Lions Rampant

Lions Rampant
Battle Cry	For valour, strike swift!
Number	IX
Founding	First Founding
Successors of	N/A
Primarch	Cromwald Walgrun
Homeworld	Sommesgard
Strength	120,000 at start of Heresy
Allegiance	Slaaneshi
Colours	Red, Steel Grey and White

This page details people, events, and organisations from the /tg/ Heresy, a fan re-working of the Warhammer 40,000 Universe. See the /tg/ Heresy Timeline and Galaxy pages for more information on the Alternate Universe.

The Lions Rampant once stood as stalwart defenders of mankind. Credited with brilliant leadership and numerous victories, their former glories are now forever stained by infamy. During the Hektor Heresy they cast their lot with the traitors rather than the Imperium, and are now among the greatest examples of the excesses of Chaos. Now they ride in an eternal quest to satisfy their dark master, the god of Chaos Slaanesh.

History of the Lions Rampant

Before the discover of Cromwald, the Lions Rampant were an understrength Legion known as the Highland Raiders. They were tasked with subjugating worlds that refused offers of peace, and as a result were often set against well-prepared foes. They lacked glorious campaigns in their formative years, especially in the wake of Legions more specialized, organized, or simply more brutal in their ways. It was not until the discovery of the lost Primarch that they would be catapulted to the role of a vaunted vanguard, earning their name and place in the Great Crusade.

The Highland Raiders

The early years of the Legion, starting with the Sacred Band and their leadership. Focus on the stoic, morbid demeanor not too unlike the Death Korps from the OU. Inglorious, with a hefty price to pay in blood and steel. Conquests here are brutal affairs and seldom are they celebrated.

Honored Vanguard

After Cromwald's restructuring of the legion, they press outwards with renewed purpose. The injection of fresh blood and wholesale embrace of the Iterator corps begins to reshape the legion's culture. Their early conquests are ambitious and bold maneuvers combining the full strength of the legion to test its might. After the first battle honors are granted, the divisions begin to split, forming multiple expeditionary fleets. These fleets become the standard for the Lions conquests, with each division operating in a truly independent fashion.

The Culling

The primarch's sickness begins to spread throughout the legion as he prepares to openly declare his treason. The legions recruitment and training division is quickly brought into the fold, while those who resist are reassigned to combat roles. The apothecarion is similarly subverted, where each of the legions medical officers either swear to the growing conspiracy, or die by Cromwald's hand. Hand in hand with advisors from the Eternal Zealots, they corrupt the genetic stock upon which the legion is built, cursing all new recruits and most veterans with the slow numbness of their primarch. Cromwald is confronted by the chief librarian, who he slays in single combat within his private quarters. So begins the culling, where loyalist troops are slowly weeded out of the legion by attrition through dangerous assignments or quiet assassination.

Eve of Damnation

Before the eve of the Hektor Heresy, the Lions were on the move. As one of the first to answer the warmaster's call, they rode out to fulfill his dark designs. The five main divisions were all operating together, making for the Keldim sector and their first target. They mustered in deep space at the edge of the sector, gathering the fleet for the coming storm, and there they waited.

First Blood

Cromwald did not stay his legion for long. The psychic shriek that rippled from the Voidwatcher's ritual marked the opening chapter in the bloody war to come, and it was the signal the Lions had been waiting for. The fleet rumbled to life and ancient warships charted courses to preordained targets. Death was coming, and those billions marked for extermination remained unaware of the horror bearing down on their worlds.

The positioning and coordination took time, but was a demonstration of the Lions at their finest. As the battles for Ostium, Istvaan and Diamat entered their desperate opening acts, the worlds of Graffal, Cainvas, Hablin's World, Rork, and Praetor's Drift reported the presence of numerous vessels emerging from the warp in system. Each world was relatively unimportant in the politics of the sector, and boasted far fewer defenses than the more fortified hives and administrative hubs at the sector's heart. They were an unexpected collection of targets that found themselves swiftly under attack. Picket fleets reported forces of battleships surrounded by shoals of escort vessels, all bristling with enough firepower to flatten a continent. They barely reached the defense monitors before the Lions were upon them all, obliterating the meager defenses with impunity. With complete orbital dominance they seeded waves of troop transports and strike craft onto their prey. What followed was carnage unlike anything the sector had before seen. One by one each world went silent; their final transmissions were terrified pleas for aid.

Lord Governor Julian Favela balked at the sudden loss of his territories. Three of the five worlds were agri-planets, whose supplies were much needed to maintain his hives. Their loss would send ripples of unrest throughout his populations. Worse still were his attackers themselves. Reports were scattered and unreliable, but it seemed a legion of the astartes were responsible. He knew of no censure of his domain, and relayed his objections to segmentum command. In the time it took for him to learn of the warmaster's treason, two more systems had fallen. The response came from Thomas Gaudin himself, issuing instruction that the legion attacking were traitors to be resisted with all strength Favela had at his disposal. No marines would be coming to his aid.

Dismayed at the news, the Lord Governor found himself faced with a losing war. His rage was felt throughout the palace as he swore to report the treachery of the astartes and mechanicus both to the council of Terra for abandoning him so readily. But first, he needed to see to his defenses. He called the master of his fleets and the general of his armies to council to organize a resistance to the invasion.

The situation was grim. Five expeditionary fleets were pouring into his sector. While they lacks the large support structures of the Imperial Army, they were each formed around a powerful core of astartes warships. His own fleet assets could contest three of the five, but to do so would leave his other worlds ripe for the slaughter. His ground forces were not in much better a shape; he could perhaps hold the line on a handful of his more vital planets, but the garrisons across most of the sector were ill prepared to face a full planetary invasion of space marines. Judging from the handful of battle reports he had been presented, the fighting at each of his fallen worlds had been swift and brutal, with total subjugation taking only a single day after planetfall. All estimates pointed to a single, inevitable conclusion: he could not hold without reinforcements.

Envoys were dispatched to entreat with the neighboring sectors for aid. They had forged mutual alliances early in the crusade to support one another, and now Favela was forced to call upon such allies. While waiting for a reply, he dispatched orders across the sector for war footing. Conscription rates were accelerated and all available troops were mustered to the defense of their homes. On many worlds all citizens of age and able to bear arms were herded into ad-hoc formations and armed. The "rabble", as the professional soldiers called it, were fodder left behind to buy time. Meanwhile, mobilization orders saw full divisions, cohorts, and other such formations stripped from the outer worlds and pulled onto hulking troop conveyors for immediate deployment. They, alongside all capable warships available, were drawn into a ring of blood and steel surrounding the heart of the sector. It was there they gambled on halting the marauding legion's advance, though it did not come without cost.

The orders given had left numerous worlds as sheep to be slaughtered. Poorly trained militia, isolated army groups and ships swept up in the confusion of a full scale alert were abandoned to their fate for their ineptitude or sluggishness. For every thousand men brought to the defense of their sector, a hundred thousand souls were condemned to death. This wore on the men, many of whom were forced to part with family and livelihoods to man a post knowing too well there would be no home to return to. Discipline faltered and had to be forcibly reinstated by increasingly draconian means, all while the sudden mass of humanity struggled to form a cohesive defense. It was a race against time; if the disparate elements of the sector's troops were unprepared when the Lions finished gorging on weaker prey, they would be unable to hold. All hinged upon reinforcements arriving, but there was no guarantee that the pleas for salvation uttered by the millions strong army would be heard.

The Lions were terrifyingly swift in their bloody work. Planets fell rapidly, with total subjugation being a matter of hours. The slaughter was unending and witnessed only by the brave few light cruisers chosen to act as lone scouts. They hung silently in the void, risking annihilation to report back to the Lord Sovereign Talos, Master of Fleets. Daily he collated their accounts into a series of meticulous reports for Favela. They made for disturbing reading: the Lions Rampant were swift to deploy, but equally swift to depart after a bloody harvest. Scouts who landed in the wake of the astartes found cities turned into charnel pits. Survivors were a traumatized handful who reported bloodletting and debauchery that defied reason. Stranger still was the lack of any garrison or holding force. No troops lingered in the wake of the Lions assault.

There was hope, however. As the traitor legionaries closed in upon the lines of defense, word was received from Martellus Bohr. Help was coming from the neighboring Crassian Marches. If the Lions could be held at bay for another two weeks the first ships bearing aid would begin to trickle in.

The first division to reach the fortifications was detected three days later. It was the 5th division under Marshal Raulson, dropping from a warp jump well within range of long range augurs. The nearest threatened planet, Mullouse, mustered its forces for invasion and called for aid. A fleet of cruisers and a pair of venerable battleships answered. It was not as strong a fleet as the Lions possessed, but further reinforcements would be swift in coming. As the fleets gathered in formation and the lines of battle were drawn the men on the ground prepared for the coming firestorm. Should the naval defenses fail, they would be expected to weather the storm of orbital bombardment and rise up against the invading astartes. Thousands upon thousands of men sought refuge in hardened bunkers and carefully built defenses while their officers watched the skies through shielded augur units. Civil authorities struggled to contain the panic among the cities, as those not conscripted to fight were left to their homes knowing there was not enough shelter for everyone.

The initial clash of escort ships proved inconclusive; the Lions could not risk engaging too close to the planet, or the orbital defense platforms would slaughter their light vessels. Instead they fired spreads of torpedoes to screen for the primary fleet as it raced headlong into a combat formation. The highly aggressive charge was spearheaded by the battleship Gryphon's Wing, which acted as a shield for the rest of the armada. Reinforced void shields flared with each hit sustained, but they held strong long enough for the final approach to orbit. As the incoming fire intensified the Gryphon slowed, allowing the rest of the fleet to surge forward and engage. From the armada came a small cluster of unarmed vessels. These ships were captive merchant vessels now branded with blasphemous runes and bearing a tortured crew. Their screams choked vox channels, filling the void with cries of anguish and madness. They raced ahead on overcharged engines, making a suicidal charge on the largest and most dangerous ships they could track. All but two were gutted and left drifting by laser and lance fire, but the pair that broke through detonated in roiling clouds of plasma as they collided with the battleship Nobun's Fire. The explosions obliterated the venerable warship's void shields and vaporized her starboard guns. She began to list and burn, spilling screaming crewmen and debris into the cold void. With the loss of one of the big ships, the defensive line began to break as the remaining ships were engaged in a brutal close-quarters battle. The captain of the surviving capital ship knew the fight was lost, and ordered the retreat; his ships had no chance of even slowing the invasion without support. The army would have to endure for the time it took to regroup. Though harried by aggressive cruisers, his ship plowed the road for his fleet to break away and escape, leaving the orbital platforms to their fate. One by one their guns were silenced through punishing fire or boarding action.

The subsequent invasion of Mullouse became a classic example of Legion IX at work. The fifth division made planetfall rapidly with the full complement of their ground forces. Even with traitor auxilia bolstering the astartes forces, the Lions still stood outnumbered more than ten to one. Despite the steady bombardment that had preceded the first wave of transports and drop pods, over 500,000 soldiers of the planetary guard stood ready to take up arms in the planet's defense. Once the last few shells had fallen they rose from an underground labyrinth of bunkers, fortresses and tunnels to wage war. They were tasked with one objective: hold until relieved. Reinforcements were coming, if they could withstand the might of their foes.

Marshal Raulson surveyed his prize from orbit aboard his flagship, the venerable Right of Conquest. His strategy was laid and prepared, and each of his brigadiers knew well their tasks. Each had fought for the right to draw first blood, but ultimately Raulson had favored Dolgus Haig of the 3rd brigade to be his instrument. He would command the initial invasion, while the remaining forces prepared to reinforce and extend the beachhead he would form. Upon securing the initial landing site the 1st, 4th and 5th brigades would swell the ranks and prepare to make war. Only the 2nd brigade under Welias Bernard would remain in orbit. His purpose would be to escort the legion's heaviest war machines once a suitable spaceport was captured. They would bring to bear the firepower needed for the final killing stroke against the capitol hive and the massed armies therein. The preparations had been made, and a grand strategy formed. With this Raulson gave his blessing to deploy, and Haig quickly dispatched the outriders of the coming storm.

Initial skirmishes took place over the missile batteries watching over the skies of northern Alteis, the continent housing the capitol hive and the bulk of the defending armies. Initial bombardment had demolished many of the surface batteries, but the planetary defense network held several subterranean missile silos that had proven resistant to direct bombardment. These became the first sites of a bitter struggle as astartes drop pods seeded the region with advance teams armed for close in fighting. The defenders manned their posts in time to see the crimson armored marines stalk through the choking dust and smoke of the battlefield. A single explosion shattered the silence as one of the perimeter guns fell to lascannon fire, and all hell broke loose. The marines had deployed heavy support teams to lay down a torrent of fire on the silos with heavy bolters and missiles.

The intense fusillade kept the defenders suppressed, with disciplined fire pouring constantly on any sign of resistance. Behind their defenses the planetary guard were safe, but the perimeter guns were being demolished almost as soon as they opened fire. Pinned as they were, the soldiers could only offer scattered fire as they heard the whine of jump packs and the thud of power armored warriors landing upon the pillbox rooftops. Goshawk squads, taking advantage of the suppressing fire laid down by their brothers, were breaching the perimeter. While poorly armed for direct conflict, the legionaries possessed a far more dangerous loadout for their mission. They unpacked and activated a series of beacons situated over pockets of resistance, and shortly after the sounds of screams and bloody slaughter replaced the throaty roar of gunfire. Assault troops clad in terminator armor had teleported into the fray, guided with precision by the Goshawk beacons to appear in the midst of the defensive bulwark. So armored, they were nigh invulnerable to the small arms fire leveled at them by the panicking troopers. In minutes the Lions were sweeping through the silo passageways in a thorough purge. One by one the missile defenses were so silenced through similar precision strikes. A corridor of safe airspace had been forged for the rest of the division to land.

A hasty response was orchestrated by the planetary guard. The full armored might of the 23rd Sambrian Cavaliers was mustered to harry the landing efforts while deployments were shifted to reflect the enemy positions. The regiment, led by Commandant Guy Dellaird, rode in a series of company level formations across open land to swiftly close the distance to the landing site under cover of friendly air assets. The skies overhead quickly choked on contrails as loyalist Lightning strike fighters clashed with the traitor aircraft screening for the drop. Under burning skies the Sambrian tanks spread to encircle the Lions dropsite and bombard it into oblivion while the transports were vulnerable. Every step of the way they were harassed by heavy air patrols, which were only just held at bay by dracosan transports jury-rigged to carry hyperios missiles ripped from tarantula sentry platforms. Losses were beginning to stack, but the screen of dracosan transports and Gaudin heavy tanks bled to protect the more vulnerable medusa and heavy mortar batteries. They sighted on the dropsite and prepared to fire while the lasrifle sections formed a protective screen should the Lions attempt a breakout action. Commandant Dellaird believed that the swiftness of his counter had denied the enemy sufficient strength to salvage the landing operation. He issued the order and the guns began to roar hellfire and destruction upon the Lions. Word of the successful operation was relayed to planetary command with a request for further air support. By committing more assets they could demolish the transports that escaped the firestorm, he claimed, and victory would be assured before the war truly began.

The vox transmission was cut off in a squeal of static. Several minutes of silence followed before high command to regain contact with the Sambrian 23rd, and the news they received was of a drastically more desperate note. Dellaird was dead, his command tank obliterated by a rapier battery carefully hidden in the hills surrounding the open drop site. The single shot was swiftly followed by a volley of lascannon and missile fire from prepared positions by the heavy support teams that had already landed. Like soot covered specters they rose from small dugouts and fighting holes and manned their positions outside the cordon made by the Sambrian tanks. The ensuing confusion was only made worse by a sudden rally from within the perimeter by the legionaries under fire. They whipped into a frenzy by the thunder of the loyalist guns and formed a counterattack spearheaded by the goshawk teams. They took flight with demolition charges and ran the gauntlet of enemy fire. As they streaked into the Sambrian lines their vox-grilles screamed at ear-shattering decibels and sowed panic among the foe. Though losses were high, the crazed astartes seemed to ignore all but the most fatal of injuries; their morale was fanatical and they reveled in the thrill of the charge. Throughout the front and rear of the auxilia cordon explosions marked the mass funeral of dozens of vehicles and self propelled guns.

With the command structure of the regiment shattered by the destruction of their staff officers, the regiment fell into a disorganized melee. Platoons facing annihilation broke formation to seek shelter from the astartes guns, forming gaps in the perimeter that now threatened to shatter completely. Basilisk crews abandoned their guns to seek perceived shelter in the fleeing dracosan troop carriers, but few survived the flight as the heavy bolters at their backs chewed their ranks apart. Only after the carnage had reached its peak did the loyalist air support break from the protracted dogfight to strafe the Lions' positions. It was too little, too late to save the situation; with every lightning drawn from battling the enemy aircraft the Lions had another craft freed to pour fire from above onto the Sambrian armor. The final death knell came when a flight of modified Arvus shuttles swooped in on a suicidal vector. Autocannon shells tore them apart, but not before their bay doors swung open and biker squads roared into an insane leap to the ground from the low altitude aircraft. They landed at speed, and screamed across the charred earth to hunt. Dozens of bikes roared between burning hulks at breakneck speeds, hounding the now broken Sambrians as they tried to disengage and retreat.

The assault on the drop site was a disaster. The 23rd had taken over 50% losses to manpower, and almost 75% to materiel. Their air support fared better with only 30% losses, but they had failed to prevent the Lions from securing their landing site. It would be days before a second assault could be dispatched, and by then the traitor forces would be gathered in sufficient strength to make such a move foolhardy at best.

On the Lions side losses were comparatively light. An attack had been expected, and the aircraft destroyed were captured cargo haulers of little consequence. While several hundred marines and auxilia had been slain, the reserve corps were able to construct a temporary space to land the larger carriers. Now the Lions were equipped with heavy armor and weaponry, and were prepared to march.

High command now faced a difficult challenge. The astartes were outnumbered, but their forces were swift and powerful. They could be crushed if brought to open battle where the planetary guard could bring their full numbers to bear, but for two problems. The first was the astartes mobility itself; the bulk of the force could evade a large scale push for a time and wreak havoc in the process. The campaign would be a slow marching cordon with the threat of breakthrough at every step. The second problem was far more pressing: the Lions still possessed orbital supremacy. Any army group larger than a single regiment was too large and easy a target for the orbiting warships to pass up. The carnage from such a mobilization would preempt any offensive war. Until the fleet returned to contest the space near Mullouse, it would have to be a primarily static defense.

The following days marked a bloody campaign fought across hundreds of miles of hill country, forests, rivers and plains. With their forces mustered the Lions fell upon the defenders with a constant pressure, applied across a broad front. The defensive zones built and fortified around the primary hives became graveyards, with tanks and pillboxes serving as burning headstones to the hundreds to thousands of men that died within the span of the first week. To the common infantryman it seemed as if danger lurked along every inch of the muddled front, with swift, unannounced death descending seemingly at random. To the officers, the picture was no less clear. Large groupings of traitor astartes would be sighted in one sector, only for an assault to appear dozens of miles away from a phantom force. Reports of carnage would flood the airwaves, only to fall silent as survivors reported the enemy as disappearing like ghosts in the smoke. The only warning that ever came was the roar of bike engines on the wind, or the whine of jump jets mere seconds ahead of a swarm of power armored figures dropping from the skies. Worst of all were the raids from the skies, where the deathly quiet was shattered by gunfire and the cackling of speeder pilots. These attacks knew no rest as day and night the Lions fell upon the loyalists. They tested, probed, and raided; and it did not take long for weakness to be found.

At the end of the first week it had become apparent that the army was simply unable to keep the strategic pace the Lions had set. The men were exhausted, paranoid, and could not move swiftly enough to engage the many threats that assailed them across the northern front. When the charge came, it fell along the shores of the Cravell River, a winding serpent of water that formed one of the major defensive positions guarding the vulnerable highways southbound to the Delray Highlands and the urban centers it held. Strings of bunkers and armories dotted the embankments, forming a garrison that could only be assaulted by crossing the river and climbing the slopes under fire.

The opening fire was a duel of artillery. Whirlwinds poured rocket fire upon the fortifications, then sped to new positions before the shriek of earthshaker shells could rain in from above. High explosive and anti-bunker munitions mixed with smoke and chem rounds, seeding the battlefield with a hallucinogenic haze that blotted out vision and rendered those too slow in protecting themselves trapped in a nightmarish fugue of drug-induced dementia. In response the heavy guns positioned behind enemy lines poured fire into the far side of the river, pulverizing the landscape in a massive upheaval of earth. In response, the Lions mobilized their Goshawks, who deployed from low flying aircraft to jet their way into the enemy. Theirs was not a mission of direct action, however; under the shroud of smoke they bypassed the line of bunkers, cutting through the panicked fire of the soldiers around them to the rear positions. Quickly they closed on their objectives: vantage points where they could mark targets for destruction. Their targeters synced with the cogitation matrices of allied missiles, meaning that even as the defenders grew wary and moved to drive off the danger it was too late. Seeker missiles fired at extreme range darted across the battlefield to claim a heavy toll on the entrenched artillery positions. Their steady barrage faltered, then failed as gun crews sought shelter. With the first line of defense eliminated, the assault began.

Thousands of troops, all clad in chem gear and baying for violence and death raced to the river. These were mere men whose souls had been forfeit alongside their masters. They raced through the cratered moonscape to the river under promises of glory and favor, and they formed the mailed fist of chaos that would smash the defenses. They were supported by long range fire from the 1st battalion's heavy armor; augur shells blew through bunker walls and lascannon raked the pillboxes that fired blindly into the smoke the Lions had seeded.

The situation for the loyalists was spiraling out of control, and threatened to grow desperate. The attack had come swiftly, and the heaviest ordnance the defenders held had been neutralized. Miles behind the river the sector command rallied their reserves to pour into the fight. Air support scrambled to stem the tide of men pouring into the attack while armored companies mustered from their rally points to smash into the invader's flank. Two full squadrons of attack craft swooped over the battlefield to lay a punishing wave of incendiary munitions, while lightning fighters screened for them in the face of enemy air support. Once more the skies clouded with contrails and streaks of fire while tanks rumbled to war below. They began to cross the bridges, only for disaster to strike. Swarms of speeders, waiting for the Goshawks to report enemy reinforcements, cut along the edges of the assault to run the gauntlet over the river itself. Some were caught flying too low and were shredded by the firefight below, while others drifted too high and were picked off by fighter craft. The majority were skilled pilots, however, riding an insane sprint to obliterate the lead transports making the crossing with multi-meltas. In a single strafing run the bridges became clogged with ruined vehicles, choking off the reinforcements and boxing them in. A second run was preceded by the screams of whirlwind rockets, which fell upon the troops and wreaked havoc among the transports fighting to clear themselves of their own jammed formation. With their support demolished by the fast reacting Lions, the defensive line now threatened to fail under the onslaught of the forces of chaos. The final nail in the coffin was the deployment of the rhino-mounted astartes, flanked by squadrons of bikes. With the mere mortals choking the enemy guns, the marines poured from their transports to ford the river and deliver the killing blow. Meanwhile, with their charges delivered to the front, the bikers roared off to the bridges, where their more agile vehicles could cross to hunt for fresh victims.

The loyalist defeat was total, and those who were not massacred were taken prisoner to await a darker fate than death. Though the losses to their auxilia were numerous, the Lions held means to recoup their losses. Many vehicles were salvageable with little work, and the fallen remembrancers and chaplains in their ranks had not lost any of their skill with words. There would be a great number of converts among the defeated soldiers. Those who embraced the word of Chaos were to be armed and prepared to march.

In the wake of their loss, the defenders were thrown into disarray. The breach in their defensive zone was quickly pounced upon by the Lions, who poured through in a rapid assault on anything and everything they could overrun. Hasty redeployments sought to check the division as it rolled forwards, but the hunting packs of bikes and speeders made any moves to stop the advance impossible. Any force in sufficient strength to check the attack was too slow and ungainly to catch their elusive prey, while any that lacked for numbers would be set upon by the legionaries like a pack of jackals. During this rolling war the loyalists lost almost double the strength the Lions had landed with, being unable to save regiments or cohorts that were too slow to avoid being cut off. Thousands of prisoners were butchered in grotesque rituals, their corpses then made to adorn the fighting vehicles as a sign to their former comrades. Thousands more were claimed as slaves and plunder; aerial battles to prevent transports from stealing those poor souls to orbit became commonplace right up until the forward airfields were razed in a surprise attack deep behind what had been believed to be safe territory.

The Warpath

((Tag team with the Iron Rangers on the drive to Terra, nod to Elume Elish campaign))

Delaying Actions

With the siege of Terra, the Lions turn to preventing loyalist reinforcements from reaching the Emperor. Using their mobile fleet and ground assets, the Lions engage the Steel Marshals by claiming vital worlds needed to support the drive to Terra. The Lions strike their enemies swiftly and mercilessly, outmaneuvering the Marshals at every turn. Though never able to destroy their loyal brethren, Cromwald's campaign of precision strikes leads him to duel and butcher several captains, leaving disarray in his passing. In this, he succeeds in buying time for the Warmaster, while infuriating his brother with his hit and run tactics.

Flight

The siege of Terra breaks with the Warmaster's fall. Having done all they can to slow the Marshals, the Lions must now disengage or be forced to fight Roman on his terms. Rather than face the full wrath of his brother, combined with the strength of the Silver Cataphracts and surviving loyalist troops on Terra, Cromwald retreats. His legion faces a decades long chase as they split once more, fighting a rapid retreat across the eastern reaches of the galaxy. Though almost half the legion's strength is lost in the retreat alone, the survivors remain an organized and effective fighting force after the Scouring has run its course. On the far fringe of known space they lurk, regrouping and biding time until the loyalists' storm of vengeance abates.

Frontier, Conquest

With the Scouring ended, the Lions begin to move. Acting as a twisted parody of their efforts in the Great Crusade, they begin to raid the fringe systems of the outermost sectors of Imperial space. Originally treated as a minor threat, it is not until they begin to conquer systems aggressively that their low priority begins to scale up. In the meantime, they subjugate worlds in the name of Slaanesh, and Cromwald ascends to daemonhood for the debasement of whole populations billions strong.

Downfall

A crusade is put together to push back the tide of darkness sweeping along the outer edge of Imperial space, backed by numerous chapters of Astartes and regiments of Imperial Guard. In the end the conquest was too ambitious; the Lions are defeated, scattered and their primarch banished to the warp. As a legion the Lions are no more; they scatter and break up into warbands, many finding refuge in the immaterium. It is a blow they never fully recover from, even on the great black crusades.

Culture

The Lions fall took a finely tuned, highly disciplined machine and set it to run amok in the galaxy. Before the embrace of chaos forever tainted the legion, it gained a reputation as a keen, strategically minded engine of war. They engaged their foes with an eye for delivering their strength to the correct place at the correct time to leverage the maximum effect on the enemy. Their forethought and strategic cunning led to numerous victories over numerically or technologically superior foes. To do so, they formed tactics and doctrine that manifested as a highly mobile, heavily mechanized legion. By rhino or land raider, thunderhawk or bike, the Lions would deliver swift, measured aggression to their foes where they are weakest.

Hailing from ignoble origins, the Lions Rampant became an esteemed legion amongst their peers. The return of their primarch injected noble blood into the legion, drawn from Sommesgard's military elite. Youths drawn from the armed forces across the planet brought the values of their homeworld, introducing the ideals of nobility, valor, and etiquette to the legion. The brotherhood became a refined organization, led by marines groomed to standards both in war and in matters of state.

This grooming of noble born recruits led to a sharp contrast in the ranks. The ranks of officers were swiftly filled by promising candidates from the noble children of Sommesgard. Each peer was given the best training the Lion could offer, and those who excelled would swiftly find themselves in command over their brothers. Terran-born marines endured the prejudice favoring their younger kin with the same thankless stoicism that they had held before Cromwald's return, knowing full well that the greatest leaders of the legion were still those most exceptional marines that had endured the crucible of war and been forged into a lethal instrument of the Primarch's will. This mixture of fresh blood and aged experience blended together to make a cadre of soldiers that were the face of the legion. Each was a highly educated, highly disciplined, well spoken man. As an officer such marines carried themselves to exacting standards, and would in turn act as liaison to the greater Imperium with measured words and sharp intellect.

Below the officer corps stood the rank and file. These warriors were the backbone of the Lions, and carried a far larger percentage of the original Highland Raiders among their number. The unflinching stoicism of the old guard met with the exuberance of the new blood to form a culture of resolve in the face of all the galaxy's horrors. While not held to the same standards of conduct as the officer corps, the rank and file mimicked the culture of appearances; each man felt duty bound to present a collected, controlled face to their peers. In battle this often would translate to channeling stress and suffering as righteous anger or disdain for the enemy, which acted as a focus for the marines to cleave to when fighting. To falter, despair, or demonstrate a breach in the mannerisms core to the Lions' creed is to invite shame from one's peers. Those marines who do so suffer under a terrible stigma, as they become marginalized by their brothers in arms for their inability to keep a grip upon themselves. Only a demonstration of true valor will overcome this stain on such a blighted marine's honor, and most who seek to absolve themselves die in the attempt. For those who do not strive to save face in the wake of such matters, all that lay ahead is an ignoble career with no hope for promotion or glory. Even the loftiest of officers can suffer so, as to prove less than unflinching in the face of the most terrifying of fates is to be stripped of command. There is no room among the Lions' elite for men who lack resolve.

While decorum is of tantamount importance to the Lions Rampant, it is not to say that as a legion they strictly cleave to a dour, restrained lifestyle. The men of legion IX adopt a "work hard, play hard" mentality toward their campaigns. In the halls of diplomacy and upon the field of battle they present the dignified front for the galaxy to see. Upon claiming victory over a foe, however, it is customary to celebrate the conclusion of hostilities. Here the legionaries and officers both demonstrate a hedonistic aspect that is otherwise kept very discreet. Among the rank and file feasting and revelry is commonplace, with wine, women and song being the order of the day. As they party as they once had as mortal men, the officers watch on, celebrating in a more refined (but no less indulgent) fashion among their own ranks. Field marshals and senior staff will often show solidarity with their men by joining the riotous celebrations for a brief appearance, but ultimately the segregation of the ranks is retained.

In this way the Lions Rampant have become something of a legend to the human auxilia they fight alongside. To the eyes of mortal men the marines of legion IX are the pinnacle of decorum, embodying the traits every soldier and gentleman aspires to be. Among nobles they are skilled hosts and capable courtiers; among soldiers they are bold, stalwart and able to relieve the psychological strain of war with rallying words and the time honored soldier's tradition of revelry. By both virtue and vice they are an example to the large auxilia forces that fight under their banner.

Recruitment

In the early days of the crusade, the Highland Raiders were drawn from the conquered warriors of northern Albyon and stretches of Franc. The men chosen to become astartes were selected on account of their hardiness and indomitable spirit. As part of the recruitment rites, applicants were subjected to numerous tests of will and fortitude by their people. These culminated in a sojourn across the wintry wastes of the Albyon highlands to the transports responsible for claiming the tithe of men. Only those who could brave the bitter cold and savage fauna to reach their new masters would become the Emperor's warriors.

The newly augmented marines then faced the crucible of war with only a basic indoctrination period. Training and discipline were instilled rapidly over a scant handful of years before feeding the men into the furnace of battle. This made for a high rate of attrition to the Raider's forces, but also forged a core body of seasoned warriors from those who endured, and reinforced the culture of unbreakable will and grim resolve.

With the coming of Cromwald, this practice changed dramatically. During the restructuring of the legion he shifted recruitment from the wastes of Terra to the now flourishing world of Sommesgard, and instated new methods of drawing troops from their human stock. At first, the mandate came that his marines would be built from the children of officers who served in the planetary defense corps, given their pedigree and training from youth. This worked for a time, but the needs of the crusade would mandate before the decade was out that more recruits be trained. So the edict was passed that all young men of viable age born to the military arm of the Lions' homeworld would be registered for conscription. Academies were raised to train the youth of the world to meet the needs of the legion; they offered education in tactics, sciences, humanities and the arts. These schools became some of the most prestigious institutions across the face of the planet, and acceptance was a high honor. They were expensive to enroll in, ensuring that most of the students held a pedigree own renown. These children were groomed to one day become leaders among Lions, serving to guide their brothers drawn from lesser classes by means of draft lotteries and mass conscription.

On the day of conscription, every prospective recruit faces his first taste of life among the Emperor's vanguard. The young men are grouped together and subjected to a week of constant trial, pitting them against their peers. Each group must complete several objectives, scattered across a broad stretch of land cultivated to be difficult to navigate, all while knowing that those who fail lose their chance to become space marines. Dubbed the Crucible, it weeds out those who lack the spirit to become more than men, and is judged by a panel of captains in command of the recruiting companies. They choose candidates to fill out fresh platoons to replace those already graduated to one of the crusading fleets using not the success of the mission as their measure, but of the performance of the men as they face a task meant to be nearly impossible. Those who falter, despair or break in the face of insurmountable odds are seldom given a chance to be any more than a legion serf or servitor. Meanwhile, those who exhibit fortitude of will, cunning, and an indomitable spirit are taken to the vast training grounds surrounding the legion fortress to begin their implantation and training.

Organizational Structure

The Lions Rampant form a legion that seldom fights as one. Instead, the legion is split into six divisions, each numbering over 20,000 marines apiece. These divisions are autonomous; each forms the heart of a crusade fleet with its own array of capital ships, logistical support, and administrative backing to prosecute protracted campaigns with little outside influence from the rest of the legion. These divisions are commanded from above by a dedicated headquarters battalion formed by the Primarch, his hand-picked advisors and his elite guard. This command group attaches itself to a division for a period of time (usually the length of a campaign), providing the host division with the Primarch's leadership and the might of most illustrious warriors the legion has to offer. For the duration of his presence, Cromwald commands the division directly. Once it is time to move on, the Field Marshal reclaims control over his men and returns the crusade under his own authority while the Sovereign departs for the next division in need of guidance.

Each division is further broken up into a quintet of brigades, which nominally number between 4-5 thousand marines. The first brigade is a dedicated heavy armor brigade, while the rest are predominantly infantry. Each brigade is then broken into multiple battalions of roughly a thousand marines, which are in turn broken into companies of one hundred, then sections of thirty, down to the base squads of ten men.

Specialist Units

• Goshawk Squads

Unlike their contemporaries, the Lions refrain from outfitting jump packs to assault squads. Instead the mobility such equipment affords are given to teams dubbed Goshawk squads, which are equipped to act as forward observers and recon assets. The field gear each marine is issued for such duties varies wildly with the theater of war, but emphasis is placed on targeting and communications equipment. With such specialized gear these teams advance to high ground or infiltrate by air into enemy territory and mark targets for their allies. Through their guidance friendly artillery, air support, and even orbital bombardments can be wielded with uncanny precision. Should their position become untenable, the Goshawk teams rely on their mobility and friendly air/speeder support to escape to safety. Even so, their mortality rate is high, though volunteers are in abundance for the glories earned from such a perilous duty.

• Warden Counter-Assault Squads

Lions' doctrine affords hand to hand combat as an essential skill of every marine, but advises against charging into the enemy's guns. Instead, a doctrine of marines equipped for and tasked with counter-assault was developed. These formations are equipped with combat shields and power blades in addition to their standard kit, and form a reserve that deploy where the enemy has gathered strength for a charge. Should the foe brave the storm of bolter fire laid down by the tactical squads, the Wardens surge forward to check the enemy's momentum and shatter their cohesion in close quarters.

• Headquarters Support

Additionally, it is of great note that on each level of command there are multiple attachments to the unit headquarters that help expand upon its capabilities. Signals companies, medical units, librarian detachments and reconnaissance companies are often held separate from the standard organizational table, and regularly report directly to brigade or division command rather than following the conventional hierarchy. These forces are even further supplemented by maintenance and recovery units, auxilia forces and other assets that form the extensive infrastructure of war. Though each division on paper numbers roughly 25,000 marines, in practice this number is highly flexible and does not account for the small legion of serfs, technicians, servitors, orderlies, administrators and other necessary forces to ensure the engine of war is well maintained.

Fleet Assets

Given the legion's division of forces, the Lions Rampant maintain an extensive fleet to support their independent operations. The heart of this fleet is the Primarch's own flagship, the Gloriana class Indomitable Sovereign. This vessel is a highly modified warship rebuilt to Cromwald's tastes, with an emphasis on high-speed firepower. This ship is the heart of the primarch's personal fleet, surrounded by no less than ten other ships of the line and numerous escorts. Beneath this command fleet lay the numerous crusading fleets that fall under the Lion's authority. Each of these expeditions is built around a single division, borne on a fleet of between 10 to 20 ships of the line, and supported by assets from both the legion's fleet and the Imperial Army. Aboard the flagship vessel is the Master of Ships, an officer serving as a counterpart to the marshal in command of the division the fleet serves to transport.

Aside from the crusading fleets, the Lions possess one additional battlegroup: the Praetorian Flotilla. It is an honored collection of relic warships of all sizes and classifications. These venerable vessels stand vigil over Sommesgard and the legion's primary source of new men and materiel. While not as powerful as any of the expeditionary fleets, the numerous orbital fortresses, defense monitors, and other static engines of destruction give the Lions' homeworld a potent ward against enemy action.

At the onset of the Heresy, the combined force of the Lions Rampant fleet assets totaled over 90 capital ships, with an extensive number of escorts of cruiser class or lighter. Though outnumbered by the larger legions in terms of raw firepower, battlegroups under the Lions' banner form a highly mobile strike force that focus on outmaneuvering their enemies.

The Dauntless, Indomitable Class Cruiser

The Dauntless was one of the handful of Indomitable class vessels laid down in the late years of the Great Crusade. Designed originally to be a fast, heavily armed escort, its role was to deliver punishing salvos of lance and macrocannon strikes on the flanks of an enemy formation while the larger vessels form a clash of the line. Chosen for its strengths by the Lions Rampant, the Dauntless joined the second division fleet on the crusade. She remained a relatively unknown element of the fleet for decades, engaging in several battles but never playing a decisive role in any. It was not until the outbreak of the Hektor Heresy that the crew of the Dauntless would make their mark on history. On the fringes of the Wendol Drifts the master of the 2nd division was given council that all was not right in the legion. Braving the threat of death or worse, the apothecary Antonin Gagnon brought the warning of Cromwald's treachery, and of his corruption of the legion's gene-stock. Using his own numbing body as evidence the apothecary made his case, and awakened Marshal Venetus to the truth. Venetus gathered the meager handful of men he could trust and boarded the Dauntless under the ruse of an inspection of the vessel's aging arsenal. Personally he took command of the ship, sparking a full blown battle in the void as loyalist elements aboard no less than four other vessels attempted to seize control of the helm and break from the traitor's formation. Of these Venetus led three ships to a successful coup and used their speed to take flight from the enemy now in pursuit. Only the Dauntless successfully ran the gauntlet of the traitors' guns. Her flanks were raked by salvos of fire from enemy cruisers, but her speed allowed the last loyalists of the 2nd division to break free from the fleet and begin a weeks-long flight from the hounds at their heels. Only by destroying the Storm of Wrath and her escorts was the Dauntless able to finally make good an escape into the warp. The traitors, believing the ship to be lost, ended their pursuit. Adrift, crippled, and with only a skeleton crew of a few hundred men, the Dauntless was at the mercy of the warp. The ship's navigator died shortly after the flight, leaving the crew adrift and only capable of short jumps through the immaterium. In this fashion, the vessel missed the majority of the Heresy; unable to warn the Imperium and left to question its fate the loyalists began to lose faith.

Exemplary Formations

Throughout the Crusade the marines of the Lions Rampant have earned countless battle honors. These merits, issued for valor and victory, have helped shape the name and legend of several formations within the legion.

The Lionhearts

The first brigade, third division have borne the title of their first and greatest lord marshal in the wake of the victory over the hulking Tsulkik xenos. When faced with the terrifying alien juggernauts, the lord marshal gathered his armored assets to meet the lumbering enemy armor on the field of battle. It was here that the first "Lancer" formation of vanquisher equipped predator and vindicator tanks was fielded. With mobility on their side, they harried the xeno war machines at extreme range, driving the enemy forces into disarray. What followed was a bold assault to finish the disorganized xeno armor, with the marshal's land raider "Indomitable" forming a mailed fist that hammered through the enemy guns. Lauded for their victory, the armored might of the 3rd division have since proven time and again that their courage will not be broken. Since the initial christening, the Lionhearts have refined the armored doctrine further. The Lancer formation now forms the backbone of their strength, with other patterns of tank supporting the vanquishers when enemy armor is engaged. Always the Lionhearts pursue aggressive, direct tactics; their penchant for focused aggression and dauntless courage continues under the command of marshal Basil Heart, who leads in the wake of his mentor.

The Duke's Own

Attached to the headquarters of 3rd brigade, 2nd division, the Duke's Own are a recon unit named for their parent vessel, the Duke Vanderoy. The marines of the brigade reconnaissance detachment are experts in their specialization; each is a veteran of numerous drops and an artist with the jump packs they take wing upon. Present for the scouring of the moons of Anhorath, they acted as the eyes and ears of a blinded brigade. Where auspex and augur arrays failed, they took flight and positioned precariously close to the enemy warrens where heathen men gathered in strength. Braving the threat of imminent death, they relied on visual signaling to coordinate legion artillery onto their own positions. They relied on their jump packs to escape to safety as the shells began to fall. This, among other operations, highlights the recon group as elite among their brethren and courageous to the point of insanity. Only volunteers are ever assigned to the team, and of those volunteers only those skilled in flight, evasion and gifted with preternatural situational awareness are gifted the wings upon their armor marking them as one of the Duke's Own.

Renowned Figures

The Sacred Band

Squad IX of the sacred band was chosen from the newly developed Highland Raiders, whose human stock had been drawn from the wastes of what had once been the western stretches of old Europe. They were a hardy group whose powers of endurance and stalwart hearts had made them excellent Astartes candidates. From this legion the ten marines chosen to join Hektor in his subjugation of the broad Merican wastes were not the strongest, the most skilled, or the greatest champions. Those men chosen to ride with the warmaster possessed a far greater quality: intellect and leadership. They were the best examples of scholarship and integrity, of cunning and of charisma necessary to spur their marines to ever greater feats of military excellence. When the legion reached for the stars at the onset of the Great Crusade, it would be under the command of the survivors of the band and wielding their tactics across the stars.

Eight of the ten survived to take the reigns of their legion. Of those eight, only six lived to see their primarch restored. Four of these six were given mastery over a division of the legion. The remaining pair would serve alongside the primarch as advisers and specialists whose talents and understanding would prove utterly invaluable.

• Geoffrey Calisth - The Lionheart, a warrior whose aggressive tactics would help shape the core of the Lions armored might. Mentor to Basil Heart, who would succeed him. Died in battle as master of the 3rd division, leading the brigade that shared his title.

• Callidan Taylor - Shrewd, cunning, and gifted in deception and subterfuge. His contributions would be marginalized in his later years as too underhanded and indirect. Slain in battle shortly before the discovery of their primarch.

• Frederick of Lomstead - A simple, down to earth individual whose plain manner hides a very keen intellect. A good anchor for his peers, he was often chosen the broker of peace between astartes for his level head. Joined Cromwald's command company upon discovering the primarch.

• Isaac Venetus - A tactician and capable fighter, he was renowned for his stubbornness and eye for positioning and deployment. A good shot with heavy weapons, he would go on to lead the 2nd division.

• Ricard Leminway - An expert marksman with a cheerful demeanor, he never ceased to show pride at being chosen as one of the legions best and brightest. His jovial ways helped morale, as no horror of war ever seemed to phase him. Died on the crusade before Cromwald was found.

• Russel Brennenburg - A heavyset, somber man who bore the names of slain brothers and battles branded upon his skin. He would never forget a defeat, and would avenge his fallen brothers as a grim reaper upon his enemies. Slain in the final days of Unification.

• Carloff Everts - Faced with the wisdom and knowledge of the Warmaster, he demonstrated an insatiable craving for more. He threw himself at theory and was always keen to adapt his academic understanding of tactics to practical ends. Mastered the 6th division.

• Vincent Klienes - Psychically gifted and in possession of an iron will, he was a noble soul who fought brilliantly no matter the danger. He would be the first and greatest of the legion's librarians, who proved a dauntless explorer of the powers he wielded and the source of their might.

• The Bear - Drawn from an annexed barbarian tribe and uplifted to the Imperial Truth, Bear was a surprisingly intelligent man. Built like his namesake and possessing a fearsome nature, he would become a legend among his brothers as a champion, and master of the 4th division.

• Gabriel Belimond - A moody, dark man whose even temper restrained a slowly smoldering rage within. Died during unification.

Victor Chesly of the Crusader Host

Chesly stands apart from his legion as a brave, loyal soul whose career remains untarnished by the stain on his legion's honor. He was an esteemed officer in the late years of the crusade given command of the 1st division. From this lofty position he was chosen to join the Emperor's side as one of the Crusader Host. Taken aback by the peerless honor such a position entailed, he humbly resigned his post as marshal and prepared himself for the long separation from his brethren.

Victor embodies the very best of his legion. (to be continued)

A Legion Fallen and Fragmented

The already divided organization of the Lions Rampant did little to prevent the splintering of the legion. Before his banishment to the warp, Cromwald maintained supreme control as the chosen of Slaanesh. Upon losing their leader, however, the Lions fragmented under lesser warlords. Their armies and warbands began to build their own infamy across the centuries.

The Tyrants Legion

Warriors of the Whispering Tyrant, a Chaos Lord of Slaanesh that is reported to draw from the souls of those he faces their darkest secrets, and whisper terrible things to their mind. A generalist warband with a high concentration of sorcerors, they are based on a small stronghold near the Maelstrom, where the tides of the warp hide them from Imperial Justice.

The Lions Claws

Formed around an armored brigade that split from the legion, they are a horde of vehicle mounted marines that delight in the thunder of treads and the roar of big guns. Praising Slaanesh from their iron steeds, they raid for slaves and victims to satisfy their need for violence, flesh and souls. Their master reportedly feeds his Vanquisher pattern Predator tank the blood and souls of his victims to bring the daemon within to compliance. Where the tank rides, it is accompanied by the tortured screams and ecstatic howls of those condemned to the daemon's clutches.

Writefaggotry in progress

The Trial of General Betroval

--/Pict feed begins./-- Subject (identified General Griffon Betroval, age 98) is seated in center of wide chamber, stripped to only trousers and shackles. Pict focuses on Betroval. Blurred human figure in ornate long coat (Subject (i)) crosses pict source. Sudden light fixes on Betroval, causing him to flinch and squint.

Voice(i?): General Betroval. What has it been, three days? Three days, bound before this court. Three days denying the truth of your crimes before the Imperium.

BETROVAL: I have told you! I told you I am no traitor! You have the evidence for yourself!

Voice(i?): You deny still, then, the charges leveled before you?

BETROVAL: Yes! I do!

Voice(i?): In spite of the evidence to the contrary, to your cowardice and treachery?

BETROVAL: I have told you, I am no traitor! Your evidence shows that I have done nothing but my duty!

Subject (i) crosses pict source again, stepping into the light. Still pict capture identifies Subject (i) as Inquisitor Thaddeus Kranz. Kranz strikes Betroval with an open backhand.

KRANZ: Duty? You are unfit to have such a word on your tongue. Perhaps, though, if not I...perhaps you could say such things to your own men? Lie to them as you do to me, general.

BETROVAL: My men? You bastard, they died in the Emperor's name! How dare you...

Kranz cuts Betroval off with a second strike to the face. Betroval begins to speak, but falls silent, growing visibly pale (Poss anemia? Consult Medicae log). Kranz turns and gestures beyond scope of pict-feed in direction of Betroval's gaze.