside: a capsule-core of a Life-Eater Virus bomb. They carefully slotted into the receiver, making sure not to break the glass, not until it was sealed in to allow the Virus to easily spread throughout the ship. Sealing it in, they slotted a data-slate housing C04T into the nearby central cogitator, allowing the machine-spirit to override any containment protocols and safety mechanisms. It took time, the Death Guard had always been careful with poisonous substances, knowing how to use and counter them effectively. After half an hour, the machine-spirit spoke.
"Counter-measures disabled, Life-Eater Virus ready for dissemination."
Jue and Hekl looked at one another. Both discarded their black robes, standing proudly in their ivory and green armour, their manreapers held proudly. The Legion sigil motif and Imperial Aquila on their persons shined and polished. Hekl extended his arm and Jue grasped it.
"It has been an honour, brother."
"That it has, old friend, that it has."
"C04T," Jue said, "release the Virus."
"Acknowledged."
The two mortis-brothers heard the glass canister break and the air scrubbers shaking, spreading the volatile contents through the ship. Even a wisp of it would kill an ogryn. It would only take minutes for it to spread enough to cripple the ship, its command crew killed. As the Virus-laden air began to seep into the scrubbing chamber, both of them taking off their helms and taking deep breaths, proclaiming as their bodies began to fail and their skin melted as it broke down on a molecular level, "Only in death does duty end!"
Just prior to escaping through a Mandeville point, the Endurance suddenly drifted from its course, its data-link with its flotilla lost, throwing their interlocked defence systems into disarray. Panicked vox-calls were despatched to the flagship but none were returned, those that would have responded having become nothing more than biological sludge. The Salamander and Death Guard warships took full advantage of the enemy's confusion, destroying dozens of warships before the scant few score traitor vessels fled into the warp. The Endurance, its hull showing the visible corruption heaped upon it by Nurgle's touch, was destroyed as the threat of physical and spiritual taint was simply too great.
The Third Battle of Yarant ended decisively in favour of the loyalists but this quickly proved hollow as sorrowful news of Rogal Dorn's death and the Emperor placed permanently onto the Golden Throne reached the Salamander-Death Guard force. The XIV and XVIII arrived to Terra several days after the Siege had concluded and found a star system scarred by furious battle. Thousands of ship-hulks drifted throughout Sol, Terra' orbit heavily littered with debris, while the Throneworld itself was a world that had suffered ninety-five days of the most destructive siege waged in human history. Mortarion, feeling guilty that he had not been there when the Emperor needed him most, became adamant that to repent for his perceived failures he would take the fight to the traitors and recover all that had been lost.
Age of Repentance-
During the Year of Intermission the Death Guard were reinforced with six hundred legionnaires from Barbarus, brought to them by Master of Ordnance Durak Rask. Rask, who had been tasked with garrisoning Barbarus at the civil war's outbreak, brought most of the garrison, leaving the Legion homeworld protected by a veteran battle-company and hundreds of new Aspirants. Mortarion's depleted Death Guard had been brought up to a strength of just over two thousand. Though willingly to enter into the most horrendous of warzones, their small size and lack of heavy equipment and vehicles prevented them from undertaking campaigns alone. Thus the Death Lord seconded his Legion to that of the Sons of Horus. When the Great Scouring commenced, the Warmaster and the Death Lord fought side-by-side, pushing back the forces of darkness and restoring the Imperium as it once had been.
Despite their limited numbers, the Death Guard fought bravely, particularly during the assault on Chogoris. There, the Fourteenth and Sixteenth Primarchs fought the Great Khan and banished him to the warp, Mortarion's Perseverance delivering the killing blow. After seven more years of war the traitors were rolled back towards the Eye of Terror and the Imperium began to stabilise and recover.
As the Imperial Reformation began in earnest in early M31, the Death Guard largely accepted the dictates laid by the Codex Astartes but due to the heavy casualties the Legion sustained during Fulgrim's Heresy the Death Guard were the only Legion unable to spawn a Successor Chapter in the Second Founding. This would change in the following centuries as the Death Guard replenished its ranks and dozens of Successors were founded.
Mortarion, however, would not see his bloodline flourish. Two centuries after the Heresy, the primarch was hunting a Dark Eldar raiding force near the Orpheus Sector, commanded by Archon Arhra, founder of the elite Incubi warriors. The primarch led a boarding party aboard the Archon's flagship, intent on killing the xenos warlord but before the warship could be secured it fled into the Webway. It has been over ten thousand years since that day and many within the Imperium believe Mortarion is dead lest why would he not re-establish contact. Some within the Chapter believe that their gene-sire still lives and wanders the Webway but a majority do not, believing it to be a hollow hope.
The Dark Millennium is in its final phase, and prophets and gods herald the End Times. As the Imperium fights ten thousand battles across a thousand fronts, many who dare to believe in hope fervently pray that the Lord of Death would return and save the Imperium from the brink of destruction.
Organisation-
Since Mortarion assumed command of the Death Guard, the Legion and then later Chapter has always been divided into seven Great Companies of varying size. Furthermore these Great Companies were broken down into more flexible battle-companies that numbered one hundred to two hundred Space Marines.
The Death Guard field a larger number of Devastator units than is proscribed in the Codex Astartes, one of their many deviations from Guilliman's magnum opus. These Devastators are called Grave Wardens and are unique in that they wear Terminator armour and make extensive use of alchemical and radiation based weapons such as Phosphex grenades, rad-missiles, the flesh-eating Vastogox virus, and Cullegene gas. These are fired with Astartes grenade launchers and occasionally deployed on the battlefield via Death Cloud Projection units.
As would be expected the Death Guard use Chaplains extensively, ever wary of corruption within their ranks and wishing to prevent more from following the path of Calas Typhon. In this they have been largely successful. The Death Guard and its gene-line since the Heresy have sported one of the lowest corruption rates in all the Adeptus Astartes. Due to their poor relationship with the Mechanicum, the Chapter has very few Techmarines, typically only a handful per Great Company. Unsurprisingly the Death Guard have very few Librarians due to their historical distrust of psykers and their primogenitor's distrust to embrace them. Typhon the Black revealed to being a psyker during the Dropsite Massacre has caused even more hesitance. This has caused every Librarian, of which there are no more than a score at any one time, to be accompanied by two Chaplains each. They are to act as his protectors during battle but more specifically to watch for any sign of taint or treachery and if detected they are expected to deal with the matter in the form of a summary execution.
The Deathshroud, Mortarion's bodyguard, have endured their primarch's absence, retaining the same traditions and recruitment as they had since their inception, with only the Chapter Master, the High Chaplain and the Deathshroud themselves knowing their mortis-brothers true identities. Since the Betrayer of Barbarus, the Death Guard has discontinued the position of First Captain, combining its responsibilities and duties with that of Commander.
Though the Death Guard have evolved from being an almost exclusively anti-xenos force to a more multi-purpose role, they are still renowned xenos-killers. This can be seen in the higher than average number of Barbaran Space Marines that serve a tour with the Ordo Xenos' Deathwatch unit. These Astartes gain great knowledge and experience with the Deathwatch and bring what they have learned to their battle-brothers to further refine and enhance their lethality against the myriad of hostile alien species.
Combat Doctrine-
While some like the Iron Warriors, Imperial Fists, and their Successors fortified and garrisoned large swathes of the Emperor's Realm, the Death Guard have long preferred to act as a form of rapid reaction force, deploying to warzones across the galaxy where Imperial forces were on the verge of defeat. Furthermore the Chapter has extensively contributed forces towards thousands of Imperial Crusades, from the Dolkorra Scouring to the Macharian Crusade and more.
Aexe Cardinal was hell. There was no doubt about that, the veteran officer thought. He looked through his magnoculars, noting the Shadik trench-lines. They were impressive, kilometre upon kilometre of barbed wire, machinegun nests, fortified bunkers, and short-range artillery batteries. Soon his men and women would be ordered to charge across No Man's Land and attack an entrenched enemy who had resisted such assaults for forty years. It would be a waste of their talents. The officer looked over as a company of Aexegarian infantry marched down to the primary trench line to relieve their comrades. It would be another day of the same outdated tactics that saw to the deaths of millions.
"Sir," he adjutant said, keying his vox-caster to receive a better signal. The officer moved to his dark haired adjutant who held out the vox-mic to him. "Command is on the horn," he explained. The officer took the proffered vox-mic.
"Colonel-Commissar Gaunt here, over."
"Ibram," came General Barthol Van Voytz's voice. The man sounded excited, relieved.
"Sir?"
"Do you have any scouts in the NML?"
"Yes, sir," Gaunt said, confused as to why Van Voytz asked. Gaunt was going to supply an updated intelligence report to Command when Mkoll and Mkvenner returned.
"Bring them back to the trenches, Ibram."
Gaunt's annoyance flared. "Sir, without my scouts I am blind to the enemy's movements, I need them-"
"That's not it at all, Ibram! No interference from the Alliance. This is to protect them. There has been a new development. Withdraw your scouts back immediately. You'll see why soon. Van Voytz, out."
Gaunt handed the vox-mic back to Beltayn.
"Something wrong, sir?"
"Something's awry," he said dead-pan, Beltayn smiling despite himself. "Order the scouts back, double-time."
"Yes, sir." Gaunt returned to his observation post, watching for whatever it was Van Voytz was talking about. A half-hour passed and Mkoll appeared at his side.
"What changed?"
"I have no idea, Oan. No fething idea." The two men looked over the battlefield, the scarred earth pockmarked by foxholes and covered in the corpses and bones of hundreds of thousands.
It took an hour but eventually Gaunt saw what Van Voytz meant. Mkoll whistled. "I had no idea they were on-world."
"Neither did I," Gaunt admitted, watching over a hundred Space Marines of the vaunted Death Guard take up positions in the secondary trench. Another hour passed and tens of thousands more Alliance infantry took up positions for an assault. "Rally the men, Bel, tell them to ready for a charge. Tell them… tell them the Emperor and the spirit of Barbarus is with us today."
Twenty minutes later the Alliance lines opened up with a short but fierce barrage, fyceline smoke from the big guns temporarily obstructing the trenches. By the time it cleared, the Astartes were gone. Across No Man's Land the deep roar of bolter fire could be heard and the screaming of Shadik soldiers.
Gaunt and his men watched it happen, waiting for the tertiary trench to advance. When the whistle came, Gaunt was ready.
"Tanith First-and-Only, advance!"
For centuries the Death Guard crusaded across the galaxy, not too dissimilar from their Black Templar cousins, endlessly patrolling Imperial space and eliminating threats both minor and significant. Periodically the Death Guard would initiate a Penitence Crusade, a self-imposed penance to redeem themselves in the Emperor's eyes. The entire Chapter partakes and these Crusades have conquered vast swathes of the galaxy, adding evermore to the Imperium of Man. The Death Guard are a fearsome foe and a dependable ally, their vaunted mass infantry assaults and Barbaran endurance a legend to the Imperial masses. The Chapter does field a small cohort of armoured vehicles and battle-tanks but act more in support of the infantry rather than the reverse. This doctrine originates from the original mortal Death Guard fighting in Barbaras' mountainous terrain which favoured infantry over vehicular warfare.
Recruitment-
Despite the limitations this brought in terms of raw manpower, the XIV only ever recruited from Barbarus during the Great Crusade. This has not changed in the following centuries as Death Guard Apothecaries carefully monitor the populace from the Chapter's mountain-fortresses and fortress-monastery, selecting the most hardy and resilient male youth to be made into a son of Mortarion. Each and every Aspirant of the Chapter is forced to undergo the Trials of Fortitude where physical and psychological strengths are pushed to their limits. Those that pass become battle-brothers while those that fail adorn the Trial grounds with their corpses, a sign warning the next generation of the price of failure.
Homeworld-
Barbarus is a deadly world, almost inhospitable to human life. Vast, impenetrable mountain ranges dominate the land, covered in toxic fog where only augmented humans and transhuman warriors can survive in.
Barbarus has long gained access to Imperial technology, including better rebreather, hab-domes and modern medical care, but these are kept to a minimalist degree as the Death Guard favour strong warriors and only care for their population enough to allow it to survive and thrive in terms of numbers. The average Barbaran is a sallow and thin, with a haunted look about them, but this underlines their deep well of resolve and natural resistance to toxins and poisons. Though they may appear frail, Barbaran men and women are undoubtedly strong in spirit and body, ever ready to fight for the Emperor and His Imperium. Aside from several PDF regiments, Barbarus does not recruit Imperial Guard regiments from its limited gene-pool, preferring to fight alongside Guard regiments in the prosecution of war amongst the stars.
An interesting and venerable monument, the Wall of Memory resides at the base of the Warlord's mountain, sporting the name of every Death Guard Astartes from the Great Crusade all the way up to the 41st Millennium. As would be expected, the Wall is a kilometre high and stretches for seven kilometres, the names of fallen battle-brothers las-etched onto the black Stygian steel.
Beliefs-
The Death Guard believe in self-reliance and the never-ending pursuit of overcoming hardships. The Chapter has long acknowledged that they are not the protectors of humanity in the same vein as the Iron Warriors or Imperial Fists, nor the governing hand of the Ultramarines. They are the destroyers, the bane of Mankind's inherent dark potential and its many foreign foes. Many Chapters are welcomed across the width-and-breadth of the Imperium's million plus worlds, but the Death Guard are foreboding for they herald only despair and death.
The First Founding Chapter has long had a contentious relationship with the Mechanicum since the earliest days of the Great Crusade. These poor relations only grew worse upon Mortarion's discovery for the Death Lord forbade the Martian tech-priests from pillaging Barbarus' hoard of xenos technology, something the Mechanicum did not take kindly too. Mortarion preferred to reverse-engineer many of their weapons for use by his sons and himself, notably his personal sidearm The Lantern. Furthermore, during the Great Crusade the Forge World of BuDonn had fallen into crisis as the world was wracked with mass revolt. The Death Guard were the closest Imperial force to respond and by the time Mars had despatched a fleet composed of Skitarii, Knights, and Titans to quell the insurrection, BuDonn's serf and working class had been thoroughly depopulated by the XIV, its rebellious elements slayed to the last. This outraged the Mechanicum as it prevented BuDonn from reaching production quotas for nearly three decades as the planet had to be recolonised and staffed with loyalists. The Fulgrimian Heresy and Vulkan's subsequent regency over Mars was unable to overturn the bad blood between the two. Despite this, the Forge World of Kastar does supply the Death Guard Chapter with munitions, weapons, and an assortment of combat vehicles, including battle-tanks, as well as act as a secondary void-port for the Chapter warfleet. This is due to the defence of the Forge World during the Heresy's latter stages from an Iron Hand invasion that has forged bonds of friendship between Barbarus and Kastar. This friendly nature has caused nearly the entirety of the Mechanicum to disavow Kastar, imposing strict sanctions and cutting off trade and resources as repercussions. These severely damaged Kastar's economy and infrastructure but in time the alliance with the Death Lord and his sons have gone a long way in negating the worst of the sanctions.
Relations with mortal forces are complex. During the Crusade, the Death Guard despised fighting alongside Army warships or infantry regiments, seeing them as nothing more than useless cannon fodder. This point-of-view underwent a significant alteration during the Heresy as the Death Guard's dangerously low numbers forced it to depend on mortal auxiliaries more and more. The opinion of non-Astartes greatly improved following the Third Battle of Yarant, where Imperial Army crewmen and soldiers fought valiantly alongside their legionnaire commanders, despite the possibility of total annihilation at the hand of the Black Legion. Since that time the Death Guard freely fight beside and support Guard regiments, establishing close ties with several, most notably the entirety of the Death Korps of Krieg whose ancient rebellion had been put down with the assistance of Barbaran Space Marines. The Death Guard, understanding of what internal strife and the betrayal of their own can do to one's psyche and perception, fully supports the Death Korps in their fatalistic duty in pursuit of atonement, and the men and women of Krieg have become the de facto Guard regiments seconded to the sons of Barbarus, being recorded as fighting alongside the Death Guard in hundreds of campaigns.
Gene-seed-
In spite of their typical gaunt and ashen appearance, the gene-seed of the Death Guard has always been considered pure by genetic screenings, an echo of their gene-sire. Most of the Imperium attributes Typhon's fall to Chaos as a singular event and his corruption of a third of the XIV being due to his patience, guile, and ruthlessness. But there are some, especially in some circles of the Ordo Hereticus and Ordo Malleus, who believe the corruption may have begun at a genetic level or that Mortarion's bloodline was more vulnerable to Chaos taint, despite all the evidence and blessedly low numbers of traitors that have originated from the Death Guard and its Successors since the Great Heresy.
Battlecry-
It has been recorded that the Death Guard use battle-cries, most notably "For Mortarion and the Emperor," though they traditionally fight on in silence. The most notable exception is that battle-cry, "Death to Typhon! Death to the Betrayers!" when confronting the Black Legion.
The cage was his world. He had tried to escape many times but the bars were made of a metal not even he could break. The few times he had managed to rid himself of his jailers, killing scores every time, they always hunted him down in their dark city and locked him away again, ever eager to conduct horrid experiments and tortures on his flesh and soul. His body remained strong, beaten and malnourished though it was. But his soul, his will... that neared breaking.
How long had he been there? How long had the other-kind skinned, burned, peeled back, and cut on him? How long, how long, how long...
He... he did not know... and that terrified him. He could have been here for hours or an eternity. The endless suffering made everything blend together.
The door to his prison opened, its creaking heralding the arrival of pain. He looked down, too weary to even give defiance. He had been defiant so long, had tried so hard... perhaps... perhaps it was time to die, to close his eyes and let darkness consume him. Only then would the pain end.
No. No! He was better than that. He would face his captors, eye them as they carried out their sadistic ministrations. Taking a deep breath, feeling the lack of his rebreather less so than usual, the prisoner stared up.
A figure in armour stood before him. At first, he thought it was the mad-genius son of his brother. But... but it wasn't. The colours were different, black livery but not like the Betrayer and his followers, the figure before him was larger, proud and a natural commander. He sported a shaved tanned face rather than the thinning white hair of the pale Spider. The being in front of him was so much like the prisoner yet so different. A wolf pelt covered the shoulders, a blazing Eye of Terra protruded from his chestplate. And finally a weapon that had inspired legends and helped save the Imperium from the brink of collapse. It was a Talon, the Talon, a weapon of only one demigod. A name teased itself out from the prisoner's mind.
"Horus."
Horus Lupercal smiled, radiant and full of warmth and friendship.
"Mortarion." The sealed lock, ever unable to be picked by him, was shredded open by a forceful swing of the Talon. The gate creaked open. "I have searched for you for a long time, my friend." Horus extended his hand and Mortarion stared at it, relief and hope swelling within him. "Come, brother, it is time we went home."