Memnon and the Bronze Shields

By author Patukov

The Third Primarch: Memnon

Name:
Memnon of Androphagia. Known as the Bronze Primarch, the Great Tyrant, the Divine Artificer.

Appearance:
Unblemished bronze skin on an athlete's body. Black haired and black bearded with shining silver eyes that are always smiling. The Bronze Primarch makes no secret about his vanity and proudly wears elegant finery of his own making anywhere and anytime. The only difference being the volume and scale that depends on the situation. Likewise, as fitting his more peaceful disposition, Memnon avoids wearing armor outside of battle. Preferring a varied array of garments and outfits of a thousand different styles, cuts and inspirations. Most of them made by his own hand, as he so proudly boasts. His head is rarely uncovered, either by crowns, wreaths or ceremonial caps.

When he needs to fight, the Primarch dons a suit of armour modelled after ancient Helladic battle armour. Carved, gilded and decorated, it looks more like a parade armour than an actual combat suit. But it is no less effective.

Talents and Personality:
Always quick to smile and offer his hand in friendship, kindness and cheer always came easily to the Third Primarch. He is fond of gift-giving and indulging in what he calls the finer aspects of life: athleticism, theatre, crafting, philosophy and the like. The Bronze Primarch likes to mingle with both his Astartes and mortals whenever the opportunity allows, gleefully drinking in the adoration he feels is so rightfully deserved.

The Primarch is open in his distaste for warfare, seeing it as an unfortunate necessity of the times rather than something to be glorified for its own sake. He resorts first to diplomacy and negotiations wherever possible and always seeking to take direct hand in rebuilding planets he has conquered or uplifting those worlds he passes through. The Legion's rate of advance is on the slower end among those waging the Great Crusade. But the worlds it did bring into Compliance have little cause for complaint.

A religious man, in spite of the Emperor's orders, Memnon has transplanted the Emperor as the chief deity of his own system of beliefs. And does little to suppress religion in the worlds he brings to Compliance or even the planets he himself rules as the Tyrant of the Helladic Cluster. If anything, Imperial scrutiny has led to the Primarch and his people merely adopting a series of euphemisms, analogies and other deceitful tactics to keep to their own faith. Temples become cultural centres, warrior cults become warrior lodges and gods are turned into "mere" revered ancestors. The budding worship of the "Starborn", which sought to deify Memnon himself as a living god, was reclassified as a very thorough personality cult.

A refusal to truly let go of religiosity and superstition in the face of Imperial Truth is but one of Memnon's major flaws. For the Bronze Primarch is also a surprisingly fearful thing for a being of such might and greatness. Fear that has only intensified ever since the recent Sanction for his perceived feet dragging in bringing more worlds into Compliance.

What could a Primarch fear? If that Primarch is Memnon, it turns out that a Primarch can fear many things.

The Emperor, most of all. That unmatched, divine being whose power can only be matched by his ambition. Protecting mankind is a worthy cause. Perhaps none are greater than that. And for Memnon, this ambition which borders on madness (for what else would you call the desire to bring all the galaxy under your boot-heel?) mixed with the power to actually see it through (for who can stand against the might of the Imperium and its golden master? None) is, at the bottom line, what makes the Emperor a god: might and will far superior to that of the common mortal. And is it not common sense to be wary of such a being? Even if he is your father. Even if you are carrying out his will.

Many are the myths and tales that show family means little among the gods on high. And history shows that blood ties are not a decent shield against ambition or hunger for power.

Most of all, Memnon fears that one day the Emperor will decide that his children have outlived their usefulness. Fears the day when the fiction of atheism will not hold anymore and the punishment that will follow. Fears the day that, having brought the galaxy to its keens in submission to his golden throne, his need for control and desire for power will see the Imperium move against the Helladic League and whatever other powers retain some form of liberty and autonomy from Terra.

Yet, for all that he fears the Emperor and Imperium, for all that he despises and clashes with the Imperial government and their sneering, upjumped paper pushers, for all that he wished he could simply stay home and rule his people in peace, he knows that it cannot be so. The galaxy is a wretched place filled with foul darkness and ravening hordes, both xenos and human, that are a threat to all he holds dear. Dangers and threats that his people would have no chance of withstanding had they not been taken under the wing of the double-headed eagle. So Memnon fights for the Imperium because to do otherwise is death. Either swallowed by the cruel galaxy or crushed by Terra. And he hopes that his and his people's service will be enough to build a galaxy where they can enjoy the fruits of victory and prosperity.

His siblings, for all the he finds it difficult to truly think of them as brothers and sisters, are also a source of anxiety. For they are his peers and, at least in theory, have the power to destroy him. For someone that was once so used to being the strongest and greatest there is, this is an unsettling new normal. That is part of the reason why he tends to hold his fellow Primarchs at something of an arm's length, the specific length depending on how well they relate on a personal level.

But let it not be said that fear is the only great sin of the Bronze Primarch. We must also speak of his vainglory and vanity, the need for adoration from the masses. That burning hunger for love of others that can never seem to be fully sated was born from the first time a much younger Memnon received cheers from his fellow citizens after achieving some feat of art or athletic skill, and grown without control every time that followed. Had the Emperor not showed up when he did, Memnon would have gladly let the mob make him an official god and rule as such, happily, until the end of his days.

The Bronze Primarch's vanity is closely interlinked with his vainglory. As he went from merely the gifted son of a priest to renowned athlete and artist to magistrate and even higher, his access to material wealth grew, and with it a taste for opulence and luxury. Likewise, access to greater quantities of better materials challenged the artificer within the Primarch. And so he worked ever more at the forge, laboratory, atelier or whatever other work stations he could get his hands on, crafting a variety of masterworks from plays to earrings. Many he gave away as gifts to his friends and families. But many he also made for himself. For who could be more worthy to wear such displays of divine artistry than someone as divine as himself?

Let us not us say that Memnon is without skill either. For he is a Primarch and that by itself already places him far above the ken of mortal men. Even the greatest and most gifted. And amongst this superhuman brotherhood created by the Emperor, the Bronze Primarch stands out in several fields.

Memnon is charismatic and persuasive, with an innate skill for understanding and relating to people. It makes him a great diplomat, as much as it may cause distress (why of course he understands why you are fighting so hard against the Imperium. He would do the same in your place! Even if the struggle is futile). His long experience in the field only adds to the talent. In dealing with recalcitrant governors, newly discovered human worlds, officials and officers of a myriad hosts and organisations, he is your man for the job. Why, he even had some experience with xenos, for all that those treaties are worth, before the Emperor showed up.

As a warlord, this also makes him eminently suitable to leading and inspiring mortal formations. A skill that was put to test again and again. Especially during the Tri-Stellar War, where the Imperial Army was just as necessary for victory as the Astartes Legions. It is no secret that the Bronze Primarch feels a certain admiration and affinity for the common man and woman under arms, these often unsung heroes of the Imperium.

Memnon grew up with a large family of adopted siblings, many of whom have passed and whose descendants find themselves in the ranks of government or the Bronze Shields. The Primarch himself, as a rule, feels closer to his mortal stepsiblings than his fellow Primarchs.

Memnon is also a craftsman nigh unmatched, whether it be forging implements of war or not. The Bronze Primarch likes to indulge in working with his hands and the end results are always of excellent quality. Several Primarchs and high Imperial officers can boast a sword, cloak or other finery of great beauty and usefulness that was made by the hands of the Great Tyrant.

In administrative skills Memnon also rates highly among the Primarchs. Both as a ruler and a general. His lands are well kept, prosperous and efficient, his hosts well organised, well supplied and his battles well planned. He is not a general who favours bloody slogs and heedless charges, though sometimes even those are inevitable. The Great Tyrant prefers to plan his battles beforehand, studying his enemy, using firepower and manoeuvre as a prelude to one last great blow from his Hetairoi. For all that the Bronze Shields may be seen as "soft" they are still Astartes and few things in the galaxy can stand up against the might of a well-led Legion.

Homeworld:
Androphagia is a hilly, windswept world covered in forests in the edges of the Helladic Cluster. Long held as an unimportant backwater, the planet was not even truly unified when Memnon's pod crashed into one of its many forests. And though low level warfare and skirmishes between its states were common, open large-scale warfare was uncommon. Few people were aware what happened in Androphagia, and even fewer actually cared. But that was long ago. If you were to visit the planet today you would find it a thriving entrepôt with a growing population and industry, mingled with natural reserves and a nascent tourist industry: the benefits of a Primarch's direct stewardship.

As befitting of the planet that housed the Great Tyrant, modern Androphagia counts with its fair shares of monuments, landmarks and wonders of architecture. It is halfway between a religious and cultural centre and a major recruitment ground for the Bronze Shields. For all that it is not the capital of the Helladic League, it remains a major world within the Cluster.

Psychic potential:
Minor psychic abilities, all of them focused on increased empathy and "reading" the feelings of those around him.

Background:
In the 47th year of the Archonship of Telemachos, son of Alkhimacos, the orbital sensors around Androphagia picked up a sudden anomalous signal that disappeared as soon as it came. Due to its unusual nature and the lack of follow up or repeat, it was deemed merely a systems glitch.

Down below, in the wooded hills of Paeonia, the priest Aetes returned home after three days in the wilderness. With him was the young shepherd he had set out to find and surprisingly, a baby. Of the latter, the priest would only say he had found the child lost and alone in the forest. Unable to find even the remains of his parents or guardians, the only option was to take the child too. And when, weeks later, his attempts to find the child's birth family went nowhere, the priest officially adopted the baby as his own.

That was no surprise. The boy, now called Memnon, was not the first child the priest took in. The surprise came later, when the mysterious baby grew far too fast and far too well. By his five years, the "boy" was taller and stronger than any man in the area, as well spoken as any and devouring knowledge at rates that simply weren't human.

The locals took that as a sign Aetes had been blessed by the gods, for surely, if the divine were to bestow their blessings upon any man, the pious and kindly priest would be more deserving than any. The father would always refuse to treat his uncommon son as anything but a normal and beloved child, while making sure his siblings did the same. For the wider population, however, Memnon was clearly more than a man. A blessed being worthy of their admiration and love, both for his obvious divine origins and for his boundless kindness, cheer and energy which he employed to help his fellows wherever the opportunity appeared.

Seven years after Aetes first walked out of the dark woods with a baby in his arms, came the time for the Pan-Helladic games. This was an incredibly prestigious competition that united the peoples and nations of the Helladic Cluster much in the same way as the Olympic Games united the quarrelling city states of ancient Greece of Terra. And when the time came for the Paeonians to pick their representatives, there was no question Memnon would be among them.

The Primarch left his little town for the first time then, traveling through the stars with the rest of the Paeonian League's team to the world of Phanagoreia, holiest of the Helladic Worlds and among its wealthiest and most influential.

Memnon's presence at the competition was a minor scandal in itself. Paeonia had never truly distinguished itself in the Games, always thought of as a poor backwater living in the shadow of far mightier neighbours. The unknown giant wearing the gold and green of Paeonia caused quite the stir at the time. How could the impoverished hillmen have produced such a mighty specimen? Was he truly a Paeonian? Maybe the rumours of a demigod living among the humble hillfolk were true after all.

The Primarch utterly dominated every event he participated in, to such an extent the organisers subjected him to anti-doping tests repeatedly. And yet they could not find sign of any illegal substances in the system. Memnon took it in stride, smiling to the crowds, visiting the grandiose temples of Phanagoreia in between competitions and enthralling the crowds and athletes alike with his friendly demeanour and strong sense of fair play.

By the time the Helladic Games ended, Memnon had won more medals and prizes than anyone else ever in recorded history. Not only that, but the tale of the Gentle Giant of Paeonia spread far and wide through the Helladic Cluster.

As for the Primarch himself, the open adoration of the crowds was something he found he enjoyed far too much.

Back home, Memnon's substantial prize money soon found itself spread around Paeonia. Following his father's example, the Primarch was quick to start donating to temples and charities through the League, helping finance public festivals and finally, buying himself an apprenticeship with a local master sculptor.

It didn't take long for Memnon's popularity to drag him into the political world. A mere couple of years after the Games, the Primarch was already being pushed and urged by family and friends alike to throw his name in the elections for the local Assembly. That time, however, he staunchly refused. For he was, technically speaking, still far too young to be allowed in politics. Besides, what experience could he count in such matters? It would be foolish for him to think himself worthy of such responsibility.

The refusal did not stop Memnon's path into politics. For the Primarch soon found himself more and more being called upon to provide his opinion and advice by his fellow citizens. And soon, even local magistrates often took the time to visit his workshop. Still, the Primarch didn't give it more thought than he needed to. He took to sculpting well enough, and found that his love for varied arts only grew. Painting and forging soon became part of his work. He even tried his hand at writing plays as theatre became another love of his.

Yet fate seemed determined to draw Memnon into the struggles of the time. For by the time the next round of elections came, a few years later, the Primarch's will to resist had been eroded enough for him to cast his name into the ballot. And his own popularity ensured legal technicalities stopping his candidacy were ignored. To no one's surprise, he was easily voted into the Assembly.

Despite claims of inexperience, Memnon proved to be as good of a magistrate as he was in everything else. The Primarch saw his power and influence within Paeonia grow far beyond what his position would entail. And in the years that followed, the fruits of his good work were starting to bloom. With Memnon at their head, it was said, Paeonia could finally grow beyond a mocked backwater.

Then came war. Paeonia's growth had attracted the attention of its larger neighbors. And one of those had also noticed the newfound sources of mineral wealth and growing economy of the League. The Assembly of Arkagas, saw fit to strike the League. To stop the growth of a rival in its tracks and seize its wealth.

On paper, Paeonia was the obvious loser. Its population was smaller, it lacked strong allies, its economy was still passing through growth pains, and its army lacked much in the way of modern equipment or experience. Arkagas had all of these in greater numbers and quality. Not only that, unlike the League, they did not have to share their homeworld with other polities and counted with a respectable void fleet.

But Paeonia had a Primarch.

Memnon, despite his own hesitance, was elected supreme commander by the Assembly and burdened with the responsibility of saving his people. The Primarch took things in stride once again, at least on the surface. But truth be told, he had never given much thought to military affairs. He hadn't even had the chance to serve his time in the League's militia. But his people called for him and he would answer to the best of his abilities.

Memnon once again found that he took on new things with supernatural ease. And as he spent endless nights in war councils with handpicked officers, a plan was devised. It, perhaps, would not save Paeonia. But for the men and women who knew the numbers and cruel calculus of war, a peace with honor was all that they could hope for, even with a veritable demigod on their side.

The Arkagans came, the Arkagans landed and the Arkagans swept all before them, League regiments melting away before their might during the first few weeks. The path to the capital was open and victory seemed assured.

Then Memnon struck. From the hills and forests, fighting bands hit Arkagan columns with almost total impunity. Easy progress became a bloody slog and the power armor vanguard that had until then advanced without opposition found themselves checked by fanatical resistance and clever organization. The coup the grace came when the Primarch led a surprise attack on the landing zones of the invader. Clad in rudimentary power armor of his own making and leading the best Paeonia had to offer, Memnon cut off the Arkagan army from its fleet. The advance didn't stop there, and in a few weeks the whole operation had collapsed. Footage of humbled columns of war prisoners paraded through Paeonia's capital soon spread through all the Helladic Cluster.

In Arkagas, a combination of cooler heads and diplomatic pressure from other neighbours led the way to peace negotiations. Against all the odds, the Paeonian League had won. And with this victory, Memnon's fame grew to even higher heights. Even in Arkagas itself, returning war prisoners talked respectfully of the honourable giant that had bested them and then treated them with dignity.

The end of the war also saw the League's forces acclaiming Memnon as their leader. That did not surprise the Primarch. And if anything, he basked in the feeling. Still, had the Council not eagerly ratified the coup, the Primarch may have held his hand. But with both civilian and military apparatus claiming for his leadership. Who was he to deny?

So Memnon became the Tyrant of Paeonia.

Now officially charged with the leadership of his people, the Primarch dedicating himself fully to the task. And if he missed the simpler times when he could spend uninterrupted days working on his art, the open adoration was balm enough. Under his guidance Paeonia continued to grow and prosper.

Soon, a hero cult developed around the Primarch. For surely such a man could only be of divine origin: the son of Dyius Pater himself, sent to the mortal galaxy to guide the people into a better future.

The Tyrant officially paid little heed to this cult and spent the following years ruling as ably as he could. By the end of the first decade of his tenure, the League had grown to cover the entire planet. Thanks in most part to his diplomatic skills. True, it was not as unified or centralized as the bigger powers of the Helladic Cluster. But that didn't bother Memnon, he had no wish to impose his will upon others.

By the end of the second decade, Memnon was looking forward to more years of peace and prosperity. Then the Cluster blew up into war.

The great Helladic Leagues, Confederacies, Kingdoms and Empires were joined together by a complex network of alliances, oaths, pacts and obligations. And when the Kingdom of Boionia descended into civil war, the dominos fell.

Initially unwilling to commit himself to a war he didn't saw as his, Memnon held back the League, watching from the sidelines in horror and fear as the bloodshed grew beyond control. But even refusing to fire the first shot, the war still found Memnon. Too much being at stake by too many belligerents for them to ignore the bounty of Paeonia. And so the Primarch marched to war again.

It would be known as the Great War in Helladic historiography. Imperial remembrancers would later call it the Helladic Unification. It was a two decade long period of violence, bloodshed and misery for the people of the Cluster. Several times in the early years, Memnon tried to draw the League away from the war, arrange some sort of peace treaty to preserve his people. Failed efforts, all of them. That he later tried to organize several peace conferences to bring all warring parties to the table was more his wish to spare the people than any real belief he could truly bring an end to the war. The repeated betrayals of trust and broken treaties only further cemented the growing belief that he needed to take control of the situation if the conflict was ever to stop.

He was a demigod, was he not? Son of the Sky Father, the Thunder God, King of the Heavens. Who better than him to lead when mortals had proven themselves so utterly incapable?

The war eventually ended. The last enemy hosts broken beneath the Primarch and absorbed into his own armies of scarred veterans. For the first time in centuries, the Helladic Cluster was unified. Memnon now ruled what might as well have been the universe as far as the Helladics were concerned.

Yet there was still much to be done. The newly created Helladic League needed to rebuild, recover and heal. A humanitarian crisis of the likes never seen before in the land was unfolding before their eyes and the breakdown caused by the war invited lawlessness. Pirates, outlaws and raiders infested the cluster. And xenos, long known to the Helladics but until then a rare and mysterious sight, were moving in, in force, seeking to exploit their weakness.

Memnon looked upon all these challenges. Thought of the duty he had for his people, the love they had for him and the lessons he learned from his beloved father and set out to work.

When the fleet of massive golden ships reached the Helladic Cluster, years later, Memnon met these strangers with fear and weariness hidden behind a pleasant smile and open arms.

Please, he prayed, we have suffered enough. Give us peace.

The leader of these newcomers was the Emperor and he had come to retrieve his son. Their first meeting started well enough. The Emperor was pleased to see that his son had already made himself a leader and seemed to be running things well enough.

Memnon for his part had no doubts that this golden god was speaking the truth. The sight of the Imperial fleet was enough to convince everyone else that this Imperium was far more powerful than the League. The sight of the Emperor, hailed by their Tyrant and the Legion of superhuman warriors he had been granted, put an end to any ideas of resistance.

The first cracks, however, started showing soon after. The Imperium had no place for idiotic superstition and foolish faith. The Helladics loved their Tyrant and saw him as a living demigod. By extension, the Emperor was their god. Memnon's attempts to argue were harshly shut down. Likewise, the Primarch's attempts to bond with his newfound father weren't as successful as he had expected. The Emperor had not created him to be an artist and the Great Crusade had no place for cowards. Memnon would fulfil his purpose and fight his father's wars as he was meant to be or the consequences for him and the League would be disastrous.

As far as Memnon saw it, there was little place for mercy or kindness in his father's heart. And how could it be? When the fate of the human species was at stake? Everyone would have to make sacrifices to ensure the Emperor's vision came to be. But just because Memnon understood and accepted his father's motives, it did not mean he liked it.

The III Legion: the Bronze Shields

Name:
The Thunderers (pre-rediscovery of their Primarch), the Bronze Shields (post-rediscovery of their Primarch).

Insignia and Appearance:
The most common insignia among the Bronze Shields is a bronze shield emblazoned with a lightning bolt or crisscrossed snakes. Its colours are bronze, gold and red, for the most part. Bronze Shield Astartes pride themselves in their forging skills and are known to modify and decorate their own armour as a source of pride, often adopting new insignias or modifying existent ones. Snakes, solar disks, eagles, wreaths and spears are among the most popular symbols used.

Gene-seed Status:
Mutations in the Ossomudula and Omophagea makes the Astartes unable to properly absorb memories through cannibalism and often sprout sharp bone growths. Horns and tusks are carefully groomed and decorated by the Astartes. Everything else is more often than not cut off and used as material for crafting. These are seen as nothing more than an inconvenient quirk at worst within the ranks of the Bronze Shields.

Legionary Assets:
The Bronze Shields stand at an effective strength of 250 000 Astartes. Maintained through a well-developed network of Legion fortress-monasteries and barracks spread through the Helladic Cluster. Recruitment of Aspirants outside of the Helladic League, while not officially forbidden, is somewhat frowned upon by the Primarch and not commonly undertaken. Those recruits that come from outside, whether the original Terran-born contingent or children conscripted mid campaign, are expected to put on the effort to learn and assimilate into Legion culture, going as far as taking Helladic names and sometimes finding a Helladic family to bond and associate whenever the Legion returns to its homeworlds.

The Legion's flagship is the Lady Penelope. This addition to the Bronze Shields' ranks was a reward for the successful conclusion of the Tri-Stellar War. Named after one of Memnon's old mortal friends, the Gloriana-class battleship spent months in drydock undertaking extensive modification and refit jobs in the hands of the Primarch, his sons and contracted Tech-priests. These days she is half warship and half leisure barge, though no less deadly than any other ship of her class. It is easy to forget the sheer might of the Lady Penelope amidst the heated philosophical debates and the animated, almost maniacal work of the Bronze Shields at their workshops.

The core of the Bronze Shield auxiliary force is drawn from the Helladic Defence Forces. Both ground and void borne units. Drawn from the worlds of the Helladic League are a multitude of divisions, regiments, hordes and hosts. Each with a proudly history of service and their own particular doctrines and quirks. Besides these Helladic regiments, the Bronze Primarch draws his auxiliaries from wherever they may be available. Conscripting and seconding Imperial Army forces as necessary for whatever campaign he may be undertaking at the time.

The Legion's main planet-bound facility is the Tyrant's Citadel on the planet of Phanagoreia, the League's capital. The Citadel also doubles as government complex and palace for the Primarch. It is as much a work of art as it is functional. Housing massive underground training complexes, beautiful gardens, endless storehouses and levels upon levels of administrative offices along with everything else that one would expect from this mix of opulent palace, fortress monastery and major administrative centre.

By the time Emperor and Imperium reached Memnon, the Primarch already ruled his own budding stellar realm. On the Primarch's insistence, it remained a self ruling polity. With power devolved to a council selected by Memnon while he crosses the stars in his father's name. The Helladic League, urged on by its own self importance and an underlying paranoia about losing what is left of its independence, sometimes finds itself at odds with the Imperial government on Terra.

Legion Organisation:
The Legion is split into Taxiarchies of 1,000 Astartes each. These Taxiarchies can be grouped into larger Phalanxes, led by a Strategos, as deemed necessary. And more often than not, this is the case when on campaign. Most of the Bronze Shields' Space Marines are divided into these Taxiarchies, which are composed of all kinds of Space Marines and vehicles and built to be general all-around combat units.

But despite this focus, the Bronze Shields also field a series of specialist formations. Scouting and infiltration groups. Shock and assault units. Armoured groupings and more. Their size varies and sometimes these units are formed in an ad hoc manner on the ground, drawing Space Marines and material from several different Taxiarchies.

Aerospacecraft, alongside heavier armour, are grouped in their own units. Deployed as part of a strategic reserve under direct control of the overall commander to be deployed as he sees fit.

The Legion's elite is the so called Sacred Band. The cream of the Legion equipped in Terminator armour and the best gear the Bronze Shields can create or requisition. Their role in battle, as expected of a formation like this, is to act as an irresistible hammer against whatever foe they are pitted against. It is usually from the ranks of the Sacred Band that the Primarch selects his bodyguards and inner circle, the Heart Companions.

On an entirely unofficial level, the Bronze Shields also fields a host of several hundred of the so-called Companion bands and warrior lodges. These organisations are half social clubs half mini-warrior orders, made up of Astartes that come from the same planets, worship similar "ancestors" or whose ties are forged in the heat of battle, sometimes crossing between different Taxiarchies and hosts. These groups often play into the Bronze Shields' fondness for elaborate ceremony and dramatics.

Expertise and Combat Doctrine:
The Bronze Shields are adepts of the tested and tried hammer and anvil tactics, working closely together with their mortal auxiliary to amass enough numbers and firepower to pin enemy forces and give the Astartes strike forces breathing room to manoeuvre and deliver crippling blows to the enemy. Support work in preparation for the campaigns, such as intelligence gathering and establishing solid logistic and communications networks between the Bronze Shields, Imperial Army and any other Legions, is also highly prioritised. Memnon's tactics are not particularly daring or innovative, but they are effective nonetheless.

Bronze Shields have a certain predilection to melee combat, often carrying a variety of blades, hammers, axes and spears as secondary weapons. This is even more pronounced in the Assault units, who rely on the sheer speed, power and mass of a Space Marine to overcome the enemy in close-quarters combat.

In void warfare, Bronze Shield combat tactics vary little from their ground counterparts, though the Legion has also shown a preference for reinforcing the prows of their ships to allow for better ramming whenever the opportunity presents itself. Boarding enemy ships is also a favoured tactic. And captured enemy hulls are often rebuilt and repurposed in the service of the Legion. Breaking away from their perceived mode of operation, the Bronze Shield fleet also fields units of specialised light craft for the purpose of raiding and harassment. Acting with far more autonomy than average, these Pirate Squadrons are often the boldest and brashest elements of the Legion.

Legion Weaknesses:
The Bronze Shields are a generalist Legion for the most part. They hardly excel in any particular aspect of warfare. And while this is thought to leave them with no glaring weaknesses, it also makes them rather uninspired and somewhat average and predictable when compared to their most specialised siblings. The average Bronze Shield can do many things, it is said, but he will never be as good at any of these things as the masters of other Legions.

Their focus on strong assaults and close-quarters combat leaves them at a disadvantage in long-range engagements, both on the ground and in the void.

Individually, vanity and ego issues are a known flaw that permeates the ranks of the III Legion. It often makes working with other Legions harder than it has to be and leads officers and sometimes the Primarch himself to play peacemaker and soothe ruffled feathers.

Beliefs and Practices:
Like their Primarch, the Bronze Shields are fond of crafting and artistic work. Every Bronze Shield is not only allowed but encouraged to try his hand at some form of artistic enterprise or another, engage in friendly athletic competitions beyond the standard Astartes training regimen and decorate, customise or even produce his own gear as far as his skills and creativity allow. The craft of Memnon's forgemasters is widely respected in the Imperium. And just like the Primarch, his sons will sometimes gift their masterworks to Astartes and mortal alike that has earned their favour and admiration. But weaponry is but one of the things that the Bronze Shields produce. Their proudest creations can range from a particularly riveting piece of poetry or a shimmering tunic, depending on the Space Marine.

Another aspect that Memnon fostered in his sons is the appreciation for the mortal masses, the people whom the Bronze Shields hold as the reason for their hard and bloody struggle through the stars. Aspirants are expected to keep in contact with their mortal families as the situation allows and mingle and socialise with the civilians of worlds they are deployed. In the most peaceful and calm worlds, where the Bronze Shields' diplomacy is often all that is needed to bring Compliance, games and cultural events are organised by the Legion, so that they can engage in a form of cultural exchange and learn more about their new Imperial brethren while spreading their own proud culture among the stars. It is thought that this practice will better develop the empathy of the Space Marines for the common people while binding the civilians closer to the Imperium by making Astartes easier to relate to.

Bronze Shields are extremely proud of their Helladic culture and origin, seeing themselves as hailing from one of the greatest human civilisations of the galaxy. They are fiercely protective of it, sometimes to the point of cultural chauvinism.

And like their Primarch and the people that make up the bulk of their recruitment pool, the Bronze Shields tend to be a religious and superstitious lot, save for the ever dwindling number of Terran-born Space Marines. It made for an awkward state of affairs in the virulently secular and rationalist Imperium before the III Legion soon wised up and learnt to cover up their practices with deception, deflection and outright lies. Charms, altars, prayer beads and other fetishes are commonly found in possession of the Astartes.

Recruitment and Discipline:
Standard recruitment happens in the Helladic League, with Legion recruitment centres drawing Aspirants offered up by their families—for there is no greater honour for the Helladic peoples than to see their children fight as demigods besides their beloved Tyrant—or gathered from orphanages. Most of the Aspirants taken outside the League are orphans, assorted children with no one to care or vouch for them that have shown some sort of potential in the eyes of at least a few of the Space Marines around them.

Initial training happens in the fortress-monastery or barracks that first selected the Aspirant. It is there that the culling process starts and those unfit are filtered out of the process. Those who wash out are given the option of staying in the Legion as part of the ever important but often unsung support staff or are leaving the process with the Legion covering up part of the expenses for their schooling or training in another field as a consolation prize. Those who happen to perish during the process are buried with honours and their families, if any exist, receive an indemnity payment.

Once the recruit has become an Aspirant, his training deals with as much as matters of culture as of war. For the Primarch believes that his sons should be more than mere instruments of war.

Discipline within the Bronze Shields is often seen a slightly lax by Astartes standards. With most punishments for first offenders being on the lighter and shorter side. That changes, however if the Astartes in question insists on erring. With an exponentially escalating series of sanctions and punishments that culminate in execution. A notably infamous punishment is the Brazen Bull, where the offending Space Marine will be placed inside a hollow metal bull under which a fire will be lit and he will be left there until he is almost dead. Less wide spread knowledge is the fact that some warrior lodges within the Legion use a modified version of this chastisement as part of their initiation ceremony.

Characters of Interest:
Astyanax, the Primarch's voice—Raised by his side by the old priest Aetes. Of all of Memnon's mortal stepsiblings, Astyanax was always the one he was closest to. Ever at his superhuman brother's side, Astyanax was a priest by training and one of the loudest voices in the abortive efforts to deify the Helladic Tyrant. When the Emperor reunited with his son and the priests and temples were forced to go underground. Memnon brought his favoured sibling with him to the stars, affording him the best medical care and bionic enhancements available to the Primarch either by influence or by his own hands' work.

Turned into a Pseudo-Astartes, Astyanax pledged to follow his divine brother wherever the web of fate took them. Putting his not inconsiderable intellect and charisma honed by years of preaching to work in helping Memnon reshape and reforge the Thunderers into the Bronze Shields. He is a divisive figure within the Legion. The remaining Terran-born despise the man they hold responsible for tainting their Legion and feeding their Primarch's madness and folly, while the others see him as a venerable elder full of wise counsel and reassuring words.

Regardless of their opinion on him, all of the III Legion know that, if Memnon is not around, Astyanax's words are to be obeyed as if the Bronze Primarch himself spoke them.

Amyntas Amynteid, Master of Scouts—Master of Scouts is a title that technically places this third son of a disgraced prince in charge of training Scout Marines and extensive involvement in reconnaissance, infiltration and sabotage efforts for the Legion. A duty that he suitably fit to carry out.

A shameless conman, lying gambler and slippery cheat, Amyntas is nevertheless a popular officer, getting by on his roguish charm, sheer battle skill and an extensive network of favour exchanging that allows him to pull as many strings as necessary to carry out whatever scheme or plan he has cooked up. As one of the highest ranking officers in the Legion, Amyntas is part of Memnon's Heart Companions, though it is uncommon for him to be placed directly in the Primarch's bodyguard detail.

In battle, Amyntas shows a ruthless streak that sometimes descends into downright cruelty and sadism, openly relishing in toying and humiliating whatever enemy he is tasked with eliminating, and then looting and mutilating their corpses to add to his extensive trophy collection.

Taxiarch Keteus of the Footstormers—First rising to prominence during the campaign against the Bladed Torn and Black Heart Kabals. Then a simple Astartes, Keteus gained fame and glory by avenging his Sergeant right after the Space Marine had been killed by a Dark Eldar champion, taking the xenos's wicked weapon as war prize. And leading several strikes to liberate slave camps. For his efforts, Keteus was one of the Astartes awarded with a golden wreath at the campaign's end and a promotion.

His next big break would come during the Tri-Stellar War, where his swift bladework (with a weapon forged from the same xenos blade that slew his former commander) and expert manoeuvring saw the leadership of the Federation forces in Melnar IX decapitated and their advanced communication networks compromised. Thus a bloody urban slog turned into a swift, but still bloody, extermination battle.

Later, during the battle of Atar, Keteus led an assault unit that took down the control centre of the Federation's deadly robotic forces, winning the planet for the Imperium and the role of Taxiarch for himself.

Venerable Elder Iacinth the Scarred—The oldest Dreadnought in the Legion. The Terran-born Iacinth was confined in the sarcophagus during a minor action against one of the many nameless xenos empires erased by the Great Crusade. Despite the rather ignominious start of the second phase of his career, the Dreadnought soon proved itself a major asset of the Legion, consistently performing beyond expectations and at great risk to himself, constantly incurring extensive battle damage that, even if aggravating the Tech-priests, allowed them more opportunities to work and experiment with the chassis of this honoured elder.

In truth, Iacinth seeks death. What started as an attempt to wash out the shame of his almost death, evolved into something worse as Iacinth realised what his Primarch was doing to the Legion, both in reshaping it to flaunt the Imperial Truth and his unhinged vendetta against the old guard of the Legion. The Venerable Elder sees what his Primarch is doing to his beloved Legion and wants no part in it.

Heracles Python, the Archon of Snakes, Taxiarch of the Sacred Band—Loud, proud, boastful and as subtle as a drunk Ork. All these describe the leader of the Legion's elite. The scion of a wealthy noble line in the Helladic Cluster, Heracles is perhaps one of the most educated members of the Legion. The living ideal of a Helladic philosopher warrior, the Taxiarch is a common fixture in debate halls and symposiums of the Legion, as much as in the training cages. Where he takes on any and all challengers in whatever mode of combat they prefer.

In battle, Heracles is identified by his red and green Terminator armour, customised with decorative scales and snake motifs. With access to a large arsenal of weaponry, some of which are of his own making, Heracles is skilled with a variety of weapons for any occasion.

As fitting of his high rank, Heracles Python is part of Memnon's Heart Companions.

Master Librarian Zizafarnah—The head of the III Legion's Librarius, Zizafarnah does not hail from the Helladic League, and his promotion to the role is relatively recent. Despite that, the Space Marine has carved for himself a respectable niche within the Legion, quickly growing knowledgeable not only in Helladic culture, but also several dozens of others, with a focus on the homeworlds of other Legions. The Master Librarian's studies of the Warp are focused on learning and understanding how different peoples and their circumstances change how they see, use and relate to it.

A born academic, Zizafarnah is always open to discussing whatever topic his guests and visitors wish to bring up. And every new scrap of knowledge or sudden lack on his part is another subject to be added to his endless study list. As expected of one of his serene disposition, the Master Librarian is always one to advocate for caution and calm. And he is known for his level headedness and reliability in times of crisis.

Battle-cry:
"Strike, thunder!"

"Eia! Eia! Alala!"

—Assorted Bronze Shields war cries

Legionary History:
—Extermination of the Twin Kabals: Two Dark Eldar Kabals operating near the Helladic League were destroyed by Memnon, his first major campaign as Primarch of the III Legion and waged together with the II Legion, the Silver Gryphons.

—The Sanction: Memnon's slow rate of advance, coupled with complaints from within his own Legion leads to the Primarch and the III Legion being sanctioned by the Emperor. It is a humiliating and frightening experience. Generally not common knowledge outside of those directly involved.

—The Scouring of Xugarl: Imperial forces detect Orkish forces gathering considerable strength in the Xugarl cluster. The Bronze Shields are at the spearhead of the preemptive strike to wipe out the Orks. Worlds are purged by flame and Memnon secretly punishes those he sees as traitors and threats to his Legion by letting Terran-born Space Marines take the brunt of the attrition. It does not goes entirely unnoticed.

—The Tri-Stellar War: The Tri-Stellar Federation was a mixed human-xenos interstellar polity that managed to survive the Age of Strife relatively well. Though small in sheer extent of space, its worlds were well developed and its technological base advanced, thanks to several STCs in its possession. Efforts to peacefully integrate the Federation into the Imperium quickly fell apart thanks to the former's distaste for the Imperium's authoritarianism and xenophobia.

The ensuing campaign was surprisingly harder and bloodier than expected. With the Federation pulling out all the stops even as it realised the futility of their struggle. Casualties among all involved were extensive and the worlds fought over were left utterly devastated in the aftermath, while much of the prized STC library was destroyed in the closing stages of the war.

—The Alamarri Suppression: A potentially bloody brewing rebellion among a cluster of highly industrialised worlds is brought to an end without a shot fired thanks to Memnon's timely intervention. Memnon used his influence and considerable diplomatic skill to bring the Imperial Sector Governor and the would-be rebels to the table, mediated a negotiated settlement and forced both sides to stick by the terms by deploying his own Space Marines and auxiliaries to the region.