DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN WARHAMMER.
They were never meant to survive this long. None of them. They were expendable. Acceptable losses.
Well at least In Corax eyes.
They were the Moritat. The suicide squad. The ones to change in with the intent or die. The Fallen Ravens.
Those deemed too uncontrollable for their fathers liking or too lost to the Sable Brand to be brought back under control. So when the fighting started and the betrayal happened..Who do you think were hit the hardest?
Who do you think was stranded and left alone whilst their legion flew off to safety without them? The Moritat. However..this planet full of death and betrayal was natural to them. They thrived in these environments where death waited at every corner.
Where every moment could be your last. They fought not to live but to die instead. That was all they were good for.
Him and his ragtag band of survivors. Kasz and his death squad had been among the first to touch down upon the planet.
The first of the Raven Guard to see combat against the traitors. They were also to last to find out about the true treachery of the campaign because they were so far ahead of friendly lines. This did save them however as they were able to gauge just exactly what was going on on the battlefront.
So they adapted.
They strategized. They planned. Though they lost many of their number the six of them that remained were still enough.
They had been performing and hit and runs on any traitorous convoys they came upon. Looting when necessary. Taking only that they needed and could carry. They were no longer held back.
They were free to fly wherever they saw fit.
No longer held back by orders. By commands. Ravens free again to spread their wings and soar.
Before all this. Before the genetic change.
They had all been criminals. Murderers. Despised by those they now call brothers. When Corax came to them he saw not comrades but disposable tools.
Many of them were used as decoys or body doubles. Sent purposely unto their deaths to serve some greater purpose for the rebellion. Even when they became Astartes blessed with might beyond their wildest dreams this did not change.
Their past transgressions as mortals had damned them forever. They were assigned to the Moritat alongside other unfavorables. Only sent out to missions with the highest chance of death.
This was Corax's own way of weeding out the impurities in the legion. Much like he did the Ashen Claws. An entire company sent away for being deemed too savage. What a waste.
I bet he regretted that now.
Those same savages would have come in handy here. They could have easily aided the Raven Guard in their counter assault against the traitors. For you see only scum can only take down scum and that's exactly what they were.
He checked his bolter slamming in a fresh magazine. They had hit an Iron Warriors convoy. Slew them to the last man. Their bodies adorned the grounds much like flowers would a field. He mag locked his bolter to his hip and leaned down examining one of the bodies.
His chest armor and right gauntlet had been ruined during the enduring battle and needed to be replaced. This trash had no more use of this and it was in fairly good shape. Luckily this was one of the few that had died to head shots.
He yanked off the deceased Astartes chest plate as well as his gauntlet and replaced his own. He cared not for being identified by his legion anyway. None of them did.
They weren't even allowed the chance to brandish the White Raven native to their legion. Even though they were true sons of Deliverance. Once he was sure everyone had stocked up on what they needed, he gave the signal to move out.
His five companions nodding in acknowledgment and following behind.
Besides him the other five in his party consisted of Kaed, Qeld, Vaen,Drysk and Orlos. Like him Orlos and Kard hailed from deliverance and were the worst of the worst as many of their legion liked to refer to them. Murderers condemned for their heinous crimes. They were also the surviving members of his first group of Moritat brothers.
Then there was Qeld and Vaen. Two recruits taken from a feral world brought to compliance by the legion. Though they passed the trials it seemed their trainers weren't able to indoctrinate them to their ways and they weren't able to fit in with the rank and file. As such they found their way with them , the other damned. Lastly there was Drysk, one of the few that had survived the legion's cullings and the oldest out of all of them.
He had lost his own squad and had joined up with them during a raid. Rarely spoke. When he did it was always depressing and suicidal. Especially as of late.
When he took off his helm, his skin grew paler with each moment and his eyes had started taking on a darker hue. He was afflicted with the brand for certain. He would have to make sure to take him out himself before he became too much of a problem later on. His suicidal tendencies were starting to get annoying to say the least.
They had taken to the wastelands and mountains, avoiding the more spacious and open errors in fear of running into large patrols. They would of course run into pockets of enemy resistance and fellow survivors hoping to combine forces for survival or even the hope of escape. It was the same each time. They killed them,even their own "brothers", taking what they had and moving on to the next area.
This was their way of life. No attachment other to each other. They were free to do as they wished on this death world. Free to kill and plunder to their hearts desire..and there was no one here to stop them...