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Calael Bishop

2020-01-23T05:18:14Z

2600:1003:B010:4C7C:84C4:4E36:C8AE:F84A:

{{Infobox Warmasters' Triumvirate Primarch
|name=Calael Bishop
|bgcolor=indigo
|fgcolor=white
|image=[[File: Slaine_Calael_Bishop_Full.jpg|272px]]
|image=[[]]
|title=The Lodestar, the Void Walker, the Hellbender
|alias=Cal
|where=Providence Space Hulk
|when=
|legion=[[Astral Wardens]]
|crusade=Primarch,
|sigil=
|weapon= psychically-projected blade ''Solais'' and tower shield
|trait=Humble, massively powerful psyker
|flaw=Stubborn, simple
|heresy=Union
|fate=Vanishes during an Imperial ambush
|dominion=
}}
{{Warmasters Triumvirate-Head}}

{{Topquote|“The ancient Catharics believed that their God came to Terra in the humble form of a carpenter's son. I have often wondered if the Emperor had that myth in mind when he created Calael.”|Remembrancer Lainne, M32.10}}

Calael Bishop is the the Primarch of the V<sup>th</sup> Legion, the Astral Wardens, and most powerful psyker among his brothers- perhaps of the entire human race short of the Emperor himself. However, he spent most of his young life hiding his powers and fighting as a simple mercenary, believing himself to be some strain of abhuman rather than a godlike Primarch. Raised aboard a derelict space hulk stranded in the realspace eye of a warp storm, Cal places a great emphasis on trust and brotherhood, and clings tightly to his humanity, retaining close bonds with the mortals around him- even some non-human ones. He and his legion fight hard to bring worlds into Imperial compliance as painlessly as possible, with a focus on preventing loss of civilian life.
=History=
==Primarch Origin==
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When the infant primarchs were scattered, one never found his way to a planet. The space hulk Providence had rested since time immemorial in the realspace eye of a warp disturbance, a peaceful area where the tempestuous energies of the Empyrean are at their quietest. Not so the area around it- the turbulent warp-streams have capsized many a spacecraft brave or foolish enough to dare that region. Most craft thus lost are consumed and destroyed, but a lucky few are spat out relatively unharmed into this oasis of calm, and so join with the ancient accumulation of space junk known as Providence.
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Normally a Space Hulk is no fit environment to long entertain a population, but somewhere in the great mass' ancient past the vessel achieved a sort of equilibrium. Survivors of wrecks clambered inwards seeking shelter, forming communities where the life support systems held, and came to adapt to this strange new frontier, learning to combat the horrors lurking in the dark corners civilization never touched.

In an environment like this, the sudden appearance of an unclaimed infant was not as surprising as it might have been elsewhere. New arrivals waylaid, frightened parents abandoning their child in their frenzied flight... callous scenarios, but not uncommon. The tiny primarch was discovered by a passing caravan, and delivered to the nearby colony of Travel Mercies -so named for the hull of the craft in which the town resided. The boy was swiftly adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, a childless psyker couple who served as the oracles of Travel Mercies. They named their new son Calael.

The hydroponic systems of the ancient craft composing Providence were unreliable, and a thousand other disasters that might compromise the hulk's ability to sustain life could arise with little warning – thus, the art of the oracle was crucial to the survival of every community. With séance rituals, the oracle could glean faint snippets of the future, and predict system failures or dangerous arrivals, giving the community time to prepare and respond. In lean times, the oracle could summon the light of their distant home stars to coax their food supplies to growth. While this would be a dangerous gambit elsewhere in the galaxy, in the calm of the warp oasis psykers hardly need fear drawing unwanted attention – perils are so rare as to be nearly mythical. When young Calael' talent became apparent at an early age, the Bishops were overjoyed, and hurried to bring their boy up into their trade.

Calael took to prognostication like a fish to water, summoning starlight with the ease of the most experienced psykers in Providence. So too did he grow faster than any of the crops in the greenhouse, becoming a strapping young man in record time. Ma and Pa didn't ponder much on this, though- many of their neighbors were abhumans, so they reckoned Cal must just be some sort of previously unseen, very tall, very clever subspecies. Indeed, his rapid growth mostly only drew attention from the mercenaries who guarded the ward, earning joking offers for Cal to take up one of their tower shields and join them in their defense of the corridors- but the boy was happy tending the harvest with his folks, and for a time all was well.

Then the genestealers came. Always a lurking threat in providence, the hideous halfbreeds were generally kept at bay by Warders- mercenaries who saw to the defense of the colonies. Now, though, they crept out of the dark and unexplored corners of the hulk and gathered en masse for a raid of unprecedented proportions. The Warders that protected Travel Mercies were too proud at first to call for backup from their rivals in nearby colonies. When it became clear the tide of genestealers would not soon flag, it was too late to call for help. Fleeing for their lives, the Warders abandoned their duty, and Travel Mercies to its fate.
The oracle's arts were never arts of war. The Bishops fell swiftly before the threshing claws of the maddened hybrids, scarcely delaying the demise of their adoptive son. And yet, as young Calael faced his oncoming death, something miraculous happened- something that Calael would not reveal to a living soul for years to come. His parents rose again from where they fell, not in body but in numinous spirit to confront the hideous xenos anew. That was the last the boy saw, and when he awakened, the specters – and the genestealers- were gone.

There was nothing left for Calael in Travel Mercies – nothing but corpses and wreckage remained anyway. Scavenging what he could, he set off aimlessly into Providence ' corridors. Where he came across a ward, he would work odd jobs to make his way, but never stuck long- in part to help conceal his skill as a oracle, which tended to attract attention. Calael had no desire to be special, he just wanted to be. Traveling alone was a dangerous affair in Providence , so he quickly took up signing on with caravans, who often had mercenary guards for protection. It was thus that Calael had his first encounters with the Breachers.

As mercenaries who guarded the colonies were known as Warders, the Breachers faced outwards- their task was to explore, to clear unknown territory, to salvage goods for use and, most importantly, to breach the hulls of craft newly arrived at Providence and investigate what was inside. They too had adapted the omnipresent Warder shields, using them to press through the derelict corridors in a tight shield-wall to prevent whatever lurked within from rushing forth. Theirs was a brotherhood born of the utter certainty that if but one man were to abandon his place in the phalanx, the whole squad might well die. That uniformity of purpose spoke to the directionless Primarch, and before long his rapid growth and gangly strength earned him a spot on a down-on-their-luck Breacher crew, the Hellbenders, led by one Eulian White.

The Hellbenders had taken heavy losses on a string of bad jobs, and were desperately close to being too under-strength to continue work. Initially, Calael was glad simply to have something to occupy his mind, even work as irregular and dangerous as breaching. The men shared a close, if somewhat harrowed, camaraderie, and White was an effective and experienced leader, rumored to be one of the oldest humans in the business. And yet, as Calael grew accustomed to the patterns of the work, the powerful mind of a Primarch began to see flaws in their methodology.

At first the men rankled at this fresh-faced youth telling them how to do their jobs, suggesting changes to age-old room clearing patterns and movement formations that had kept Breachers alive for generations. He became a subject of vicious mockery, particularly by the hard-bitten Endeavor Jones, self-proclaimed “toughest bastard in the bulkheads” – but White decided to humor the newcomer, perhaps recognizing the value of his ideas. The grumbling quickly turned to awe as the Hellbenders' losses fell to almost nothing, encounters with even the deadliest genestealer strains and fiercest Ork holdouts going nearly without a hitch- and all the while, Calael was improving their methods, redesigning the team's shields and devising new types of shot for their trench guns. The Hellbenders rebounded from the brink of dissolution and quickly began to make theirs the most famous name in the region. Calael, for his part, was happy to accredit their success to good fortune, preferring to avoid any personal fame lest someone discover his oracle origins. For the time, he just wanted to be one of the team, and though White would have liked to brag about his new prodigy to his rivals he respected young Cal's wishes.

With new fame came new work, and the Hellbenders found themselves venturing farther afield than they ever had, passing through the superstructures of dozens of fused craft in their travels. Thus it was that they came to the ward of Ebon Cross, hired for a job in a land none of them had ever visited.

As a frontier hull, on the outer regions of the hulk, Ebon Cross was at greater risk of decompression incidents, and evidently had suffered just such an event some time ago when an undetected derelict impacted the hulk. The settlement's fighting men had perished before the breach could be sealed, as well as all their Starcallers. Lacking the resources to explore the new hull themselves, the colony council determined to hire a Breacher team- and what better team to hire than the renowned Hellbenders? Cal's shieldmates laughed and clapped each other on the back, reveling in the praise, but Cal was troubled. As normal as they seemed, his oraclular skills told him something was decidedly off about these folk, an itch at the back of his head that he had first felt when the genestealers ravaged Travel Mercies in his youth. His concern was great, but to reveal the source of his worry would be to reveal his abilities, to be set apart from his crew. Taking Captain White aside, he attempted to justify his suspicions with mundane reasoning- how odd it was that the colony had lost all their oracles, and somehow seemed to have no moonfolk, of which they''d made no mention. White understood Cal's misgivings, but figured the ripe salvage from the new hull was worth the risk. Still, he agreed to proceed with greater caution than usual.

With their nerves steeled, none of the Hellbenders were taken by surprise when the genestealers rushed them from the bowels of the foreign hull, but Cal was the only one prepared when the men and women of Ebon Cross charged them from behind. It was only thanks to his precognition that what should have been a slaughter became merely a rout, the Hellbenders closing their line to a protective circle of shields as foes both human and inhuman swarmed about them seemingly as one. By shield and shot the beleaguered men battered their way blindly through the horde, following Calael's directions until they reached a bulkhead that looked no different than any other. Here, Cal lobbed a breaching charge, miraculously revealing a defensible bridge room beyond the smoking hole.

The retreat was successful, but not unconditionally so- Eulian White was gravely wounded in the struggle. Through mouthfuls of blood, the captain called for Cal to take him deeper into the structure while the others held the breach, so he could join the martyrs in relative peace.

There, with his dying breaths, he confronted Calael about his uncanny foresight. The young primarch admitted, ashamed, that his was the Oracle's gift, and that he had hidden it so as not to be set apart from the men. Eulian laughed a red spittle-flecked laugh at this- Calael had always been set apart, from his size to his skills to his incredibly rapid learning, and the men had come to love him for it. White barked one final order for his protege- use those talents to keep the Hellbenders alive, whatever the cost. With that, the dying captain pressed into Cal's hand the enormous breachgun that had been White's signature, a masterful and ancient thing with a handle of mahogany cut on some forgotten world.

The Hellbenders would escape the trap laid by the “men” of Ebon Cross, and though sobered by their leader's death they were also proud, knowing well how few breacher teams could have survived being caught flat-footed by such a dire foe. Much of the success they attributed to Calael's miraculous intuition, and even the prickly Endeavor Jones nominated the young Primarch to take White's place. Calael's own estimation of his performance, however, was considerably less positive. He was forced to confront the fact that he had for a second time lost a father figure- one who might well yet live if not for Cal's selfish want for fellowship.

Fortunately the breach team's string of successes had given them a buffer that allowed them a time to rest and mourn. Calael was unsure he was worthy or able to fill his mentor's shoes, and decided he needed some time to think. Saying goodbye to his squad, he took a walk to ease his troubled mind, setting off to wander as he once had after the sack of Travel Mercies.

Such, at least, was his intention. As his meanderings took him homeward, to Travel Mercies' onetime neighbor settlement of Silk Road Solace, he found a face he had never expected to see again. Selen of the Moonfolk had identified Bishop's psychic talent in his youth, and at the Silk Road watering hole they met once more. Bishop was delighted to see his old friend, and overjoyed that he was not his hometown's sole survivor. He spent many hours celebrating and catching up with the insectile alien, but when the subject came to Selen's tale of survival against the genestealer horde, a disturbing fact came to light.
The Warders who condemned their colony to death had the opportunity to call for reinforcement, but because only rival companies were within reach they chose to abandon their posts rather than seek dubious aid. Selen had only survived to learn this truth because those Warders had returned to pick over the wreckage, and by chance found the Moonfolk buried beneath the rubble.

Calael parted ways with Selen later that day, this dark revelation driving him deeper into Providence's massive derelict composite, ever closer to the structure at the heart of the Hulk- the Blackstone Spire.

As best as any cartographer could reckon, the Spire was dead center within Providence, extending high above and far below the main mass as an enormous obelisk of an ancient and unknown make that no species known could lay claim to. No theories had ever satisfactorily explained why these protrusions had never been impacted by flying debris, or why any new craft always accreted around the middle of the hulk. So too was it unknown why the spire remained uninhabited despite clearly predating even the most venerable spacecraft surrounding it, despite its apparent immunity to impact and the obvious advantages of such a vantage point for salvagers. While occasionally Oracles would feel themselves drawn to the Spire for meditation, sometimes even gaining revelations of new spellcraft or visions of the distant future, none ventured deep, and no creature stayed long save for small reptilian beasts which skittered around the interior. Even the boldest explorers and breach teams who swore to pubs full of peers their determination to reach the top inevitably return empty-handed, stating that at some point they simply lost interest. As far as any record showed, the only claims of reaching beyond the eleventh floor were mutually conflicting accounts told by drunks competing to tell the tallest tale. Or so it had been, until Calael Bishop arrived at the threshhold of the Spire.

The ascent passed in a daze, endless flights of stairs devoured by the tireless strides of a Primarch. Calael advanced, heedless of the increasingly non-euclidian architecture. After what might have been years or merely days the boy reached the pinnacle, and even in his fugue what he saw gave him pause- for every breacher learns early not to step into the open void. The initial shock fading, he realized that the starfield that surrounded him was not the one he knew- it was an observatory of a distant place, or perhaps a distant time. At the stellarium's center floated a single figure, ethereal, barely visible. The moment he clapped eyes on the strange amphiboid apparition, Calael knew in the depths of his soul that this was the creature which had called him forth.

It took some further time before the two were able to communicate in some meaningful way. The creature, which Calael would come to know as Ry'beth, had a deeply alien mind, a shade of some ancient and mighty race whom mortals could not well hope to fathom. Fortunately, the young Bishop was no mere mortal, and slowly he began to glean insight into Ry'beth's musings.

Though the amphibious spectre spoke always in cryptic forms, Cal was slowly able to unravel the tale. The creature was a survivor of sorts, a spirit from a antediluvian time who had fled the birth of a dark god and found refuge in this place, though it could hardly sustain his form. Since then, the entity had snatched souls and the craft that bore them from the jaws of the Great Enemy whenever the opportunity arose, until over the eons the mass now known as Providence came to be. So it had been for an unknowable epoch- Ry'beth's understanding of time as a concept seemed a bit nebulous- 'til the fateful day a host of brilliant warp-presences scattered like a flight of comets through the Immaterium. It had taken all of Ry'beth's gossamer strength and the benefit of surprise to wrest but a single prize from the grip of the dark powers, to guide it here instead of whatever had been its intended destination, but the deed was done. This singular prize had grown into the man who stood before Ry'beth, a psychic titan perhaps mighty enough to master the secrets that had nearly passed from the galaxy with the amphibian's ancient race.

So it was that Ry'beth imparted his wisdom to Calael, and though a mere few months passed in the world outside the men of the Hellbenders would later confide that their young leader seemed decades aged on his return.

Rather than being reinvigorated by his sojourn, Bishop seemed more troubled than before. For the first time, he told his comrades in arms of the fate that befell Travel Mercies, and the truth of his hometown's fate as imparted to him by Selen. Just as in the Hellbenders' own disaster at Ebon Cross, the tragedy might well have been averted if the mercenary companies that kept Providence habitable were not so disinclined to work together. Cal's proposition was for the Hellbenders to lead by example, to offer aid unconditionally to those who needed it in the hopes of fomenting a brotherhood among Breachers and Warders.

Among the superstitious men of Providence, such a concept was slow to spread, but the growing fame and success of the Hellbenders under Bishop's leadership ensured that spread it did. In order to better focus his energies on the task at hand, he inducted two new employees- the first was Selen, Bishop's old friend, who would serve as the crew's quartermaster. The second was Constance Lainne, a young woman who was fascinated by the tale of the Hellbenders, and was determined to chronicle it from the closest position she could, which, on Bishop's offer to employ her as crew manager and outreach, proved to be very close indeed.

A struggling crew called Eden's Rangers were the first to give in- having fallen below operational strength and with a reputation for black luck, the Rangers were liable to be forced to disband or resort to banditry. So it was that, when the Hellbenders chanced to pass the hamlet the Rangers had found themselves stranded in, the Rangers' leader proposed a joint operation.

What proceeded was an unmitigated success, and the two breach teams parted ways on good terms. The Rangers would swear to any crew they met that Bishop had the luck of the Saints themselves, and carefully preserved the glyph-wards he had painted on their gear to keep that luck at hand.

Some months later, the Scav Boys put out a desperate distress signal, having found themselves in a trap not unlike the tragedy at Ebon Cross. The Hellbenders soon put the Genestealers to rout, and preserved the lives of most of the Scav crew. Soon after, the Corridor Hounds called for aid. Then, the Bulkhead Bastioneers requested aid in defending their ward, an unheard-of thing for a Warder crew to ask of a Breacher. Eventually, the Ogryn leader of the Strongarm Crew appeared before Calael, loudly boasting that his feats exceeded Cal's own, and challenged the young leader to a wrestling match to prove it.

After tuhis, there was no stopping the spread of Bishop's good news. In only a few years, a support network spanned the bulk of Providence that curbed the deadly xenos raids, pushed back the contents of an Ork Rok and saw the turnover rate of Warder and Breacher crews both reduced to a fraction of what it once was.

Though Bishop would never have called himself Providence's ruler, the following years would run a course very familiar to those versed in the histories of the Primarchs. The lines of communication the Hellbenders established grew into a greater organization, eventually coalescing into what would formally be called the Warder and Breacher's Union of the United Peoples of Providence. The Union set to rewiring and rerouting the vox systems of the derelicts that made up the hulk, and inducting every community Oracle they could find into their network. Soon, whenever a new craft appeared in system, a genstealer force massed or a ward's hull was threatening to decompress, scarcely any time was lost before Bishop had mounted a response- often with himself at the head. Providence's network of Oracles allowed problems to be predicted and mitigated.

There was no predicting the arrival of the Emperor of Mankind, however. Enlisting the legendary navigational skills of Rahman Keita'mansa's expeditionary fleet, the master of mankind oversaw the charting of the first relatively safe course through the intense warp storm that surrounded Providence. Though the inhabitants of the Hulk were very much taken aback by the unprecedented appearance of a fully functional warfleet, the promise of regular contact with the outside world saw the united peoples of Providence quickly accept the terms of integration into the Imperium of Man. No small factor in this choice was the revelation that Calael Bishop was, in fact, the Emperor's own long-lost son, a fact easily proved when the golden sovereign crowned Bishop with a halo of silver star-flame on their first meeting. Calael could no longer hide his power, or deny that he was much more than a simple abhuman.

Begging a year's time to work out the details of establishing trade routes and bringing Providence into the culture of the Imperium proper, the young Primarch soon left his home to join his father and brothers on the Great Crusade.

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==The Great Crusade==
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The V<sup>th</sup> Legion was in a sorry state when Bishop took over, as a geneseed flaw prevented proper hypno-indoctrination, leaving new recruits undertrained and unprepared for combat. They were plagued with poor performance, and dogged by worrying a reputation of black luck and tales of strange spirits haunting the places where they fell. The previous Legion master had simply pushed his semi-competent men into the meat grinder to shore up the lines of more successful Legions. The Primarch immediately had his Hellbenders made into half-astartes and had them instruct the Terran marines in the ways of the Warders, having each outfitted with a tower shield. Constance Lainne was appointed the Legion's official Remembrancer, a position which pleased her to no end as she would assiduously chronicle Bishop's life during the Crusade. The best records of the Vth during this time were penned by her hand.<div class="mw-collapsible-content">

Quelling the Casperian Rebellion marked the beginning of the Legion's psychic awakening, as they saw the first manifestations of Ghost-Martyrs among fallen Wardens. The strong bonds of fellowship between psychically-gifted members of shield crews resulted in a mind-linking that would come to be known as the Weave, allowing the souls of their dead brothers to briefly remain manifested on the battlefield after death. Following this event, the Legion began its training as psykers in earnest, with much help from the scholarly [[Lambach Kropor]] and his [[Chosen of Hecate]]. As the Astral Wardens' power grew they one by one began manifesting haloes of their own, echoing the silvery crown bestowed upon their gene-sire.

Progress within the Wardens was going well, but the Crusade itself proved troubling. Bishop had never before been an invader, and had now seen, with no small horror, what some of his brothers were capable of when roused to anger. He decided the Vth could, if nothing else, try to spare the worlds they visited the fates that others might bestow upon them with a swift and painless integration. Never much of a public speaker before, Calael honed his oratory skills to better make his case to newfound worlds, leveraging his Legion's increasingly-divine aesthetic to lend weight to his words. His "sermons" often began with a simple exultation: "Behold, for we are only the first of twenty-one hosts, each more terrible and wrathful than the last." His colorful descriptions always left out the [[Watchers]], though, out of Calael's immense respect for Je'she's methods.

This measured approach would become a theme across the Crusade. The V<sup>th</sup> were slow to grow, and slow to progress, often taking more time to achieve compliance than the other Legions, even if they sustained fewer casualties in the process. Their stubbornness was such that even on worlds that were deemed a lost cause, the V<sup>th</sup> often dug in their heels, refusing to give up on the populace. This led to conflict with many of Bishop's brothers, most notably [[Einchurt]] when the [[Death's Heads]] were sent to decimate a world the V<sup>th</sup> had been assigned to pacify. Calael bears much guilt for that world's fate, and Einchurt bears the scar Calael gave him in repayment.

During the Compliance of Laer, Calael entrusted the process of integration to his companion and Hellbender veteran Percival Jackson, the premier swordsman and duelist of their lot and a onetime inheritor to the closest thing Providence had to nobility. The staunch warrior was nonetheless tempted by the Blade of Laer, and in his corruption led a cohort of Wardens into the arms of Slaanesh. [[Isekho the Unseen]] would put the world to the sword and exterminate the traitor Wardens, an act which earned him Bishop's trust.

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==Brotherwar==

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Following the Edict of Nikaea, Bishop felt betrayed and abandoned by many he had considered close allies. Je'she's choice to stand against Imperial use of psykers wounded him particularly deeply. He saw not a leader seeking to further the Emperor's will, but an appeaser kneeling to the whims of the maddened [[Kinnevail Kincaid]] in a vain attempt to soothe the bard's fury. Nevertheless, even if his brothers had lost his trust, he trusted that the Emperor had a plan, and would not have made such a ruling without ample cause. He fitted his sons with collars to restrict their psychic powers, returning to the conventional breaching strategies they had begun with so many years ago, and simply hoped the Edict would be lifted before greater tragedy befell them.

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That hope died when the Emperor fell on Ullanor. With the "Burned Prophet" consolidating more and more power, his tyranny and influence growing daily, the prospects of any future reversal of the Edict grew dim. The psychic legions all felt increasing pressure under the Imperial yoke, but the Vth alone had recourse to escape it.

The next few years would see the Astral Wardens slowly withdraw from Imperial space, retreating to familiar holdouts and working their way towards the warp storm that surrounded Providence. Employing the help of Rahman's intelligence assets, the Imperium's records of the safe paths through the maelstrom were destroyed or confounded. So it was that the Vth Legion was the first to secede from the Imperium.

Bishop had expected the V<sup>th</sup> would be alone in their rebellion, as realistically no other possessed a redoubt that could hope to avoid the Imperium's retribution. It might have been so, but Warmaster [[Jon-Frederic Aristide]] had gotten wind of the Wardens' movements and, anticipating Bishop's state of mind, intercepted the Lodestar hoping to dissuade him from secession. In a tense encounter on an asteroid base near the Ghoul Stars, the two met. Aristide, far more clever and eloquent than Bishop, delivered an expertly-prepared entreaty to his disillusioned brother. He had anticipated it would be difficult to sway the stubborn psyker, but he had not expected Bishop's simple response, one that would burn in Aristide's mind all the way to the meeting at New Hope:

"If you truly believe Kincaid hears the Emperor's voice, then follow him."

Aristide proceeded to New Hope without Bishop, and would go on to declare formal secession from the excesses of Kincaid's growing ecclessiarchy, founding the Union Astartes with the worlds of the Astral Wardens, Nova Dragoons, Ussaran Liberators, Corsairs Gallant, Iron Guard, Dusk Phantoms and Pale Hounds. To Bishop's great surprise, his quiet mutiny found itself in the company of fully third of his brothers and their legions.

There was little time to celebrate, however. [[Mot Hadad]] had prepared a segmentum-spanning ritual to precipitate the rise a new Chaos God and secure the power to fill the Emperor's place as the Master of Mankind.

Bishop attended the attempted Sanction of Zharr-Hadad, hoping to talk sense into his brother- while Mot was surly, the two had developed a surprising rapport over the Crusade, and Calael was certain Mot's wanton slaughter of so many worlds must have been the work of Daemonic influence rather than the will of the usually tidy beurocrat. The Lodestar's words were in vain, and Mot began his ascension to Daemon Princehood with the rise of Hashut, Lord of Avarice. Bishop and his brothers were forced to retreat, the Wardens covering their escape. The losses the V<sup>th</sup> suffered at the Sanction were greater than they had seen in any single previous engagement.

As the Union Astartes developed, Aristide's ideology of posthuman supremacy saw Providence significantly refurbished to play host to the newly-founded Collegium Astronomica, an education center for the Union's prized psykers that took advantage of the oasis of warp-calm surrounding the Hulk to ease training and minimize perils. Bishop was awestruck by the transformation his homeland had underwent from the harsh survivalist frontier he had grown up upon, and eagerly threw his full support behind the burgeoning Union. In addition to assisting with the training of new psykers for service in the Union's government, the V<sup>th</sup> took a special interest in their acquisition- especially by raiding the Imperium's Black Ships, spiriting away those fated to join the Golden Throne's choir. Calael largely recused himself from politicking between the states, having little confidence in his judgment after Zharr-Hadad. He focused his efforts primarily on the place of psykers within their developing society, and the prosecution of the ongoing conflict with the Imperium of Man.

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=Fate & Legacy=

Little is known about the circumstances of Bishop's death. Records indicate his flagship, the Prodigal Sun, was lured away from Providence in order to present an opportunity for Imperial forces to engage both. Survivors of the event recall the Primarch led a desperate boarding action against the enemy vessel, which thereafter vanished into the warp- simultaneously, an unprecedented army of Ghost-Martyrs manifested in Providence, devastating the Imperial invaders. Bishop's spectral form was seen atop the Blackstone Spire as he cast the immense meteoric spell that would come to be known as the Salvation of Providence, putting the enemy fleet to rout and casting the remaining craft into the Maelstrom. After this, his specter vanished along with the other Ghost-Martyrs, with one exception- his burning psionic blade, Solais, appeared in the Wardens' reliquary. The Astral Wardens believe this is a sign from their gene-sire that the Lodestar will someday return to lead them in their time of need.

Since that time, several Legion Masters have led the V<sup>th</sup>, most recently Erasmus Cochrane, the first man to successfully grasp Solais' phantasmal form since it was interred in the Wardens' hallowed vaults.

=Writefaggotry=

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'''CODE BLACK'''

Calael Bishop sat up bolt upright, his lavishly upholstered command chair creaking under the sudden shifting of his massive form.
“Does anyone else feel that?” <div class="mw-collapsible-content">
Startled glances from the support staff all around the situation room reminded him that, no, he was the only oracle among those gathered- none of them had the warp-knack. Slowly, he composed himself. Constance Lainne, his chief of staff, leaned in with a concerned expression.
“A premonition, Cal?”
The giant shook his head, as if to clear it. “I'm honestly not sure. A presence, maybe, almost like...” he trailed off. Calael had come clean about a lot of things during his tenure as director of defense, but somehow he had never found the words to explain the creature in the Spire. Still, the thought lingered. ''Could'' it be Ryb'th, sending a summons of some sort? The magnitude was similar, but there was a different tenor to the sensation, unlike anything he had ever felt from his mentor. It was at once more alien, and yet... more familiar.
His musings were interrupted by a wave from the cadet on call duty. “Uh, sir? Looks like you weren't the only one after all. The switchboard's lightin' up like an engine room with an O2 leak.”
Calael leaned forward, intent. “So I wasn't. Where are the calls localized from?”
“Uh. They ain't localized, as such.” The boy stepped aside to give a clear view of the switchboard. Every single light shone red. Whatever was going on, every warp-sensitive the Wardens had on tap had felt it, nearly at the same time.
The hairs on Calael's neck rose- this was something big. “Constance, start seeing to those calls and arrange to have Selen collate the readings, I'll want to have a look at them later.” She nodded curtly and jogged off as the murmur of activity in the room rose to the roar of an active situation. Calael called to the man on monitor duty in the next room. “Jones, you get any calls from the lookouts?”
To his surprise, Jones peeked around the door, an expression of disbelief on his craggy face. “Funny you should ask, Cal, I was tryin' to figure out how to tell you. We got contact, confirmed by every lookout on the south side, even old Clancy who can't see shit.”
Calael rubbed his forehead in consternation. “Angels beyond, that must be a hell of a derelict if Clancy can spot it. Get two breach teams together, then, full crisis gear. Can't be too careful-”
Jones held up a hand to cut him off, uncharacteristically solemn. “See, that's the thing, Cal. It ain't a derelict.”
Calael paused. “What's that supposed to mean, Jones?”
“Just that, Cal. It ain't a ship. It's a fleet. And it's moving straight towards us at speed, under its own power.”
The room went silent, the hush broken only by the insistent clicking of the switchboard. Calael's blood turned to ice.
“Well, then.” In one violent motion he rose, flinging the chair aside and striding purposefully for the equipment room as he barked orders. “Belay that last order. This is a Code Black, people. Get EVERY breach team, on duty, off duty, on call, retired, '''everyone''' who can still hold a shield, and send them to the penultimate layer of Sector South, rendezvous at Ward 801. All our auxiliaries, find a working turret on that side and man it. Hell, find someone to put in the ones that won't shoot too, if they'll move around the intimidation factor might be worth it. Warders are to evacuate all nonessentials to the inner rings, at gunpoint if they have to. Jones, where the hell is my breach gun?”
Jones quickly fell into stride next to the taller man, shooting him a fierce look. “It's on the inside of your shield same as it always is, you lanky Ogryn fuck.” His expression softened. “You serious, Cal? Code Black? Have we even drilled for that?”
Calael shook his head. “Barely. I didn't even think it was possible. One functional ship, maybe. There are legends. A whole fleet...” he trailed off. “This could go very badly, Jones.”
“You don't gotta tell me. My wife an' kids are in Sector South, down in Starlight Bounty.” Jones ran his fingers through his thinning hair anxiously as they approached the equipment room. “Listen, if worst comes to worst-”
“If worst comes to worst we move everyone inwards to the Blackstone Spire. I've got it on very good authority that whatever's coming at us will have a hell of a time getting at anything in there.” Calael reached for his helmet. “Paint a glyph-ward it doesn't come to that.”
“Sir!” The call came from behind them. They turned to see the switchboard boy nervously waiting in the doorway. “Sir, you've got a call on the vox. It's... it's from the fleet, sir.”
Calael turned, gathering his suit. “Patch it through, cadet.”
The boy ran to give the signal. For a moment, it was quiet save for Jones' faint cursing as he tried to put on his boot. Then the speakers overhead crackled to life, and a new voice filled the equipment room.
'' “-name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, and his Eminence Kaita'mansa the Bold, the 36th Expeditionary Fleet greets those within the Tempest's heart. We come bearing gifts of the world beyond the storm and seek parlay with the one you name your king. I say again, in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind-”''
The boy reappeared, puffing for breath. “Should we belay the assembly orders, sir?”
“Get Selen to compose a response- we welcome our visitors in the name of peace and fellowship, so on and so forth. Light up the old dock in Ward 813 and plot them a course to it, and let me know the INSTANT they deviate from that heading. Everything else stands.” Finished donning his suit, Calael raised his helmet to his head and slid his ancient warder's shield off its wall brace. “Code Black. Be ready for the impossible.”</div></div>

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'''FIRST CONTACT'''

Calael Bishop's men stood a respectful distance away, watching the proceedings uneasily. He had selected three of his bravest crews and fitted them with the most impressive armors he had to offer, resplendent with freshly-painted glyph-wards. So far, their guests had seen fit to only send forth a dozen of their own guard, six to either side of the landing ramp. Cal studied them, helmet under one arm.

He was getting the distinct impression that his men were still outnumbered.

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Each of these alien warriors was nearly as tall as Calael himself, who on Providence had towered over all but the Ogryn crews... but these men had none of the affable clumsiness of his abhuman friends. The blue-black armor they wore looked heavy enough to crush a normal man to death, but they moved in it with casual ease. That, perhaps, was the most worrisome part of all- there was no tension evident in these blue-clad giants. Alertness, yes- but they had clearly completed their assessment of Providence's force and determined its threat was minimal. While they had only chosen to show a dozen of their men, their titanic spacecraft hinted at a great deal more waiting in the wings. Cal had been running mental calculations since he got his first look at those ships, trying to guess at their crew complement and potential armament based on their dimensions. He didn't like the numbers he was coming up with.
Calael had prepared for this eventuality. If he had truly intended to fight, he'd have brought a great deal more breachers. The men with him knew they were there mostly for show, though they were stalwart fighters all – they had to be, to sign up for a suicide mission. Before leaving the situation room, Calael had established five distinct signals, each of which would alert the dockmaster to vent the entire bay into space. He estimated that such a maneuver represented Providence's best chance at taking the interlopers unawares and leveling the playing field.
The more he saw of his guests, the more he hoped it didn't come to that.
With the titan soldiers settled into their places, a new procession began down the ramp- men unfurling a huge, luxurious crimson carpet. Behind them came incense-bearers and men with strange instruments, drumming a regal tune that somehow managed to sound grand even in the echoing expanse of the docking bay. As they filed to the sides, a wizened-looking functionary unfurled a large scroll and began to recite in a stentorian drone.
'' “Hear ye that ye are in the presence of his Eminence Rahman Kaita'mansa the Bold, Primarch of the XXI Legion and Lord of the 36<sup>th</sup> Expeditionary Fleet!”''

This said, the man stepped aside, expertly stowing the scroll. From the mouth of the craft appeared a new titan warrior, clad in the same colors as the twelve flanking the ramp but with finer armor, and lacking a helmet. Taller than his comrades, taller even than Calael himself, the dusky-skinned fellow proceeded down, a faint smirk on his lips as he surveyed the pomp arrayed before him. His eyes stopped as they reached Calael, and the wry smile vanished. He inclined his head slightly, the first acknowledgement anyone had given to the Breachers' presence.
Though this Rahman was a bit larger than his cohorts, and a bit more finely dressed, it was not so much this as his presence that convinced Cal that he must be the leader of the blue-clad soldiers. He had a natural aura of command around him, a nearly tangible charisma, and an air of the same daring he'd seen in the best breachers, men who'd hauled enough salvage to retire several times over but never considered sitting out the next run. Could this man be the presence Calael had felt in the situation room? There was a certain echo of it here, but... Cal spared a glance sideways at Selen. The moonfolk tailor appeared outwardly calm, but the subtle quivering of his antennae showed he sensed something within this newcomer. It was likely Rahman Kaita'mansa had something of the oracle's talent himself. Perhaps...
But no, the herald with the scroll produced another, clearly intent to introduce another figure.The man's hands shook, and though he was clearly experienced there was an unmistakable quaver to his powerful voice.
'' “Hear ye that ye are in the presence of the Master of Mankind, the Lord of Terra, the Omnissiah Manifest! Kneel before the Emperor of Man!”''
Save for the blue-clad titans, all the men in Keita'mansa's entourage kneeled and lowered their eyes. Calael barely had time to register the auburn light appearing at the top of the ramp before he was overcome. The presence he had first felt when the fleet appeared washed over him a hundred times, a thousand times as strong as it had before. A gold-clad giant strode forth from the ship, his black-locked head ringed by a numinous halo which seemed to fill Calael's entire field of vision. The man with the scroll continued to speak, but the breacher captain heard none of it, so enraptured was he by the luminous being that approached him. Every fiber, every atom of his being demanded he kneel before this creature and swear his undying fealty.

And yet...

And yet. Here were his men beside him, facing an unknown and unknowable force. In the void outside this bay, an alien fleet bristled with weapons and warriors. The breachers looked to him now, expressions of growing concern hidden behind rugged features and polished helmets, wondering why it was that their leader's knees shook in the presence of this giant. If he was afraid, they would be afraid. It was the immutable law of the breacher- the crew doesn't fall until the first man falters.

The master of mankind stood before Calael Bishop. His gaze was steady and commanding, the air pregnant with the breathless expectation of his followers. Bathed in that golden light, Calael's very soul ached to bend the knee.

Instead, with a supreme effort of will, he extended his hand.

“On behalf of the United Peoples of Providence, we welcome you and yours to our humble home. Our air is your air, our water your water. May the Martyrs guide this meeting to stable ground.”

The Emperor examined Cal's outstretched hand as a biologist might examine a particularly interesting duct vermin. Rahman, watching from his place amongst the titans, looked quite nearly surprised- the smaller men seemed something approaching horrified. The echoing silence of the bay grew stifling as the frozen moment stretched towards eternity. Cal cleared his throat, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort of keeping his focus.

“It's called a handshake, Your Eminence. On Providence it's, uh, used as a greeting and a measure of respect.”

The Emperor nodded fractionally, still examining Cal's hand. “Yes, we have this custom on Terra as well.” He raised his gaze to meet Cal's, and finally extended his own gauntleted hand. With the handshake out of the way, the tension visibly eased, and Cal felt the inexorable pressure of the golden being's presence lighten to a less overwhelming splendor. “I thank you for your welcome, Calael Bishop of Providence. It will be good to shelter and restock after our trying passage through the Warp.”

So dazed was the breacher that it took him a few moments to realize the Emperor had addressed him with his given name rather than his title. Had Selen included that in the vox address? The fleet had asked for “the one you name your king,” but that was certainly not Calael. He headed up the Warder and Breacher's Union, sure, but that didn't make him some fairytale ruler. He'd have to speak with Selen about that later.

At that thought, the moonfolk became the subject of the Emperor's scrutiny.
“And what is this here?”

“That's Selen, your Eminence. He's our quartermaster and vice head of the Warder and Breacher's Union when I'm on a run. He's the one who you heard on the vox, actually.” Selen folded his four arms and lowered his antennae respectfully. The golden giant seemed to expect further elaboration, so Calael continued. “Selen is, uh, of the moonfolk. They make most of the good fabric on Providence. He put together our dress uniforms personally.”

The Emperor continued to examine Selen with what appeared to be a critical eye. “And you... trust this creature?”

Unsure how to interpret this question, Cal decided after a moment of deliberation to settle for simple fact. “Selen identified my oracular talent before I was old enough to walk, sir. He's known me longer than anyone else still among the living. He's good people.”

The Emperor regarded the moonfolk for another instant, then gave a microscopic nod, returning his attention to Calael. “It is well that you have found good company.” With that, the Emperor reached out towards Cal with one mailed hand, a languid gesture. Bishop heard his men shift and murmur behind him- clearly they weren't happy with the way this was playing out- but he somehow felt utterly unthreatened. The golden gauntlet touched two fingers to Cal's forehead, and suddenly the discomfited murmering turned to gasps and shouts of surprise and not a few oaths- not only from the breachers, but from the Emperor's entourage as well. Even Rahman and his soldiers seemed taken aback, but Cal couldn't immediately discern why. He glanced back at his crew, who had shrank away from him in shock. Adrian Bibbowski, the largest of the humans on any of his crews and an old friend from his days on the Hellbenders, stared at his captain slack-jawed, pointing like a frightened child.

“Boss, y-your head...”

Cal held up his helmet, seeking his reflection in the mirrored visor, and suddenly the source of Bibbowski's consternation was eminently clear. The Emperor had crowned Calael with a ring of silver flame, a cold and pale imitation of the Lord of Terra's own radiant halo. He turned back to the golden being, confusion etched on his face. The Emperor's gaze remained imperious and impassive, but if anything, he seemed... satisfied.

“I am glad to have found you at last, my son. We have much to discuss.”</div></div>

Calael Bishop

2020-01-23T05:17:26Z

2600:1003:B010:4C7C:84C4:4E36:C8AE:F84A:

{{Infobox Warmasters' Triumvirate Primarch
|name=Calael Bishop
|bgcolor=indigo
|fgcolor=white
|image=[[File:Slaine_Calael_Bishop_Full.jpg|272px]]
|image=[[]]
|title=The Lodestar, the Void Walker, the Hellbender
|alias=Cal
|where=Providence Space Hulk
|when=
|legion=[[Astral Wardens]]
|crusade=Primarch,
|sigil=
|weapon= psychically-projected blade ''Solais'' and tower shield
|trait=Humble, massively powerful psyker
|flaw=Stubborn, simple
|heresy=Union
|fate=Vanishes during an Imperial ambush
|dominion=
}}
{{Warmasters Triumvirate-Head}}

{{Topquote|“The ancient Catharics believed that their God came to Terra in the humble form of a carpenter's son. I have often wondered if the Emperor had that myth in mind when he created Calael.”|Remembrancer Lainne, M32.10}}

Calael Bishop is the the Primarch of the V<sup>th</sup> Legion, the Astral Wardens, and most powerful psyker among his brothers- perhaps of the entire human race short of the Emperor himself. However, he spent most of his young life hiding his powers and fighting as a simple mercenary, believing himself to be some strain of abhuman rather than a godlike Primarch. Raised aboard a derelict space hulk stranded in the realspace eye of a warp storm, Cal places a great emphasis on trust and brotherhood, and clings tightly to his humanity, retaining close bonds with the mortals around him- even some non-human ones. He and his legion fight hard to bring worlds into Imperial compliance as painlessly as possible, with a focus on preventing loss of civilian life.
=History=
==Primarch Origin==
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When the infant primarchs were scattered, one never found his way to a planet. The space hulk Providence had rested since time immemorial in the realspace eye of a warp disturbance, a peaceful area where the tempestuous energies of the Empyrean are at their quietest. Not so the area around it- the turbulent warp-streams have capsized many a spacecraft brave or foolish enough to dare that region. Most craft thus lost are consumed and destroyed, but a lucky few are spat out relatively unharmed into this oasis of calm, and so join with the ancient accumulation of space junk known as Providence.
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Normally a Space Hulk is no fit environment to long entertain a population, but somewhere in the great mass' ancient past the vessel achieved a sort of equilibrium. Survivors of wrecks clambered inwards seeking shelter, forming communities where the life support systems held, and came to adapt to this strange new frontier, learning to combat the horrors lurking in the dark corners civilization never touched.

In an environment like this, the sudden appearance of an unclaimed infant was not as surprising as it might have been elsewhere. New arrivals waylaid, frightened parents abandoning their child in their frenzied flight... callous scenarios, but not uncommon. The tiny primarch was discovered by a passing caravan, and delivered to the nearby colony of Travel Mercies -so named for the hull of the craft in which the town resided. The boy was swiftly adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Bishop, a childless psyker couple who served as the oracles of Travel Mercies. They named their new son Calael.

The hydroponic systems of the ancient craft composing Providence were unreliable, and a thousand other disasters that might compromise the hulk's ability to sustain life could arise with little warning – thus, the art of the oracle was crucial to the survival of every community. With séance rituals, the oracle could glean faint snippets of the future, and predict system failures or dangerous arrivals, giving the community time to prepare and respond. In lean times, the oracle could summon the light of their distant home stars to coax their food supplies to growth. While this would be a dangerous gambit elsewhere in the galaxy, in the calm of the warp oasis psykers hardly need fear drawing unwanted attention – perils are so rare as to be nearly mythical. When young Calael' talent became apparent at an early age, the Bishops were overjoyed, and hurried to bring their boy up into their trade.

Calael took to prognostication like a fish to water, summoning starlight with the ease of the most experienced psykers in Providence. So too did he grow faster than any of the crops in the greenhouse, becoming a strapping young man in record time. Ma and Pa didn't ponder much on this, though- many of their neighbors were abhumans, so they reckoned Cal must just be some sort of previously unseen, very tall, very clever subspecies. Indeed, his rapid growth mostly only drew attention from the mercenaries who guarded the ward, earning joking offers for Cal to take up one of their tower shields and join them in their defense of the corridors- but the boy was happy tending the harvest with his folks, and for a time all was well.

Then the genestealers came. Always a lurking threat in providence, the hideous halfbreeds were generally kept at bay by Warders- mercenaries who saw to the defense of the colonies. Now, though, they crept out of the dark and unexplored corners of the hulk and gathered en masse for a raid of unprecedented proportions. The Warders that protected Travel Mercies were too proud at first to call for backup from their rivals in nearby colonies. When it became clear the tide of genestealers would not soon flag, it was too late to call for help. Fleeing for their lives, the Warders abandoned their duty, and Travel Mercies to its fate.
The oracle's arts were never arts of war. The Bishops fell swiftly before the threshing claws of the maddened hybrids, scarcely delaying the demise of their adoptive son. And yet, as young Calael faced his oncoming death, something miraculous happened- something that Calael would not reveal to a living soul for years to come. His parents rose again from where they fell, not in body but in numinous spirit to confront the hideous xenos anew. That was the last the boy saw, and when he awakened, the specters – and the genestealers- were gone.

There was nothing left for Calael in Travel Mercies – nothing but corpses and wreckage remained anyway. Scavenging what he could, he set off aimlessly into Providence ' corridors. Where he came across a ward, he would work odd jobs to make his way, but never stuck long- in part to help conceal his skill as a oracle, which tended to attract attention. Calael had no desire to be special, he just wanted to be. Traveling alone was a dangerous affair in Providence , so he quickly took up signing on with caravans, who often had mercenary guards for protection. It was thus that Calael had his first encounters with the Breachers.

As mercenaries who guarded the colonies were known as Warders, the Breachers faced outwards- their task was to explore, to clear unknown territory, to salvage goods for use and, most importantly, to breach the hulls of craft newly arrived at Providence and investigate what was inside. They too had adapted the omnipresent Warder shields, using them to press through the derelict corridors in a tight shield-wall to prevent whatever lurked within from rushing forth. Theirs was a brotherhood born of the utter certainty that if but one man were to abandon his place in the phalanx, the whole squad might well die. That uniformity of purpose spoke to the directionless Primarch, and before long his rapid growth and gangly strength earned him a spot on a down-on-their-luck Breacher crew, the Hellbenders, led by one Eulian White.

The Hellbenders had taken heavy losses on a string of bad jobs, and were desperately close to being too under-strength to continue work. Initially, Calael was glad simply to have something to occupy his mind, even work as irregular and dangerous as breaching. The men shared a close, if somewhat harrowed, camaraderie, and White was an effective and experienced leader, rumored to be one of the oldest humans in the business. And yet, as Calael grew accustomed to the patterns of the work, the powerful mind of a Primarch began to see flaws in their methodology.

At first the men rankled at this fresh-faced youth telling them how to do their jobs, suggesting changes to age-old room clearing patterns and movement formations that had kept Breachers alive for generations. He became a subject of vicious mockery, particularly by the hard-bitten Endeavor Jones, self-proclaimed “toughest bastard in the bulkheads” – but White decided to humor the newcomer, perhaps recognizing the value of his ideas. The grumbling quickly turned to awe as the Hellbenders' losses fell to almost nothing, encounters with even the deadliest genestealer strains and fiercest Ork holdouts going nearly without a hitch- and all the while, Calael was improving their methods, redesigning the team's shields and devising new types of shot for their trench guns. The Hellbenders rebounded from the brink of dissolution and quickly began to make theirs the most famous name in the region. Calael, for his part, was happy to accredit their success to good fortune, preferring to avoid any personal fame lest someone discover his oracle origins. For the time, he just wanted to be one of the team, and though White would have liked to brag about his new prodigy to his rivals he respected young Cal's wishes.

With new fame came new work, and the Hellbenders found themselves venturing farther afield than they ever had, passing through the superstructures of dozens of fused craft in their travels. Thus it was that they came to the ward of Ebon Cross, hired for a job in a land none of them had ever visited.

As a frontier hull, on the outer regions of the hulk, Ebon Cross was at greater risk of decompression incidents, and evidently had suffered just such an event some time ago when an undetected derelict impacted the hulk. The settlement's fighting men had perished before the breach could be sealed, as well as all their Starcallers. Lacking the resources to explore the new hull themselves, the colony council determined to hire a Breacher team- and what better team to hire than the renowned Hellbenders? Cal's shieldmates laughed and clapped each other on the back, reveling in the praise, but Cal was troubled. As normal as they seemed, his oraclular skills told him something was decidedly off about these folk, an itch at the back of his head that he had first felt when the genestealers ravaged Travel Mercies in his youth. His concern was great, but to reveal the source of his worry would be to reveal his abilities, to be set apart from his crew. Taking Captain White aside, he attempted to justify his suspicions with mundane reasoning- how odd it was that the colony had lost all their oracles, and somehow seemed to have no moonfolk, of which they''d made no mention. White understood Cal's misgivings, but figured the ripe salvage from the new hull was worth the risk. Still, he agreed to proceed with greater caution than usual.

With their nerves steeled, none of the Hellbenders were taken by surprise when the genestealers rushed them from the bowels of the foreign hull, but Cal was the only one prepared when the men and women of Ebon Cross charged them from behind. It was only thanks to his precognition that what should have been a slaughter became merely a rout, the Hellbenders closing their line to a protective circle of shields as foes both human and inhuman swarmed about them seemingly as one. By shield and shot the beleaguered men battered their way blindly through the horde, following Calael's directions until they reached a bulkhead that looked no different than any other. Here, Cal lobbed a breaching charge, miraculously revealing a defensible bridge room beyond the smoking hole.

The retreat was successful, but not unconditionally so- Eulian White was gravely wounded in the struggle. Through mouthfuls of blood, the captain called for Cal to take him deeper into the structure while the others held the breach, so he could join the martyrs in relative peace.

There, with his dying breaths, he confronted Calael about his uncanny foresight. The young primarch admitted, ashamed, that his was the Oracle's gift, and that he had hidden it so as not to be set apart from the men. Eulian laughed a red spittle-flecked laugh at this- Calael had always been set apart, from his size to his skills to his incredibly rapid learning, and the men had come to love him for it. White barked one final order for his protege- use those talents to keep the Hellbenders alive, whatever the cost. With that, the dying captain pressed into Cal's hand the enormous breachgun that had been White's signature, a masterful and ancient thing with a handle of mahogany cut on some forgotten world.

The Hellbenders would escape the trap laid by the “men” of Ebon Cross, and though sobered by their leader's death they were also proud, knowing well how few breacher teams could have survived being caught flat-footed by such a dire foe. Much of the success they attributed to Calael's miraculous intuition, and even the prickly Endeavor Jones nominated the young Primarch to take White's place. Calael's own estimation of his performance, however, was considerably less positive. He was forced to confront the fact that he had for a second time lost a father figure- one who might well yet live if not for Cal's selfish want for fellowship.

Fortunately the breach team's string of successes had given them a buffer that allowed them a time to rest and mourn. Calael was unsure he was worthy or able to fill his mentor's shoes, and decided he needed some time to think. Saying goodbye to his squad, he took a walk to ease his troubled mind, setting off to wander as he once had after the sack of Travel Mercies.

Such, at least, was his intention. As his meanderings took him homeward, to Travel Mercies' onetime neighbor settlement of Silk Road Solace, he found a face he had never expected to see again. Selen of the Moonfolk had identified Bishop's psychic talent in his youth, and at the Silk Road watering hole they met once more. Bishop was delighted to see his old friend, and overjoyed that he was not his hometown's sole survivor. He spent many hours celebrating and catching up with the insectile alien, but when the subject came to Selen's tale of survival against the genestealer horde, a disturbing fact came to light.
The Warders who condemned their colony to death had the opportunity to call for reinforcement, but because only rival companies were within reach they chose to abandon their posts rather than seek dubious aid. Selen had only survived to learn this truth because those Warders had returned to pick over the wreckage, and by chance found the Moonfolk buried beneath the rubble.

Calael parted ways with Selen later that day, this dark revelation driving him deeper into Providence's massive derelict composite, ever closer to the structure at the heart of the Hulk- the Blackstone Spire.

As best as any cartographer could reckon, the Spire was dead center within Providence, extending high above and far below the main mass as an enormous obelisk of an ancient and unknown make that no species known could lay claim to. No theories had ever satisfactorily explained why these protrusions had never been impacted by flying debris, or why any new craft always accreted around the middle of the hulk. So too was it unknown why the spire remained uninhabited despite clearly predating even the most venerable spacecraft surrounding it, despite its apparent immunity to impact and the obvious advantages of such a vantage point for salvagers. While occasionally Oracles would feel themselves drawn to the Spire for meditation, sometimes even gaining revelations of new spellcraft or visions of the distant future, none ventured deep, and no creature stayed long save for small reptilian beasts which skittered around the interior. Even the boldest explorers and breach teams who swore to pubs full of peers their determination to reach the top inevitably return empty-handed, stating that at some point they simply lost interest. As far as any record showed, the only claims of reaching beyond the eleventh floor were mutually conflicting accounts told by drunks competing to tell the tallest tale. Or so it had been, until Calael Bishop arrived at the threshhold of the Spire.

The ascent passed in a daze, endless flights of stairs devoured by the tireless strides of a Primarch. Calael advanced, heedless of the increasingly non-euclidian architecture. After what might have been years or merely days the boy reached the pinnacle, and even in his fugue what he saw gave him pause- for every breacher learns early not to step into the open void. The initial shock fading, he realized that the starfield that surrounded him was not the one he knew- it was an observatory of a distant place, or perhaps a distant time. At the stellarium's center floated a single figure, ethereal, barely visible. The moment he clapped eyes on the strange amphiboid apparition, Calael knew in the depths of his soul that this was the creature which had called him forth.

It took some further time before the two were able to communicate in some meaningful way. The creature, which Calael would come to know as Ry'beth, had a deeply alien mind, a shade of some ancient and mighty race whom mortals could not well hope to fathom. Fortunately, the young Bishop was no mere mortal, and slowly he began to glean insight into Ry'beth's musings.

Though the amphibious spectre spoke always in cryptic forms, Cal was slowly able to unravel the tale. The creature was a survivor of sorts, a spirit from a antediluvian time who had fled the birth of a dark god and found refuge in this place, though it could hardly sustain his form. Since then, the entity had snatched souls and the craft that bore them from the jaws of the Great Enemy whenever the opportunity arose, until over the eons the mass now known as Providence came to be. So it had been for an unknowable epoch- Ry'beth's understanding of time as a concept seemed a bit nebulous- 'til the fateful day a host of brilliant warp-presences scattered like a flight of comets through the Immaterium. It had taken all of Ry'beth's gossamer strength and the benefit of surprise to wrest but a single prize from the grip of the dark powers, to guide it here instead of whatever had been its intended destination, but the deed was done. This singular prize had grown into the man who stood before Ry'beth, a psychic titan perhaps mighty enough to master the secrets that had nearly passed from the galaxy with the amphibian's ancient race.

So it was that Ry'beth imparted his wisdom to Calael, and though a mere few months passed in the world outside the men of the Hellbenders would later confide that their young leader seemed decades aged on his return.

Rather than being reinvigorated by his sojourn, Bishop seemed more troubled than before. For the first time, he told his comrades in arms of the fate that befell Travel Mercies, and the truth of his hometown's fate as imparted to him by Selen. Just as in the Hellbenders' own disaster at Ebon Cross, the tragedy might well have been averted if the mercenary companies that kept Providence habitable were not so disinclined to work together. Cal's proposition was for the Hellbenders to lead by example, to offer aid unconditionally to those who needed it in the hopes of fomenting a brotherhood among Breachers and Warders.

Among the superstitious men of Providence, such a concept was slow to spread, but the growing fame and success of the Hellbenders under Bishop's leadership ensured that spread it did. In order to better focus his energies on the task at hand, he inducted two new employees- the first was Selen, Bishop's old friend, who would serve as the crew's quartermaster. The second was Constance Lainne, a young woman who was fascinated by the tale of the Hellbenders, and was determined to chronicle it from the closest position she could, which, on Bishop's offer to employ her as crew manager and outreach, proved to be very close indeed.

A struggling crew called Eden's Rangers were the first to give in- having fallen below operational strength and with a reputation for black luck, the Rangers were liable to be forced to disband or resort to banditry. So it was that, when the Hellbenders chanced to pass the hamlet the Rangers had found themselves stranded in, the Rangers' leader proposed a joint operation.

What proceeded was an unmitigated success, and the two breach teams parted ways on good terms. The Rangers would swear to any crew they met that Bishop had the luck of the Saints themselves, and carefully preserved the glyph-wards he had painted on their gear to keep that luck at hand.

Some months later, the Scav Boys put out a desperate distress signal, having found themselves in a trap not unlike the tragedy at Ebon Cross. The Hellbenders soon put the Genestealers to rout, and preserved the lives of most of the Scav crew. Soon after, the Corridor Hounds called for aid. Then, the Bulkhead Bastioneers requested aid in defending their ward, an unheard-of thing for a Warder crew to ask of a Breacher. Eventually, the Ogryn leader of the Strongarm Crew appeared before Calael, loudly boasting that his feats exceeded Cal's own, and challenged the young leader to a wrestling match to prove it.

After tuhis, there was no stopping the spread of Bishop's good news. In only a few years, a support network spanned the bulk of Providence that curbed the deadly xenos raids, pushed back the contents of an Ork Rok and saw the turnover rate of Warder and Breacher crews both reduced to a fraction of what it once was.

Though Bishop would never have called himself Providence's ruler, the following years would run a course very familiar to those versed in the histories of the Primarchs. The lines of communication the Hellbenders established grew into a greater organization, eventually coalescing into what would formally be called the Warder and Breacher's Union of the United Peoples of Providence. The Union set to rewiring and rerouting the vox systems of the derelicts that made up the hulk, and inducting every community Oracle they could find into their network. Soon, whenever a new craft appeared in system, a genstealer force massed or a ward's hull was threatening to decompress, scarcely any time was lost before Bishop had mounted a response- often with himself at the head. Providence's network of Oracles allowed problems to be predicted and mitigated.

There was no predicting the arrival of the Emperor of Mankind, however. Enlisting the legendary navigational skills of Rahman Keita'mansa's expeditionary fleet, the master of mankind oversaw the charting of the first relatively safe course through the intense warp storm that surrounded Providence. Though the inhabitants of the Hulk were very much taken aback by the unprecedented appearance of a fully functional warfleet, the promise of regular contact with the outside world saw the united peoples of Providence quickly accept the terms of integration into the Imperium of Man. No small factor in this choice was the revelation that Calael Bishop was, in fact, the Emperor's own long-lost son, a fact easily proved when the golden sovereign crowned Bishop with a halo of silver star-flame on their first meeting. Calael could no longer hide his power, or deny that he was much more than a simple abhuman.

Begging a year's time to work out the details of establishing trade routes and bringing Providence into the culture of the Imperium proper, the young Primarch soon left his home to join his father and brothers on the Great Crusade.

</div></div>

==The Great Crusade==
<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">
The V<sup>th</sup> Legion was in a sorry state when Bishop took over, as a geneseed flaw prevented proper hypno-indoctrination, leaving new recruits undertrained and unprepared for combat. They were plagued with poor performance, and dogged by worrying a reputation of black luck and tales of strange spirits haunting the places where they fell. The previous Legion master had simply pushed his semi-competent men into the meat grinder to shore up the lines of more successful Legions. The Primarch immediately had his Hellbenders made into half-astartes and had them instruct the Terran marines in the ways of the Warders, having each outfitted with a tower shield. Constance Lainne was appointed the Legion's official Remembrancer, a position which pleased her to no end as she would assiduously chronicle Bishop's life during the Crusade. The best records of the Vth during this time were penned by her hand.<div class="mw-collapsible-content">

Quelling the Casperian Rebellion marked the beginning of the Legion's psychic awakening, as they saw the first manifestations of Ghost-Martyrs among fallen Wardens. The strong bonds of fellowship between psychically-gifted members of shield crews resulted in a mind-linking that would come to be known as the Weave, allowing the souls of their dead brothers to briefly remain manifested on the battlefield after death. Following this event, the Legion began its training as psykers in earnest, with much help from the scholarly [[Lambach Kropor]] and his [[Chosen of Hecate]]. As the Astral Wardens' power grew they one by one began manifesting haloes of their own, echoing the silvery crown bestowed upon their gene-sire.

Progress within the Wardens was going well, but the Crusade itself proved troubling. Bishop had never before been an invader, and had now seen, with no small horror, what some of his brothers were capable of when roused to anger. He decided the Vth could, if nothing else, try to spare the worlds they visited the fates that others might bestow upon them with a swift and painless integration. Never much of a public speaker before, Calael honed his oratory skills to better make his case to newfound worlds, leveraging his Legion's increasingly-divine aesthetic to lend weight to his words. His "sermons" often began with a simple exultation: "Behold, for we are only the first of twenty-one hosts, each more terrible and wrathful than the last." His colorful descriptions always left out the [[Watchers]], though, out of Calael's immense respect for Je'she's methods.

This measured approach would become a theme across the Crusade. The V<sup>th</sup> were slow to grow, and slow to progress, often taking more time to achieve compliance than the other Legions, even if they sustained fewer casualties in the process. Their stubbornness was such that even on worlds that were deemed a lost cause, the V<sup>th</sup> often dug in their heels, refusing to give up on the populace. This led to conflict with many of Bishop's brothers, most notably [[Einchurt]] when the [[Death's Heads]] were sent to decimate a world the V<sup>th</sup> had been assigned to pacify. Calael bears much guilt for that world's fate, and Einchurt bears the scar Calael gave him in repayment.

During the Compliance of Laer, Calael entrusted the process of integration to his companion and Hellbender veteran Percival Jackson, the premier swordsman and duelist of their lot and a onetime inheritor to the closest thing Providence had to nobility. The staunch warrior was nonetheless tempted by the Blade of Laer, and in his corruption led a cohort of Wardens into the arms of Slaanesh. [[Isekho the Unseen]] would put the world to the sword and exterminate the traitor Wardens, an act which earned him Bishop's trust.

</div></div>

==Brotherwar==

<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">

Following the Edict of Nikaea, Bishop felt betrayed and abandoned by many he had considered close allies. Je'she's choice to stand against Imperial use of psykers wounded him particularly deeply. He saw not a leader seeking to further the Emperor's will, but an appeaser kneeling to the whims of the maddened [[Kinnevail Kincaid]] in a vain attempt to soothe the bard's fury. Nevertheless, even if his brothers had lost his trust, he trusted that the Emperor had a plan, and would not have made such a ruling without ample cause. He fitted his sons with collars to restrict their psychic powers, returning to the conventional breaching strategies they had begun with so many years ago, and simply hoped the Edict would be lifted before greater tragedy befell them.

<div class="mw-collapsible-content">

That hope died when the Emperor fell on Ullanor. With the "Burned Prophet" consolidating more and more power, his tyranny and influence growing daily, the prospects of any future reversal of the Edict grew dim. The psychic legions all felt increasing pressure under the Imperial yoke, but the Vth alone had recourse to escape it.

The next few years would see the Astral Wardens slowly withdraw from Imperial space, retreating to familiar holdouts and working their way towards the warp storm that surrounded Providence. Employing the help of Rahman's intelligence assets, the Imperium's records of the safe paths through the maelstrom were destroyed or confounded. So it was that the Vth Legion was the first to secede from the Imperium.

Bishop had expected the V<sup>th</sup> would be alone in their rebellion, as realistically no other possessed a redoubt that could hope to avoid the Imperium's retribution. It might have been so, but Warmaster [[Jon-Frederic Aristide]] had gotten wind of the Wardens' movements and, anticipating Bishop's state of mind, intercepted the Lodestar hoping to dissuade him from secession. In a tense encounter on an asteroid base near the Ghoul Stars, the two met. Aristide, far more clever and eloquent than Bishop, delivered an expertly-prepared entreaty to his disillusioned brother. He had anticipated it would be difficult to sway the stubborn psyker, but he had not expected Bishop's simple response, one that would burn in Aristide's mind all the way to the meeting at New Hope:

"If you truly believe Kincaid hears the Emperor's voice, then follow him."

Aristide proceeded to New Hope without Bishop, and would go on to declare formal secession from the excesses of Kincaid's growing ecclessiarchy, founding the Union Astartes with the worlds of the Astral Wardens, Nova Dragoons, Ussaran Liberators, Corsairs Gallant, Iron Guard, Dusk Phantoms and Pale Hounds. To Bishop's great surprise, his quiet mutiny found itself in the company of fully third of his brothers and their legions.

There was little time to celebrate, however. [[Mot Hadad]] had prepared a segmentum-spanning ritual to precipitate the rise a new Chaos God and secure the power to fill the Emperor's place as the Master of Mankind.

Bishop attended the attempted Sanction of Zharr-Hadad, hoping to talk sense into his brother- while Mot was surly, the two had developed a surprising rapport over the Crusade, and Calael was certain Mot's wanton slaughter of so many worlds must have been the work of Daemonic influence rather than the will of the usually tidy beurocrat. The Lodestar's words were in vain, and Mot began his ascension to Daemon Princehood with the rise of Hashut, Lord of Avarice. Bishop and his brothers were forced to retreat, the Wardens covering their escape. The losses the V<sup>th</sup> suffered at the Sanction were greater than they had seen in any single previous engagement.

As the Union Astartes developed, Aristide's ideology of posthuman supremacy saw Providence significantly refurbished to play host to the newly-founded Collegium Astronomica, an education center for the Union's prized psykers that took advantage of the oasis of warp-calm surrounding the Hulk to ease training and minimize perils. Bishop was awestruck by the transformation his homeland had underwent from the harsh survivalist frontier he had grown up upon, and eagerly threw his full support behind the burgeoning Union. In addition to assisting with the training of new psykers for service in the Union's government, the V<sup>th</sup> took a special interest in their acquisition- especially by raiding the Imperium's Black Ships, spiriting away those fated to join the Golden Throne's choir. Calael largely recused himself from politicking between the states, having little confidence in his judgment after Zharr-Hadad. He focused his efforts primarily on the place of psykers within their developing society, and the prosecution of the ongoing conflict with the Imperium of Man.

</div></div>

=Fate & Legacy=

Little is known about the circumstances of Bishop's death. Records indicate his flagship, the Prodigal Sun, was lured away from Providence in order to present an opportunity for Imperial forces to engage both. Survivors of the event recall the Primarch led a desperate boarding action against the enemy vessel, which thereafter vanished into the warp- simultaneously, an unprecedented army of Ghost-Martyrs manifested in Providence, devastating the Imperial invaders. Bishop's spectral form was seen atop the Blackstone Spire as he cast the immense meteoric spell that would come to be known as the Salvation of Providence, putting the enemy fleet to rout and casting the remaining craft into the Maelstrom. After this, his specter vanished along with the other Ghost-Martyrs, with one exception- his burning psionic blade, Solais, appeared in the Wardens' reliquary. The Astral Wardens believe this is a sign from their gene-sire that the Lodestar will someday return to lead them in their time of need.

Since that time, several Legion Masters have led the V<sup>th</sup>, most recently Erasmus Cochrane, the first man to successfully grasp Solais' phantasmal form since it was interred in the Wardens' hallowed vaults.

=Writefaggotry=

<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">
'''CODE BLACK'''

Calael Bishop sat up bolt upright, his lavishly upholstered command chair creaking under the sudden shifting of his massive form.
“Does anyone else feel that?” <div class="mw-collapsible-content">
Startled glances from the support staff all around the situation room reminded him that, no, he was the only oracle among those gathered- none of them had the warp-knack. Slowly, he composed himself. Constance Lainne, his chief of staff, leaned in with a concerned expression.
“A premonition, Cal?”
The giant shook his head, as if to clear it. “I'm honestly not sure. A presence, maybe, almost like...” he trailed off. Calael had come clean about a lot of things during his tenure as director of defense, but somehow he had never found the words to explain the creature in the Spire. Still, the thought lingered. ''Could'' it be Ryb'th, sending a summons of some sort? The magnitude was similar, but there was a different tenor to the sensation, unlike anything he had ever felt from his mentor. It was at once more alien, and yet... more familiar.
His musings were interrupted by a wave from the cadet on call duty. “Uh, sir? Looks like you weren't the only one after all. The switchboard's lightin' up like an engine room with an O2 leak.”
Calael leaned forward, intent. “So I wasn't. Where are the calls localized from?”
“Uh. They ain't localized, as such.” The boy stepped aside to give a clear view of the switchboard. Every single light shone red. Whatever was going on, every warp-sensitive the Wardens had on tap had felt it, nearly at the same time.
The hairs on Calael's neck rose- this was something big. “Constance, start seeing to those calls and arrange to have Selen collate the readings, I'll want to have a look at them later.” She nodded curtly and jogged off as the murmur of activity in the room rose to the roar of an active situation. Calael called to the man on monitor duty in the next room. “Jones, you get any calls from the lookouts?”
To his surprise, Jones peeked around the door, an expression of disbelief on his craggy face. “Funny you should ask, Cal, I was tryin' to figure out how to tell you. We got contact, confirmed by every lookout on the south side, even old Clancy who can't see shit.”
Calael rubbed his forehead in consternation. “Angels beyond, that must be a hell of a derelict if Clancy can spot it. Get two breach teams together, then, full crisis gear. Can't be too careful-”
Jones held up a hand to cut him off, uncharacteristically solemn. “See, that's the thing, Cal. It ain't a derelict.”
Calael paused. “What's that supposed to mean, Jones?”
“Just that, Cal. It ain't a ship. It's a fleet. And it's moving straight towards us at speed, under its own power.”
The room went silent, the hush broken only by the insistent clicking of the switchboard. Calael's blood turned to ice.
“Well, then.” In one violent motion he rose, flinging the chair aside and striding purposefully for the equipment room as he barked orders. “Belay that last order. This is a Code Black, people. Get EVERY breach team, on duty, off duty, on call, retired, '''everyone''' who can still hold a shield, and send them to the penultimate layer of Sector South, rendezvous at Ward 801. All our auxiliaries, find a working turret on that side and man it. Hell, find someone to put in the ones that won't shoot too, if they'll move around the intimidation factor might be worth it. Warders are to evacuate all nonessentials to the inner rings, at gunpoint if they have to. Jones, where the hell is my breach gun?”
Jones quickly fell into stride next to the taller man, shooting him a fierce look. “It's on the inside of your shield same as it always is, you lanky Ogryn fuck.” His expression softened. “You serious, Cal? Code Black? Have we even drilled for that?”
Calael shook his head. “Barely. I didn't even think it was possible. One functional ship, maybe. There are legends. A whole fleet...” he trailed off. “This could go very badly, Jones.”
“You don't gotta tell me. My wife an' kids are in Sector South, down in Starlight Bounty.” Jones ran his fingers through his thinning hair anxiously as they approached the equipment room. “Listen, if worst comes to worst-”
“If worst comes to worst we move everyone inwards to the Blackstone Spire. I've got it on very good authority that whatever's coming at us will have a hell of a time getting at anything in there.” Calael reached for his helmet. “Paint a glyph-ward it doesn't come to that.”
“Sir!” The call came from behind them. They turned to see the switchboard boy nervously waiting in the doorway. “Sir, you've got a call on the vox. It's... it's from the fleet, sir.”
Calael turned, gathering his suit. “Patch it through, cadet.”
The boy ran to give the signal. For a moment, it was quiet save for Jones' faint cursing as he tried to put on his boot. Then the speakers overhead crackled to life, and a new voice filled the equipment room.
'' “-name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, and his Eminence Kaita'mansa the Bold, the 36th Expeditionary Fleet greets those within the Tempest's heart. We come bearing gifts of the world beyond the storm and seek parlay with the one you name your king. I say again, in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind-”''
The boy reappeared, puffing for breath. “Should we belay the assembly orders, sir?”
“Get Selen to compose a response- we welcome our visitors in the name of peace and fellowship, so on and so forth. Light up the old dock in Ward 813 and plot them a course to it, and let me know the INSTANT they deviate from that heading. Everything else stands.” Finished donning his suit, Calael raised his helmet to his head and slid his ancient warder's shield off its wall brace. “Code Black. Be ready for the impossible.”</div></div>

<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">

'''FIRST CONTACT'''

Calael Bishop's men stood a respectful distance away, watching the proceedings uneasily. He had selected three of his bravest crews and fitted them with the most impressive armors he had to offer, resplendent with freshly-painted glyph-wards. So far, their guests had seen fit to only send forth a dozen of their own guard, six to either side of the landing ramp. Cal studied them, helmet under one arm.

He was getting the distinct impression that his men were still outnumbered.

<div class="mw-collapsible-content">
Each of these alien warriors was nearly as tall as Calael himself, who on Providence had towered over all but the Ogryn crews... but these men had none of the affable clumsiness of his abhuman friends. The blue-black armor they wore looked heavy enough to crush a normal man to death, but they moved in it with casual ease. That, perhaps, was the most worrisome part of all- there was no tension evident in these blue-clad giants. Alertness, yes- but they had clearly completed their assessment of Providence's force and determined its threat was minimal. While they had only chosen to show a dozen of their men, their titanic spacecraft hinted at a great deal more waiting in the wings. Cal had been running mental calculations since he got his first look at those ships, trying to guess at their crew complement and potential armament based on their dimensions. He didn't like the numbers he was coming up with.
Calael had prepared for this eventuality. If he had truly intended to fight, he'd have brought a great deal more breachers. The men with him knew they were there mostly for show, though they were stalwart fighters all – they had to be, to sign up for a suicide mission. Before leaving the situation room, Calael had established five distinct signals, each of which would alert the dockmaster to vent the entire bay into space. He estimated that such a maneuver represented Providence's best chance at taking the interlopers unawares and leveling the playing field.
The more he saw of his guests, the more he hoped it didn't come to that.
With the titan soldiers settled into their places, a new procession began down the ramp- men unfurling a huge, luxurious crimson carpet. Behind them came incense-bearers and men with strange instruments, drumming a regal tune that somehow managed to sound grand even in the echoing expanse of the docking bay. As they filed to the sides, a wizened-looking functionary unfurled a large scroll and began to recite in a stentorian drone.
'' “Hear ye that ye are in the presence of his Eminence Rahman Kaita'mansa the Bold, Primarch of the XXI Legion and Lord of the 36<sup>th</sup> Expeditionary Fleet!”''

This said, the man stepped aside, expertly stowing the scroll. From the mouth of the craft appeared a new titan warrior, clad in the same colors as the twelve flanking the ramp but with finer armor, and lacking a helmet. Taller than his comrades, taller even than Calael himself, the dusky-skinned fellow proceeded down, a faint smirk on his lips as he surveyed the pomp arrayed before him. His eyes stopped as they reached Calael, and the wry smile vanished. He inclined his head slightly, the first acknowledgement anyone had given to the Breachers' presence.
Though this Rahman was a bit larger than his cohorts, and a bit more finely dressed, it was not so much this as his presence that convinced Cal that he must be the leader of the blue-clad soldiers. He had a natural aura of command around him, a nearly tangible charisma, and an air of the same daring he'd seen in the best breachers, men who'd hauled enough salvage to retire several times over but never considered sitting out the next run. Could this man be the presence Calael had felt in the situation room? There was a certain echo of it here, but... Cal spared a glance sideways at Selen. The moonfolk tailor appeared outwardly calm, but the subtle quivering of his antennae showed he sensed something within this newcomer. It was likely Rahman Kaita'mansa had something of the oracle's talent himself. Perhaps...
But no, the herald with the scroll produced another, clearly intent to introduce another figure.The man's hands shook, and though he was clearly experienced there was an unmistakable quaver to his powerful voice.
'' “Hear ye that ye are in the presence of the Master of Mankind, the Lord of Terra, the Omnissiah Manifest! Kneel before the Emperor of Man!”''
Save for the blue-clad titans, all the men in Keita'mansa's entourage kneeled and lowered their eyes. Calael barely had time to register the auburn light appearing at the top of the ramp before he was overcome. The presence he had first felt when the fleet appeared washed over him a hundred times, a thousand times as strong as it had before. A gold-clad giant strode forth from the ship, his black-locked head ringed by a numinous halo which seemed to fill Calael's entire field of vision. The man with the scroll continued to speak, but the breacher captain heard none of it, so enraptured was he by the luminous being that approached him. Every fiber, every atom of his being demanded he kneel before this creature and swear his undying fealty.

And yet...

And yet. Here were his men beside him, facing an unknown and unknowable force. In the void outside this bay, an alien fleet bristled with weapons and warriors. The breachers looked to him now, expressions of growing concern hidden behind rugged features and polished helmets, wondering why it was that their leader's knees shook in the presence of this giant. If he was afraid, they would be afraid. It was the immutable law of the breacher- the crew doesn't fall until the first man falters.

The master of mankind stood before Calael Bishop. His gaze was steady and commanding, the air pregnant with the breathless expectation of his followers. Bathed in that golden light, Calael's very soul ached to bend the knee.

Instead, with a supreme effort of will, he extended his hand.

“On behalf of the United Peoples of Providence, we welcome you and yours to our humble home. Our air is your air, our water your water. May the Martyrs guide this meeting to stable ground.”

The Emperor examined Cal's outstretched hand as a biologist might examine a particularly interesting duct vermin. Rahman, watching from his place amongst the titans, looked quite nearly surprised- the smaller men seemed something approaching horrified. The echoing silence of the bay grew stifling as the frozen moment stretched towards eternity. Cal cleared his throat, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort of keeping his focus.

“It's called a handshake, Your Eminence. On Providence it's, uh, used as a greeting and a measure of respect.”

The Emperor nodded fractionally, still examining Cal's hand. “Yes, we have this custom on Terra as well.” He raised his gaze to meet Cal's, and finally extended his own gauntleted hand. With the handshake out of the way, the tension visibly eased, and Cal felt the inexorable pressure of the golden being's presence lighten to a less overwhelming splendor. “I thank you for your welcome, Calael Bishop of Providence. It will be good to shelter and restock after our trying passage through the Warp.”

So dazed was the breacher that it took him a few moments to realize the Emperor had addressed him with his given name rather than his title. Had Selen included that in the vox address? The fleet had asked for “the one you name your king,” but that was certainly not Calael. He headed up the Warder and Breacher's Union, sure, but that didn't make him some fairytale ruler. He'd have to speak with Selen about that later.

At that thought, the moonfolk became the subject of the Emperor's scrutiny.
“And what is this here?”

“That's Selen, your Eminence. He's our quartermaster and vice head of the Warder and Breacher's Union when I'm on a run. He's the one who you heard on the vox, actually.” Selen folded his four arms and lowered his antennae respectfully. The golden giant seemed to expect further elaboration, so Calael continued. “Selen is, uh, of the moonfolk. They make most of the good fabric on Providence. He put together our dress uniforms personally.”

The Emperor continued to examine Selen with what appeared to be a critical eye. “And you... trust this creature?”

Unsure how to interpret this question, Cal decided after a moment of deliberation to settle for simple fact. “Selen identified my oracular talent before I was old enough to walk, sir. He's known me longer than anyone else still among the living. He's good people.”

The Emperor regarded the moonfolk for another instant, then gave a microscopic nod, returning his attention to Calael. “It is well that you have found good company.” With that, the Emperor reached out towards Cal with one mailed hand, a languid gesture. Bishop heard his men shift and murmur behind him- clearly they weren't happy with the way this was playing out- but he somehow felt utterly unthreatened. The golden gauntlet touched two fingers to Cal's forehead, and suddenly the discomfited murmering turned to gasps and shouts of surprise and not a few oaths- not only from the breachers, but from the Emperor's entourage as well. Even Rahman and his soldiers seemed taken aback, but Cal couldn't immediately discern why. He glanced back at his crew, who had shrank away from him in shock. Adrian Bibbowski, the largest of the humans on any of his crews and an old friend from his days on the Hellbenders, stared at his captain slack-jawed, pointing like a frightened child.

“Boss, y-your head...”

Cal held up his helmet, seeking his reflection in the mirrored visor, and suddenly the source of Bibbowski's consternation was eminently clear. The Emperor had crowned Calael with a ring of silver flame, a cold and pale imitation of the Lord of Terra's own radiant halo. He turned back to the golden being, confusion etched on his face. The Emperor's gaze remained imperious and impassive, but if anything, he seemed... satisfied.

“I am glad to have found you at last, my son. We have much to discuss.”</div></div>

Astral Wardens

2020-01-23T05:15:31Z

2600:1003:B010:4C7C:84C4:4E36:C8AE:F84A:

{{Infobox Spess Mahreen Chapter
|Name = Astral Wardens
|Heraldry = [[]]
|Battle Cry = "Fear Not!"
|Number = V
|Founding = First Founding
|Successor Chapters = Homeguard, Starlight Crusaders, Cataphract Crashers
|Chapter Master = Erasmus Cain
|Primarch = [[Calael Bishop]]
|Homeworld = Providence
|Specialty = Rapid Deployment, Psychic Supremacy, Void Superiority
|Allegiance = Seperatist
|Colours = Periwinkle
}}
{{Warmasters Triumvirate-Head}}

{{Topquote|“Long venture we from our void-borne home
Charting a course through the black unknown.
Ward-shields in hand brothers march as one
For the King of our forefathers' distant Sun.
Though the stars grow dim and the darkness roars
We'll carry His light to benighted shores.”
|-Traditional Shanty of the Vth Legion}}

The V<sup>th</sup> [[Legiones Astartes]] were known as the Astral Wardens, lead by the Primarch [[Calael Bishop]]. The twin icons of this Legion were the burning haloes that crowned their heads, and the towering Storm Shields that each marine carried, a symbol of their absolute dedication to their squadmates and the cause at large. Never the most numerous Legion, the Wardens relied on strong inter-squad bonds and immaculate psychic coordination to keep their limited supply of Marines alive even when deep striking into enemy territory.

=History=
==Pre-Primarch History & Reunion==
The largely Terran-born V<sup>th</sup> Legion, known as the Greenboots, performed poorly prior to the discovery of their Primarch, largely due to low geneseed acceptance rates and a subtle but damning flaw that made most Marines unable to fully absorb hypno-indoctrination. The then-Legion Master, Raddicus Bronzwyn, was eager to contribute to the Crusade and unwilling to hold his men back until they had achieved the same level of competence as those of other Legions. As a result, the Greenboots were pushed into combat with little more training than an Imperial conscript, usually to reinforce their more successful cousins in their endeavors. The Vth quickly gained a reputation for poor discipline and black luck, with some claiming the battlefields they took to were inevitably haunted by the keening souls of fallen Greenboots.

The V<sup>th</sup> suffered greatly in the early days of the crusade due to their geneseed flaw causing them to resist and often reject hypno-indoctrination entirely, keeping much of their pre-astartes personas and predilections and taking up the Space Marine's skillset far slower than those in other legions. Slow to learn and slow to replenish their losses, the V<sup>th</sup> were relegated to a support role in the crusade, filling in lines where more successful legions began to flag, bearing the brunt of casualties on the green recruits who had not completed much training and thus did not represent as significant a tactical loss as a fully-trained marine.

By the time they met their [[Primarch]], [[Calael Bishop]], the V<sup>th</sup> had become a sullen and beaten-down group, and yet the rapport with their gene-sire was instant. Bishop was swift to see to the elevation of the Hellbenders to half-astartes, and though all among the V<sup>th</sup> could see that these men were smaller and weaker than even the greenest recruit, their discipline was beyond reproach. In the months to come the unbreakable spearhead they formed led the V<sup>th</sup> to their first unqualified victories. His methodology proven, Bishop ordered other heroes of Providence's Warden corps elevated to half-astartes status, and set them among the battered remains of the V<sup>th</sup> to teach them the way of the shield. The organization of the V<sup>th</sup> Legio Astartes soon came to resemble the Wardens of Providence more than their cousin legions, but their unorthodox doctrine found success, and the straggling Terran marines finally found purpose and brotherhood in the half-astartes of Providence. While the V<sup>th</sup> would always remain a small legion, slow to grow and slow to recover from catastrophe, their methodology and philosophy ensured they were a reliable force for whom such losses were extremely rare. The Greenboots were no more- the V<sup>th</sup> Legion had been reborn as the Astral Wardens, heirs to the breacher's code of Providence.

==The Great Crusade==

==Brotherwar==

==Post-Brotherwar==

[[File:Primaris_Astral_Warden.png|200px|thumb|right|A Primaris Astral Warden Crewman]]

=Homeworld=
Providence is not exactly a world, but it is nonetheless where the soldiers of the V<sup>th</sup> hang their hats. It is ab ancient Space Hulk of unknown provenance, suspended amid a Warp storm in an "eye" of peculiar (and, some speculate unnatural) calm. Wayward craft, lost in the Empyrean, often drift to this curious location, and the rare survivors of such mishaps become the shipwrecked inhabitants of this strange and perilous place... should they survive the journey to one of the colonies sheltering within its mass.

These colonies, or "Wards" as they are locally known, rely on three primary services for their continued survival in addition to the typical maintinence duties associated with life in the Void.
First are the aptly named Warders, shield-wielding mercenaries who will block the corridors in times of strife, protecting the colonies from the hulk's less agreeable inhabitants, such as Genestealers, Orks and bandit groups.
Second, the Breachers, who have adopted those same ward-shields in service of a more adventurous lifestyle, braving unexplored areas and newly-arrived derelicts for salvage and goods.
Lastly, and perhaps most crucially, are the Oracles. These individuals wield their Psyker gifts to glean hints of the future, forewarning their communities against coming calamity and providing Breachers with clues as to where they may find their next big score. Their powers are also helpful in keeping the Wards fed, psychically coaxing crops to grow when the decrepit hydroponics fail. Oracles hold the highest honor of any group in Providence, and the hulk's denizens thus regard psykers in general with high esteem.

Being a hodgepodge of shipwreck survivors, Providence's cultural patchwork varies greatly from region to region. One touchstone that remains fairly consistent across the hulk is veneration of the “Martyrs,” the Providence title for those who did not survive the journey to their starbound home, or the “Saints” who fell to one of the wreck's many perils in defense of its people. The more overtly religious believe the Martyrs remain in Providence as guardian spirits, granting visions to the Oracles and protecting the living against the formless antagonist of the Void, the hungering darkness beyond the sheltering bulkheads of the hulk. It is not uncommon to hear a local swear by “the breath of the martyrs” or a variation thereof.

The glyphic patterns which adorn good-luck charms and the breach-shields of mercenaries are in fact typically prayers to the Martyrs or tales of their exploits, both of which are equally claimed to draw the favor of the spirits. These patterns are also intended to confound the baleful eye of the Void, and it is for this reason that those who take these beliefs seriously never use meaningless symbols- a proper protective glyph must have purpose and meaning, for a chaotic mess will instead draw the attention of the Void.

=Legion Doctrine=
Well-chosen is the shield that makes the Astral Warden's sigil, for it embodies the legion's core tenet. Astartes of the V<sup>th</sup> legion are charged to put the lives of his allies, particularly his squadmates, before the pursuit of the enemy's demise. Indeed, a member of the Astral Wardens stands with the same squad of battle-brothers from the day he is initiated to the day he dies, with only very rare exceptions. These squads drill together, eat together and fight together until they know exactly how their brothers tick, down the to the last quirk and idiosynchronicity. This is crucial, because the core of the Legion's strategy- indeed, the key to survival on their home of Providence - is the shield-wall. Unless all members can be relied upon to hold the line and work in perfect harmony, the shield is as good as a leaden weight, but when the squad fights as one they may as well be an adamantine bulwark.

To compliment their phalanx, the legion favors one-handed chain weapons and combat shotguns, enhancing their ability to clear the corridors of any structure, landbound or spaceborne. Individual squads may choose to modify these tactics, and other weapons are not unheard of, but no matter what, the shield remains, a symbol of the legion's unbending will.
Because of their small squad size, the Wardens deploy quickly, and are frequently employed to provide mobile cover to flagging allies or cover fleeing civilians in pitched battlefields. None arrive faster than the Terminator squads, teleporting with the precision only psychic prognostication can provide to form a wall of steel exactly when and where it's needed.

Their psychic might was not something the Legion realized until some time after their Primarch arrived, and it manifests in some unexpected ways. The most visible is the halo of starlight that crowns a psychically awakened Warden, but the most tactically significant is born from the bonds of brotherhood amid the squads. When a Marine dies in battle, his spirit refuses to leave his squadmates with a broken line, and rises again as a psychic projection to carry his shield until the danger has passed.
The most talented of the legion learn to exploit their powers in more overt ways, calling punishing rays of light from the heavens, casting forth twinkling star-motes that explode with furious energy, or rushing to meet the foe shield-first with a space-twisting burst of speed.

==Legion Culture & Personality==
Having not been very hypno-indoctrinated, they're very protective of their home and their ways, and though many of their cousins in other legions find them a bit crass and inglorious for Astartes the V<sup>th</sup> have a sort of blue-collar spacer's pride in their work. They're tight-knit, loyal to their comrades to a fault – it's said among their enemies that the best way to kill a squad is to cripple one man, since his brothers will stand by him to the last.

They're also more than a little superstitious, a trait they get from Providence ' culture. The trinkets that cover their armor are easily mistaken for trophies, but in fact almost all of them will originate from the Vth's homeland, where there is a long tradition of creating amulets, fetishes and general good-luck charms to be worn by Breachers on their difficult and dangerous jobs. In old times these were usually bought, but since the Legion's arrival they're generally created by the populace of the space hulk and given as a show of appreciation to their superhuman protectors. The geometric patterns painted on the V<sup>th</sup>'s armor are similarly meant as a ward against the evil eye- on Providence , these were traditionally painted by oracles, or failing that simply by the luckiest guy handy, but there's no shortage of psykers in the Astral Wardens so each squad usually designates a specific marine to paint their wards. Marines who distinguish themselves may get the Primarch himself to do them up a special ward.

The V<sup>th</sup> have little disdain for mutants and xenos compared to most legions, given that they themselves are psykers and Providence is home to a motley assortment of residents, but they have a great and burning hatred for genestealers and eventually their [[Tyranid]] masters.

Squads are expected to mess together, and at least one member of the squad is traditionally meant to prepare the meal. This means squads can vary even down to their staple rations, but it's a semi-sacred tradition within the Wardens, so it stays.
The V<sup>th</sup> may be seen by the more traditional legions as cowards for their ubiquitous use of shields and their refusal to fight alone. Indeed, faced with a challenge to duel, any member of the V<sup>th</sup> would simply call his brothers, harry the challenger away from his support, and methodically cut him down. Glorious duels are typically viewed by the V<sup>th</sup> with incredulity and even scorn.

==Gene-seed flaws==

Tend to expel hypno-indoctrination, making them slow-learning compared to other legions. Their numbers stay small all throughout their existence and recover slowly from major disasters.

==Legion Organization==

In what sub-groups is the legion divided?

==Special units==

'''Luminary Corps''': Due to the V<sup>th</sup> Legion's small numbers and heavy focus on ten-man squads, a robust mortal auxilia corps is required to fill in the roles the Astartes cannot afford to take. Human soldiers take on the majority of duties in vehicular support, and they draw upon much of the same philosophy as their Astartes comrades-in-arms.

Unique among the Luminary Corps is the position of "Polestar." Aspirants with psychic potential who fail to meet the qualifications to become Astartes often volunteer for this position, and each mortal crew will have one or more Polestars whose task it is to establish a Weave amongst the group, giving them a faint echo of the psychic rapport that makes the V<sup>th</sup> so deadly. This practice affords the Luminary Corps great precision, and the ultra-agile ''Odonata''-class Aerovoid Fighter was developed specifically to with this in mind, almost being more of a stunt craft than a weapon of war.

'''Endlings''': The psychic bond of the Weave is a tremendous boon for the Wardens, but it is a double-edged blade. To be linked in mind to your brothers-in-arms, to feel what they feel and to communicate without a spoken word, comes with the unspoken knowledge- that should they die, that death will be felt as keenly as if it was your own. The loss of a squad member is a traumatic event, mollified only by the final goodbye afforded by the psychic shadows a fallen Warden leaves behind- but for those unfortunate few fated to survive where ''all'' their brothers perish, the guilt is often too much to bear. Members of the V<sup>th</sup>'s mortal Luminary support corps, and even some Marines, are often left so broken by these experiences they are unable to integrate with a new squad, their minds instinctively rejecting any psychic touch as a beaten dog flinches from a raised hand.

These individuals are known as Endlings among the V<sup>th</sup>, and are usually given the option of a quiet retirement, an offer that most mortals accept. However, even with the lessened hypno-indoctrination, a Marine's mind grieves differently than a mortal's. Some Endling Astartes submit to have their Geneseed harvested and retire for their remaining years, but many instead follow another path, exemplified by the first of their kind- the Legion Champion, Finnavius Taggart. These men cast aside their shields and repaint their armor in the simple colors of the Greenboots who came before the Primarch's discovery. They are counted among the dead, and seek to take as many foes as possible into that good night before they are reunited with their fallen brothers.

Endlings are deployed to the field primarily as linebreakers, one-man armies given great discretion with their choice of armament and prosecution of their objectives. These men do not fear death, having already tasted of it- they fight with abandon and welcome the void as an old friend.

==Special equipment==

'''Ward-Shield:'''

'''Gravitic Anchor:''' Inspired by the belaying chains used by Providence's Breachers for dangerous spacewalks, the Gravitic Anchor was designed as a way for the V<sup>th</sup> to achieve additional mobility, particularly in zero-G environments. A magnetically-accelerated chain fired from the Astartes' gauntlet affixes itself to any target via a powerful gravitic charge at the tip. This simple piece of gear gained popularity amongst the legion following a battle where the Primarch, denied his psychic power by a xenos null field and and depleted of shotgun shells, used the Anchor to pull himself to the far wall, crushing the enemy champion between it and his shield. Since then, many among the V<sup>th</sup> test their skill in games of sport centered around creative use of this device and strive to find unusual ways to employ it on the battlefield.

=Naval Assets=

=Notable Members=

'''Finnaevius Taggart, Legion Champion''': Taggart was the sole survivor of his squad, which was massacred in the Legion's first encounter with the forces of Chaos, before the truth of these "Warp-Xenos" was fully understood. Taggart returned without his shield, and has since refused to accept a new one- or indeed to join a new squad. He has seemingly undertaken a vow of silence, and his brothers have honored it, seeing it as his way of grieving for the fallen. However, this does not mean Taggart stays behind when the Astral Wardens ride to battle. Indeed, he descends upon the battlefield like grim death, chainblade in one hand and shotgun in the other. Rushing headlong into battle with preturnatural speed to break the enemy line, many say he's seeking the doom that eluded him on that fateful day. It might find him an easier mark if he didn't fight with a mad strength and uncanny ferocity, ripping into the foe with blade and gun and even his bare fists if need be. He has never manifested the signature V<sup>th</sup> legion psychic halo, and seemingly none of the typical abilities. It's suspected his power is instead being channeled into pure physical might.
His excellence as a one-man army has seen him appointed the Legion Champion, largely out of expediency for inter-Crusade politics, and there is certainly no denying he is the foremost practitioner of single combat among the Wardens, with the (possible) exception of the Primarch himself. While the Legion has always disdained the notion of dueling, they greatly respect their brother, and they're paradoxically big fans of Taggart's matches, often showing up to hoot like hooligans.
As the Legion's most accomplished solo combatant, Taggart has been Calael's consistent pick for the Great Jousts, but the man has little apparent passion for the event. His continual failure to rein in his brutal style has seen him repeatedly disqualified, though he never seems disappointed when he loses- while the Wardens love watching him fight, the champions sent by other legions are rarely eager to face the man who has no love for the sport. Only once did Taggart pass the initial stages of the Joust- following a feud with the Knights Stellaris, whose champion was the favorite to win that year's competition, Calael took Taggart aside and instructed him in clear terms to carry the Vth's pride at the Joust and make Solomon's champion eat dirt. In the end, the crownless Warden took home the prize, but the sheer brutality and lack of elegance in the match has led the Knights to contest the validity of the result ever since, and Solomon's champion bears the scars Taggart gave him as proof of the Wardens' insult.

'''Endeavor Jones''' - OG Hellbender, one of the most resistant to Cal's growing influence but eventually one of his biggest supporters, and indeed the one to nominate him for the leadership role when White bites it. Always ready with a sardonic wisecrack or a dubious tall tale, Jones lacks much of the attitude expected of an Astartes- but, as he'll cheerfully remind you, he's only ''half''-astartes. Spent time as a bandit before becoming a Breacher and still hides concerns that the whole Space Marine thing takes a better quality of man than he's cut out for, but hides it well. Despite his imperfect self-confidence, his confidence in his Primarch is rock solid, and he remains a big help when Bishop is having second thoughts.

'''Constance Lainne''' – An educated lady from one of the nicer sections of Providence who, in the latter days of the Hellbenders, became their sort of home base manager and accountant, as well as vouching for Bishop to get him into the biggest library on the hulk. Following induction into the Imperium, she puts her mathematical and analytical acumen to work managing the Vth's ever-growing fleet. While reserved and proper, particularly in her older years during the Crusade, Constance is something of a Hellbender fangirl and has been compiling the most complete history of them and later the Vth legion that she can. When she is appointed the chief Remembrancer for the Wardens, it is a dream come true.

Olsen White - Son (grandson?) of the late leader of the Hellbenders. A taciturn man, and the first recruit to Bishop's Hellbenders younger than he. Connor lacks his forbear's charisma but none of his skill. May be an enthusiastic fan of Taggart's style and thus be targeted by Atreus to draw out Taggart.

'''Perceval Jackson''' – A onetime wealthy heir from the same colony as Constance, disowned for some youthful affront. After wandering the hulk he wound up as the most sophisticated and learned of the OG Hellbender crew, and the most skilled in close combat, always wearing a dueling sabre in addition to his breaching gear. He quickly took to the new melee weapons introduced by the coming of the Imperium and adopted a stylish power foil as his signature weapon May be the one who finds Horus' sword on Laer during the diplomatic mission and gets all corrupt and Isekho shows up to kill him.

'''Adrian Bibbowski''' – Huge Hellbender, slow but good-natured. The first to die as a half-astartes, his soul becomes the subject of Lambach's experimental Sarcophagus Dreadnought, intended to more permanently house the ephemeral spirits of fallen Wardens. When the project is nixed by higher-ups, Cal is forced to say farewell to his friend and pull the plug, promising to meet Bibbo on the other side. Bibbo says not to be in too much of a hurry.

'''Erasmus Cochrane''' – Legion Master of the Vth circa 40k. Large, one-eyed, much more stern than Cal. Born on an Imperial world that suffered a major Chaotic incursion, young Erasmus narrowly escaped being sacrificed to the Dark Gods, only to fall into the hands of the Imperial forces purging the planet, minus an eye. Identified to have great psychic potential and miraculously free of taint, he was promptly shuffled aboard the nearest Black Ship and sent on his way. He surely would have met his fate as dinner for the Emperor if said Black Ship hadn't happened to be the target of a raid by the V<sup>th</sup> Legion. Cochrane was among those rescued, and proved compatible with the Space Marine program.
Despite his considerable power he had difficulty bonding with others among the Vth, shuffling between shield-crews without ever finding a good fit. He lacked the easy camaraderie the Wardens were known for, and though he would joke and laugh in the heat of battle, when the smoke cleared and the day was won he kept to himself, unwilling or unable to lower his defenses. His wry wit and gallows humor won him friends, but his light was always distant in the Weave, no matter who he fought alongside.
Cochrane would not rise in prominence until a fateful encounter with the Devilsharkz. With the Orks pressing their assault on the Sun's reliquary chamber, Cochrane took up the Solais blade within and fought the Kommodork to a standstill, drove the invaders back and quelled the raid. The battle cost him an arm, but it also cost the Commodork an eye, a slight the creature has not forgotten.
No previous Warden had successfully grasped the Primarch's ethereal blade, and so it was taken as a sign from their Bishop himself that Cochrane was destined to lead.
Cochrane's style of leadership was much different from what the Wardens had come to expect. Being inducted after the passing of the Primarch, his views had little in common with those of his genefather. He was a harder, more pragmatic man, and given his childhood it came as no surprise that he regarded the Imperium with the same contempt he held for Chaos. Indeed, he was no more likely to stay his hand facing the Golden Mountains -once counted among the V<sup>th</sup>'s closest allies- than he was the Loxodontii or the Death's Heads, their ancient rivals. This led to a great deal of strain early in his rule, particularly among the elder Marines who remembered the Primarch and his ideals. Endeavor Jones, last surviving Hellbender, eventually took it upon himself to serve as Cochrane's advisor, tempering the new Chapter Master's harsher inclinations.
The most notable change under Cochrane's tenure was a massive expansion of the Black Ship raiding parties. The new Chapter Master quickly moved to reinforce bonds with the Corsairs Gallant, renegotiating highly favorable trading partnerships in exchange for the most accurate and quickly-delivered information on the Inquisition's doings and the itineraries of the Black Ships. Under Cochrane's leadership, the Wardens escalated to an unprecedented level of interference and outright aggression against the Imperium's affairs.
On the battlefield, Cochrane is instantly recognizable, if not by his masterwork Terminator armor then certainly by the fact that he carries no shield, the Solais blade slung across his back. His spellwork has a violent, jagged cast to it- more lightning than fire- and the power he brings to bear is peerless within the Materium, but his particular vice is a love for unusual and unwieldy firearms. Indeed, the reason he carries no shield, preferring to manifest one from the Empyrean when needed, is simply because he likes to have both hands free to use the biggest gun he can find. Though he sports an augmetic arm and leg, he has never had the missing eye replaced- curious, given his predilection for firearms, but as he glibly observes, “You don't need depth perception if everything down range is a casualty.”

=Writefaggotry=

{{Template: Warmasters Triumvirate}}

Astral Wardens

2020-01-23T05:08:56Z

2600:1003:B010:4C7C:84C4:4E36:C8AE:F84A: /* Post-Brotherwar */

{{Infobox Spess Mahreen Chapter
|Name = Astral Wardens
|Heraldry = [[]]
|Battle Cry = "Fear Not!"
|Number = V
|Founding = First Founding
|Successors of =
|Successor Chapters = Homeguard, Starlight Crusaders, Cataphract Crashers
|Chapter Master = Erasmus Cain
|Primarch = [[Calael Bishop]]
|Homeworld = Providence
|Specialty = Rapid Deployment, Psychic Supremacy, Void Superiority
|Allegiance = Seperatist
|Colours = Periwinkle
}}
{{Warmasters Triumvirate-Head}}

{{Topquote|“Long venture we from our void-borne home
Charting a course through the black unknown.
Ward-shields in hand brothers march as one
For the King of our forefathers' distant Sun.
Though the stars grow dim and the darkness roars
We'll carry His light to benighted shores.”
|-Traditional Shanty of the Vth Legion}}

The V<sup>th</sup> [[Legiones Astartes]] were known as the Astral Wardens, lead by the Primarch [[Calael Bishop]]. The twin icons of this Legion were the burning haloes that crowned their heads, and the towering Storm Shields that each marine carried, a symbol of their absolute dedication to their squadmates and the cause at large. Never the most numerous Legion, the Wardens relied on strong inter-squad bonds and immaculate psychic coordination to keep their limited supply of Marines alive even when deep striking into enemy territory.

=History=
==Pre-Primarch History & Reunion==
The largely Terran-born V<sup>th</sup> Legion, known as the Greenboots, performed poorly prior to the discovery of their Primarch, largely due to low geneseed acceptance rates and a subtle but damning flaw that made most Marines unable to fully absorb hypno-indoctrination. The then-Legion Master, Raddicus Bronzwyn, was eager to contribute to the Crusade and unwilling to hold his men back until they had achieved the same level of competence as those of other Legions. As a result, the Greenboots were pushed into combat with little more training than an Imperial conscript, usually to reinforce their more successful cousins in their endeavors. The Vth quickly gained a reputation for poor discipline and black luck, with some claiming the battlefields they took to were inevitably haunted by the keening souls of fallen Greenboots.

The V<sup>th</sup> suffered greatly in the early days of the crusade due to their geneseed flaw causing them to resist and often reject hypno-indoctrination entirely, keeping much of their pre-astartes personas and predilections and taking up the Space Marine's skillset far slower than those in other legions. Slow to learn and slow to replenish their losses, the V<sup>th</sup> were relegated to a support role in the crusade, filling in lines where more successful legions began to flag, bearing the brunt of casualties on the green recruits who had not completed much training and thus did not represent as significant a tactical loss as a fully-trained marine.

By the time they met their [[Primarch]], [[Calael Bishop]], the V<sup>th</sup> had become a sullen and beaten-down group, and yet the rapport with their gene-sire was instant. Bishop was swift to see to the elevation of the Hellbenders to half-astartes, and though all among the V<sup>th</sup> could see that these men were smaller and weaker than even the greenest recruit, their discipline was beyond reproach. In the months to come the unbreakable spearhead they formed led the V<sup>th</sup> to their first unqualified victories. His methodology proven, Bishop ordered other heroes of Providence's Warden corps elevated to half-astartes status, and set them among the battered remains of the V<sup>th</sup> to teach them the way of the shield. The organization of the V<sup>th</sup> Legio Astartes soon came to resemble the Wardens of Providence more than their cousin legions, but their unorthodox doctrine found success, and the straggling Terran marines finally found purpose and brotherhood in the half-astartes of Providence. While the V<sup>th</sup> would always remain a small legion, slow to grow and slow to recover from catastrophe, their methodology and philosophy ensured they were a reliable force for whom such losses were extremely rare. The Greenboots were no more- the V<sup>th</sup> Legion had been reborn as the Astral Wardens, heirs to the breacher's code of Providence.

==The Great Crusade==

==Brotherwar==

==Post-Brotherwar==

[[File:Primaris_Astral_Warden.png|200px|thumb|right|A Primaris Astral Warden Crewman]]

=Homeworld=
Providence is not exactly a world, but it is nonetheless where the soldiers of the V<sup>th</sup> hang their hats. It is ab ancient Space Hulk of unknown provenance, suspended amid a Warp storm in an "eye" of peculiar (and, some speculate unnatural) calm. Wayward craft, lost in the Empyrean, often drift to this curious location, and the rare survivors of such mishaps become the shipwrecked inhabitants of this strange and perilous place... should they survive the journey to one of the colonies sheltering within its mass.

These colonies, or "Wards" as they are locally known, rely on three primary services for their continued survival in addition to the typical maintinence duties associated with life in the Void.
First are the aptly named Warders, shield-wielding mercenaries who will block the corridors in times of strife, protecting the colonies from the hulk's less agreeable inhabitants, such as Genestealers, Orks and bandit groups.
Second, the Breachers, who have adopted those same ward-shields in service of a more adventurous lifestyle, braving unexplored areas and newly-arrived derelicts for salvage and goods.
Lastly, and perhaps most crucially, are the Oracles. These individuals wield their Psyker gifts to glean hints of the future, forewarning their communities against coming calamity and providing Breachers with clues as to where they may find their next big score. Their powers are also helpful in keeping the Wards fed, psychically coaxing crops to grow when the decrepit hydroponics fail. Oracles hold the highest honor of any group in Providence, and the hulk's denizens thus regard psykers in general with high esteem.

Being a hodgepodge of shipwreck survivors, Providence's cultural patchwork varies greatly from region to region. One touchstone that remains fairly consistent across the hulk is veneration of the “Martyrs,” the Providence title for those who did not survive the journey to their starbound home, or the “Saints” who fell to one of the wreck's many perils in defense of its people. The more overtly religious believe the Martyrs remain in Providence as guardian spirits, granting visions to the Oracles and protecting the living against the formless antagonist of the Void, the hungering darkness beyond the sheltering bulkheads of the hulk. It is not uncommon to hear a local swear by “the breath of the martyrs” or a variation thereof.

The glyphic patterns which adorn good-luck charms and the breach-shields of mercenaries are in fact typically prayers to the Martyrs or tales of their exploits, both of which are equally claimed to draw the favor of the spirits. These patterns are also intended to confound the baleful eye of the Void, and it is for this reason that those who take these beliefs seriously never use meaningless symbols- a proper protective glyph must have purpose and meaning, for a chaotic mess will instead draw the attention of the Void.

=Legion Doctrine=
Well-chosen is the shield that makes the Astral Warden's sigil, for it embodies the legion's core tenet. Astartes of the V<sup>th</sup> legion are charged to put the lives of his allies, particularly his squadmates, before the pursuit of the enemy's demise. Indeed, a member of the Astral Wardens stands with the same squad of battle-brothers from the day he is initiated to the day he dies, with only very rare exceptions. These squads drill together, eat together and fight together until they know exactly how their brothers tick, down the to the last quirk and idiosynchronicity. This is crucial, because the core of the Legion's strategy- indeed, the key to survival on their home of Providence - is the shield-wall. Unless all members can be relied upon to hold the line and work in perfect harmony, the shield is as good as a leaden weight, but when the squad fights as one they may as well be an adamantine bulwark.

To compliment their phalanx, the legion favors one-handed chain weapons and combat shotguns, enhancing their ability to clear the corridors of any structure, landbound or spaceborne. Individual squads may choose to modify these tactics, and other weapons are not unheard of, but no matter what, the shield remains, a symbol of the legion's unbending will.
Because of their small squad size, the Wardens deploy quickly, and are frequently employed to provide mobile cover to flagging allies or cover fleeing civilians in pitched battlefields. None arrive faster than the Terminator squads, teleporting with the precision only psychic prognostication can provide to form a wall of steel exactly when and where it's needed.

Their psychic might was not something the Legion realized until some time after their Primarch arrived, and it manifests in some unexpected ways. The most visible is the halo of starlight that crowns a psychically awakened Warden, but the most tactically significant is born from the bonds of brotherhood amid the squads. When a Marine dies in battle, his spirit refuses to leave his squadmates with a broken line, and rises again as a psychic projection to carry his shield until the danger has passed.
The most talented of the legion learn to exploit their powers in more overt ways, calling punishing rays of light from the heavens, casting forth twinkling star-motes that explode with furious energy, or rushing to meet the foe shield-first with a space-twisting burst of speed.

==Legion Culture & Personality==
Having not been very hypno-indoctrinated, they're very protective of their home and their ways, and though many of their cousins in other legions find them a bit crass and inglorious for Astartes the V<sup>th</sup> have a sort of blue-collar spacer's pride in their work. They're tight-knit, loyal to their comrades to a fault – it's said among their enemies that the best way to kill a squad is to cripple one man, since his brothers will stand by him to the last.

They're also more than a little superstitious, a trait they get from Providence ' culture. The trinkets that cover their armor are easily mistaken for trophies, but in fact almost all of them will originate from the Vth's homeland, where there is a long tradition of creating amulets, fetishes and general good-luck charms to be worn by Breachers on their difficult and dangerous jobs. In old times these were usually bought, but since the Legion's arrival they're generally created by the populace of the space hulk and given as a show of appreciation to their superhuman protectors. The geometric patterns painted on the V<sup>th</sup>'s armor are similarly meant as a ward against the evil eye- on Providence , these were traditionally painted by oracles, or failing that simply by the luckiest guy handy, but there's no shortage of psykers in the Astral Wardens so each squad usually designates a specific marine to paint their wards. Marines who distinguish themselves may get the Primarch himself to do them up a special ward.

The V<sup>th</sup> have little disdain for mutants and xenos compared to most legions, given that they themselves are psykers and Providence is home to a motley assortment of residents, but they have a great and burning hatred for genestealers and eventually their [[Tyranid]] masters.

Squads are expected to mess together, and at least one member of the squad is traditionally meant to prepare the meal. This means squads can vary even down to their staple rations, but it's a semi-sacred tradition within the Wardens, so it stays.
The V<sup>th</sup> may be seen by the more traditional legions as cowards for their ubiquitous use of shields and their refusal to fight alone. Indeed, faced with a challenge to duel, any member of the V<sup>th</sup> would simply call his brothers, harry the challenger away from his support, and methodically cut him down. Glorious duels are typically viewed by the V<sup>th</sup> with incredulity and even scorn.

==Gene-seed flaws==

Tend to expel hypno-indoctrination, making them slow-learning compared to other legions. Their numbers stay small all throughout their existence and recover slowly from major disasters.

==Legion Organization==

In what sub-groups is the legion divided?

==Special units==

'''Luminary Corps''': Due to the V<sup>th</sup> Legion's small numbers and heavy focus on ten-man squads, a robust mortal auxilia corps is required to fill in the roles the Astartes cannot afford to take. Human soldiers take on the majority of duties in vehicular support, and they draw upon much of the same philosophy as their Astartes comrades-in-arms.

Unique among the Luminary Corps is the position of "Polestar." Aspirants with psychic potential who fail to meet the qualifications to become Astartes often volunteer for this position, and each mortal crew will have one or more Polestars whose task it is to establish a Weave amongst the group, giving them a faint echo of the psychic rapport that makes the V<sup>th</sup> so deadly. This practice affords the Luminary Corps great precision, and the ultra-agile ''Odonata''-class Aerovoid Fighter was developed specifically to with this in mind, almost being more of a stunt craft than a weapon of war.

'''Endlings''': The psychic bond of the Weave is a tremendous boon for the Wardens, but it is a double-edged blade. To be linked in mind to your brothers-in-arms, to feel what they feel and to communicate without a spoken word, comes with the unspoken knowledge- that should they die, that death will be felt as keenly as if it was your own. The loss of a squad member is a traumatic event, mollified only by the final goodbye afforded by the psychic shadows a fallen Warden leaves behind- but for those unfortunate few fated to survive where ''all'' their brothers perish, the guilt is often too much to bear. Members of the V<sup>th</sup>'s mortal Luminary support corps, and even some Marines, are often left so broken by these experiences they are unable to integrate with a new squad, their minds instinctively rejecting any psychic touch as a beaten dog flinches from a raised hand.

These individuals are known as Endlings among the V<sup>th</sup>, and are usually given the option of a quiet retirement, an offer that most mortals accept. However, even with the lessened hypno-indoctrination, a Marine's mind grieves differently than a mortal's. Some Endling Astartes submit to have their Geneseed harvested and retire for their remaining years, but many instead follow another path, exemplified by the first of their kind- the Legion Champion, Finnavius Taggart. These men cast aside their shields and repaint their armor in the simple colors of the Greenboots who came before the Primarch's discovery. They are counted among the dead, and seek to take as many foes as possible into that good night before they are reunited with their fallen brothers.

Endlings are deployed to the field primarily as linebreakers, one-man armies given great discretion with their choice of armament and prosecution of their objectives. These men do not fear death, having already tasted of it- they fight with abandon and welcome the void as an old friend.

==Special equipment==

'''Ward-Shield:'''

'''Gravitic Anchor:''' Inspired by the belaying chains used by Providence's Breachers for dangerous spacewalks, the Gravitic Anchor was designed as a way for the V<sup>th</sup> to achieve additional mobility, particularly in zero-G environments. A magnetically-accelerated chain fired from the Astartes' gauntlet affixes itself to any target via a powerful gravitic charge at the tip. This simple piece of gear gained popularity amongst the legion following a battle where the Primarch, denied his psychic power by a xenos null field and and depleted of shotgun shells, used the Anchor to pull himself to the far wall, crushing the enemy champion between it and his shield. Since then, many among the V<sup>th</sup> test their skill in games of sport centered around creative use of this device and strive to find unusual ways to employ it on the battlefield.

=Naval Assets=

=Notable Members=

'''Finnaevius Taggart, Legion Champion''': Taggart was the sole survivor of his squad, which was massacred in the Legion's first encounter with the forces of Chaos, before the truth of these "Warp-Xenos" was fully understood. Taggart returned without his shield, and has since refused to accept a new one- or indeed to join a new squad. He has seemingly undertaken a vow of silence, and his brothers have honored it, seeing it as his way of grieving for the fallen. However, this does not mean Taggart stays behind when the Astral Wardens ride to battle. Indeed, he descends upon the battlefield like grim death, chainblade in one hand and shotgun in the other. Rushing headlong into battle with preturnatural speed to break the enemy line, many say he's seeking the doom that eluded him on that fateful day. It might find him an easier mark if he didn't fight with a mad strength and uncanny ferocity, ripping into the foe with blade and gun and even his bare fists if need be. He has never manifested the signature V<sup>th</sup> legion psychic halo, and seemingly none of the typical abilities. It's suspected his power is instead being channeled into pure physical might.
His excellence as a one-man army has seen him appointed the Legion Champion, largely out of expediency for inter-Crusade politics, and there is certainly no denying he is the foremost practitioner of single combat among the Wardens, with the (possible) exception of the Primarch himself. While the Legion has always disdained the notion of dueling, they greatly respect their brother, and they're paradoxically big fans of Taggart's matches, often showing up to hoot like hooligans.
As the Legion's most accomplished solo combatant, Taggart has been Calael's consistent pick for the Great Jousts, but the man has little apparent passion for the event. His continual failure to rein in his brutal style has seen him repeatedly disqualified, though he never seems disappointed when he loses- while the Wardens love watching him fight, the champions sent by other legions are rarely eager to face the man who has no love for the sport. Only once did Taggart pass the initial stages of the Joust- following a feud with the Knights Stellaris, whose champion was the favorite to win that year's competition, Calael took Taggart aside and instructed him in clear terms to carry the Vth's pride at the Joust and make Solomon's champion eat dirt. In the end, the crownless Warden took home the prize, but the sheer brutality and lack of elegance in the match has led the Knights to contest the validity of the result ever since, and Solomon's champion bears the scars Taggart gave him as proof of the Wardens' insult.

'''Endeavor Jones''' - OG Hellbender, one of the most resistant to Cal's growing influence but eventually one of his biggest supporters, and indeed the one to nominate him for the leadership role when White bites it. Always ready with a sardonic wisecrack or a dubious tall tale, Jones lacks much of the attitude expected of an Astartes- but, as he'll cheerfully remind you, he's only ''half''-astartes. Spent time as a bandit before becoming a Breacher and still hides concerns that the whole Space Marine thing takes a better quality of man than he's cut out for, but hides it well. Despite his imperfect self-confidence, his confidence in his Primarch is rock solid, and he remains a big help when Bishop is having second thoughts.

'''Constance Lainne''' – An educated lady from one of the nicer sections of Providence who, in the latter days of the Hellbenders, became their sort of home base manager and accountant, as well as vouching for Bishop to get him into the biggest library on the hulk. Following induction into the Imperium, she puts her mathematical and analytical acumen to work managing the Vth's ever-growing fleet. While reserved and proper, particularly in her older years during the Crusade, Constance is something of a Hellbender fangirl and has been compiling the most complete history of them and later the Vth legion that she can. When she is appointed the chief Remembrancer for the Wardens, it is a dream come true.

Olsen White - Son (grandson?) of the late leader of the Hellbenders. A taciturn man, and the first recruit to Bishop's Hellbenders younger than he. Connor lacks his forbear's charisma but none of his skill. May be an enthusiastic fan of Taggart's style and thus be targeted by Atreus to draw out Taggart.

'''Perceval Jackson''' – A onetime wealthy heir from the same colony as Constance, disowned for some youthful affront. After wandering the hulk he wound up as the most sophisticated and learned of the OG Hellbender crew, and the most skilled in close combat, always wearing a dueling sabre in addition to his breaching gear. He quickly took to the new melee weapons introduced by the coming of the Imperium and adopted a stylish power foil as his signature weapon May be the one who finds Horus' sword on Laer during the diplomatic mission and gets all corrupt and Isekho shows up to kill him.

'''Adrian Bibbowski''' – Huge Hellbender, slow but good-natured. The first to die as a half-astartes, his soul becomes the subject of Lambach's experimental Sarcophagus Dreadnought, intended to more permanently house the ephemeral spirits of fallen Wardens. When the project is nixed by higher-ups, Cal is forced to say farewell to his friend and pull the plug, promising to meet Bibbo on the other side. Bibbo says not to be in too much of a hurry.

'''Erasmus Cochrane''' – Legion Master of the Vth circa 40k. Large, one-eyed, much more stern than Cal. Born on an Imperial world that suffered a major Chaotic incursion, young Erasmus narrowly escaped being sacrificed to the Dark Gods, only to fall into the hands of the Imperial forces purging the planet, minus an eye. Identified to have great psychic potential and miraculously free of taint, he was promptly shuffled aboard the nearest Black Ship and sent on his way. He surely would have met his fate as dinner for the Emperor if said Black Ship hadn't happened to be the target of a raid by the V<sup>th</sup> Legion. Cochrane was among those rescued, and proved compatible with the Space Marine program.
Despite his considerable power he had difficulty bonding with others among the Vth, shuffling between shield-crews without ever finding a good fit. He lacked the easy camaraderie the Wardens were known for, and though he would joke and laugh in the heat of battle, when the smoke cleared and the day was won he kept to himself, unwilling or unable to lower his defenses. His wry wit and gallows humor won him friends, but his light was always distant in the Weave, no matter who he fought alongside.
Cochrane would not rise in prominence until a fateful encounter with the Devilsharkz. With the Orks pressing their assault on the Sun's reliquary chamber, Cochrane took up the Solais blade within and fought the Kommodork to a standstill, drove the invaders back and quelled the raid. The battle cost him an arm, but it also cost the Commodork an eye, a slight the creature has not forgotten.
No previous Warden had successfully grasped the Primarch's ethereal blade, and so it was taken as a sign from their Bishop himself that Cochrane was destined to lead.
Cochrane's style of leadership was much different from what the Wardens had come to expect. Being inducted after the passing of the Primarch, his views had little in common with those of his genefather. He was a harder, more pragmatic man, and given his childhood it came as no surprise that he regarded the Imperium with the same contempt he held for Chaos. Indeed, he was no more likely to stay his hand facing the Golden Mountains -once counted among the V<sup>th</sup>'s closest allies- than he was the Loxodontii or the Death's Heads, their ancient rivals. This led to a great deal of strain early in his rule, particularly among the elder Marines who remembered the Primarch and his ideals. Endeavor Jones, last surviving Hellbender, eventually took it upon himself to serve as Cochrane's advisor, tempering the new Chapter Master's harsher inclinations.
The most notable change under Cochrane's tenure was a massive expansion of the Black Ship raiding parties. The new Chapter Master quickly moved to reinforce bonds with the Corsairs Gallant, renegotiating highly favorable trading partnerships in exchange for the most accurate and quickly-delivered information on the Inquisition's doings and the itineraries of the Black Ships. Under Cochrane's leadership, the Wardens escalated to an unprecedented level of interference and outright aggression against the Imperium's affairs.
On the battlefield, Cochrane is instantly recognizable, if not by his masterwork Terminator armor then certainly by the fact that he carries no shield, the Solais blade slung across his back. His spellwork has a violent, jagged cast to it- more lightning than fire- and the power he brings to bear is peerless within the Materium, but his particular vice is a love for unusual and unwieldy firearms. Indeed, the reason he carries no shield, preferring to manifest one from the Empyrean when needed, is simply because he likes to have both hands free to use the biggest gun he can find. Though he sports an augmetic arm and leg, he has never had the missing eye replaced- curious, given his predilection for firearms, but as he glibly observes, “You don't need depth perception if everything down range is a casualty.”

=Writefaggotry=

{{Template: Warmasters Triumvirate}}

Union Astarte

2020-01-23T05:04:28Z

2600:1003:B010:4C7C:84C4:4E36:C8AE:F84A: /* Legion States */

{{Infobox 40k Nations
|name=Union Astarte
|image=[[Image:AdMech Flag.jpg|300px|center]]
|bgcolor=
|fgcolor=
|Capital=Macragge
|Official Languages=High Gothic
|Power=Major Power
|Size=Nearly the entirety of the Galactic East
|Head of State=Supreme Chancellor
|Head of Government=Council of Ultramar
|Governmental Structure=Military Confederacy
|State Religion/Ideology=[[]]
|Demographic=[[Space Marines]], [[Humans]], Minor [[Xenos]]
}}

{{Warmasters Triumvirate-Head}}

{{Topquote|Why do you see the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?|Luke 6:41}}
{{Topquote|Ce qui constitue une République, c'est l'extermination totale de tout ce qui lui est opposé. - What constitutes a Republic is the total destruction of that which is opposed to it.|Louis Antoine de Saint-Just}}
{{Topquote|The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.|Sun Tzu}}

==Military Doctrine==

==Fleet==

==Culture==
The Union Astarte has a strict social structure as dictated by the Council of Ultramar that is observed amongst most Council compliant sectors. The social ranks are divided into the Deformis, the Plebius, the Literatorii, the Arcanium, the Astartes, and the Vox Concilium. Each caste has a few recognized ranks within that enforce a strict social structure, and regional variations on the caste system may add further complexity or simplification to suit the needs of the region.

The Deformis are the lowest of the low, [[mutant]]s, defectors, slaves, assimilated Xenos, the shamed, the guilty, the Deformis is the designated caste for the downtrodden and outcast, utilized as cheap labour, experimental subjects, cannon fodder, and object of derision from the higher caste. Once one has found themselves amongst the Deformis, there is typically no escape. It is a fate worse than death, for oneself, and their descendants.

The Plebius is the backbone of the Union, standard humans who work, play, fight and die under the watchful eyes of their genetic, economic, and intellectual superiors. Life in the Plebius can range from little better than an Imperial citizens or the Deformis to a grand and lavish life far and away from the horrors of the greater galaxy. The Plebius is often stratified by economic or professional classes, labourers are often separated by those of more skilled professions. Typically the highest house of the Plebius is retained for government roles, families of traditional nobility or royalty, or members of the local guard or [[PDF]], giving them full rights of citizenship and more.

The Literatorii is a recognition that this particular citizen is outside the traditional Union, and is instead a part of a financial, industrial, corporate, scientific, or scholastic institution. Originally the Literatorii was reserved for Magi and Tech Priest defectors from the Imperial Adeptus Mechanicus. As the Union became more settled, an internal economy began to form that outstripped the capabilities of government held means of production. To combat this larger, sometimes Crusade Era, industries and corporations were given the same “outsider” status as the Magi, instead their work was for economic and logistical good as opposed to scientific. The difference between Plebius and Literatorii at the lowest level is simply a matter of being a “public” citizen, or a member of the Union and therefore owned by and subject to its laws, or a private citizen, owned by ones parent institution and subject to their laws and ownership, which often align with the Union but not necessarily. Life at the lowest levels of the Literatorii can be better or far worse than the Plebius, or even the Deformis, as the individual is not subject to the basic rights that the Plebius is guaranteed, but is also free from taxation, drafting, and government screening.

Often called the House of Learning, the Arcanium is the caste of the [[Psyker]], the Magos, and the Scholar. Psykers are a valued resource in the Union, and government screening allows the Union to detect and claim psyker children to grant to the Arcanium. Each region of the Union has at least one world that houses an Arcanium fortress, or Citadel, that trains, monitors, and houses Psykers. Also housed within the Arcanium are the “public” Magi, those who remained loyal to the Union as opposed to sequestering themselves away from the outside world those who prove ample intelligence or knowledge in government screenings are given an opportunity to further their learning, or even teach within a Citadel. There has been many times where scholars have been humbled by a largely illiterate expert in one field or another. The Psykers and Magi work closely to peel away the secrets of the Galaxy, and advise the Council of Ultramar on matters of knowledge, especially when certain truths are found to be too dangerous for the Plebius to know. The Arcanium is led jointly by the Fabricator Primus and the Incantator Primus, a Magos and Alpha-plus Psyker both of extraordinary skill and accomplishment. Both have seats upon the Council of Ultramar as part of the Vox Concilium, the Fabricator Primus leads matters of science and technology while the Incantator Primus dictates to the lesser Psykers matters of the psionic mind. The Arcanium is likewise split in half in terms of rank, Psykers given greater status according to ability and strength, Omicron and Epsilon level Psykers are little better than plebeians, and status is increased steadily according to power, the bare handful of sane and living Alpha Plus Psykers able to survive long enough to attain any political power enjoy some of the most influential lives available to a Union citizen. The Magi and scholars within the Arcanium obtain status from accomplishment and recognition foremost, and seniority second. Massive upheaval can occur when a junior scholar disproves the theory of a much older Magos, and barely contained conflict breaks out when the two switch places. This keeps the Arcanium competitive, but dangerously cut throat. Blanks are a touchy subject and a matter of debate for thousands of years. Many suggest that they should have a college of their own, as the Psykers do, and the most accomplished of them be given a seat at the Council. Most Psykers naturally oppose this, seeing them as a potential tool for further control.

The Arcanium and the Literatorii have a unique and tenuous relationship, as the private caste is loath to give their citizens to the government. Often times the Literatorii Psyker will live and train with the Arcanium to a satisfactory level then returned to their parent organization, unless the individual proves to be too powerful to allow outside of the citadel, or too talented to waste on the private sector in which case the government will buy the psyker from the institution, reparations for “theft”.

The Astartes is the caste of soldiers and the Space Marine. The Union Army, mortals that either by choice or force enlist or commission into the great arm of Union power alongside the chimeric Astartes that serve at the forefront of the Army, as well as [[Imperial Knight|Knight Houses]], Astartes Legions and Chapters, as well as Literatorii private military groups either hired or bought wholesale by the Government. Typically the greatest divide within the Astartes is between regular human warriors, true Astartes, and everyone else. While given less technical freedom than arcanists or plebeians, they are often given a voice during elections.

The Vox Concilium is the caste of leadership, the lowest rank commands no smaller than a system. The Union Senate is vast web of political power mongering, culminating in the ultimate seats of power, the Council of Ultramar. The Senate has several chambers that each focus on separate issues and draft law and legislation to be ratified by the Council. The Council itself housed the Primarchs and Fabricator General, but has since expanded to include the greatest member of each caste, barring the Disformis, and speaker of each chamber of Senate, small enough to prevent deadlock but large enough to see that the Union is being represented fairly. The leader of the Council is the Potentate, the first being Warmaster [[Jon-Frederic Aristide|Jon-Frederíc Aristide]], typically an equal member of the Council but serves as the final say on issues and resolver of deadlock. The Potentate is the ultimate power within the Union. Typically the Potentate has been a Dragoon, following in the Warmaster's example, but members of the Iron Guard have been in the seat, after the Second Potentate [[Zelbezis Dyestes]], as well as several Corsairs and an Astral Warden. The Potentate has no limited term, but the Senate and Council has the means to impeach the Potentate, but the majority vote for such drastic action ensures that such a maneuver is only enacted in the most dire circumstances. Traditionally the Potentate rules until death or they abdicate to a chosen successor approved by the Senate and Council after a century or so.

To a great extent, the Brotherwar was a technological schism as much as it was a political or theological one. The separatist legions battled for independence in the face of inferior leadership and burgeoning theism in the face of [[Kinnévail Kincaid|Kinnévail]]'s influence. The traitors grand deceit was one of pure religious zeal. The loyalists held to the legacy of the Emperor, despite the corruption of the newborn Imperial cult.

The [[Mechanicus]] was likewise divided thricely, with Mars itself a separatist and loyalist divide, while the northern and eastern forgeworlds falling wholesale to Mot Hadad and his Hashut. And as these factions have evolved in the last ten thousand years, so have their technological forces.

The Imperium has resolved much of the theological dissonance between the Imperium proper and the Adeptus Mechanicus, with the forces of Mars no longer an empire within an empire. The ideological differences have long since been resolved, and Tech Priests are given the same heed on shrine worlds as a Deacon, and vise versa. The boundaries of different faiths are hardly as obstructive as if the Emperor had fallen later, or if the Burned Prophet had not reorganized the Martian faith into a larger Imperial Cult. Disagreements and accusations of heresy are still plenty present, but at best those who venerate the aspect of the Omnissiah recognize others who do not as brothers and sisters in faith. Because of the grand efforts to win over Mars first into the Imperial Cult, using [[Kelbor-Hal]] as a martyr, amongst the first Imperial Saints, the Mechanicus is as tightly woven into the inner working of the Imperium as the [[Astra Telepathica]] and the [[Adeptus Arbites]]. Their ministrations of faith are instead handled by the Adeptus Ministorum the premier locus of power in the Imperium. Standardization of various systems is thusly more common, with local religious variation being more common than say technological divergence to the point of different forge worlds having incompatible technology. The famed luddism of the Mechanicus is still in effect, especially in reference to technologies that the Union utilizes or specializations that divorced from the Imperium to join the Union or Chaos, such as the Ordinatus, but while innovation is rare and often heretical, many technologies have survived the Heresy that perhaps would not of with a larger and more diffuse Mechanicus, such as Titan patterns and systems.

Conversely, the Union technological sector is diffuse and scattered, a point the Mechanicus uses to deride the Union. Almost immediately after the self imposed exile of Aristide, the forge worlds and magi that followed him in desertion fell into their own conclaves and colleges. Some retained their Martian Occultism, but most others followed the lead of [[Belisarius Cawl]] and created their own traditions, the vast majority of which would be what should be considered private industries. In the decades after the First Golden Crusades the first Union private contracts were drafted, allowing the subsidization of these foundries and think tanks in return for equipment and materiel for the centralized Union Legion. Each state has their own industrial base, either in the form of private companies, state owned foundries such as the Imperium has, or simply relies on the patronage of such entities in return for the protection of the State Legions. Because of this byzantine web of competitors and secretive lab groups, only the Legion of Ultramar and the central Union government has anything approaching standardization. [[Standard Template Construct|STC]]s are hotly contested, corporations and independent forge worlds fighting shadow wars over the recovery of lost technology and the intellectual property of new technology. Many a Magos and Grand Technological Officer have been assassinated, prototype plans stolen, and another foundry group sectors away will debut a suspiciously similar product. This outright cutthroat behavior has cost the Union and its states valuable support in times of need, and the damage of outright war between foundries or corporations can be irreparable.

Likewise, the damage from projects gone haywire can be catastrophic. Notable examples are the Great Gellarpox Plague of m39.3, the subversive Shzar menace, and the infamous "Motherworld" of the Hounds Regency. Countless such horrors of unchecked amoral experimentation have left scars and stains on the Union that remain unto modernity, however they aren't perpetrated without resistance. The Dusk Phantom state is small, but highly respected for it is they that guard against the impulses of Magi and think tank engineers. The Phantoms are the most religious technological force in the Union by far, their adherence of the [[Machine Dharma]] unshaken since the Great Crusade. They travel across the Union freely, exploring the mysteries of the cosmos both great and small as wandering monks. It is considered polite and proper for forges and places of machinery to host a Dusk Phantom, and refusing to give a traveling monk shelter could prompt the legion to press the matter, and often corruption or dangerous scientific ventures will be uncovered and punished.

Errant Dusk Phantoms have saved countless lives by discovering such threats and dispatching them before they caused greater harm. State Techmarines, should they have them, often are sent to the Phantom Zone to learn the Machine Dharma, as well as the tasks and duties of a Techmarine as per the standard set by the Great Crusade. Often the Dusk Phantoms themselves will be embedded in the State to fulfill those duties, stationed on a Shrine World or in a temple on a suitable Forge World. Rarely do Dusk Phantoms have a permanent presence amongst a private entity, but "heretics" do exist and some abandon the path to lead such ventures. Sometimes a corporation will have endangered the Union such that not only are they sanctioned and fined, but Phantoms will be stationed within them long term so as to ensure no missteps occur again. The adherence to the Dharma in [[Techmarine]]s varies greatly. In the Legion of Ultramar, the philosophy is understood and respected, but the Techmarines themselves are not ardent practitioners, only performing the rituals and incantations to appease Machine Spirits of older equipment or siezed Imperial technology. The Nova Dragoons, for example, have many temples amongst the Paradise Worlds of Marpiese, with nobles donating generously to the pauper monks and temples, not as a gesture of good will or for good karma, but instead as a competitive show of wealth and performative moral grace. Legion Techmarines on the other hand are quite ardent, the ancient jetbikes of the Dragoons requiring Marines that can soothe their wizened Machine Spirits. Having their own Machine Dharma adherents also allows them to resolve technological crises with a greater degree of tact than if they reached out the Phantoms.

The industry of Chaos is likewise byzantine and treacherous, but much more open and zealous in their conflict and competition. However, there is one indisputed power in the Dark Mechanicus, and the most influential force amongst warsmiths and daemon forges. The [[Forge Lords]] control the great Daemonforges of Noageddon, the dark flesh factories of Sylph, the Obliterator Crypts of Mezoa, the Hellkite Eeries of Goth, the Behemoth Pits of Solitude and more besides. The Forge Lords are the indispensable masters of thr Dark Mechanicus, and those who are not scions of Hadad do well to venerate Hashut lest he deem your forges a suitable addition to his covetous horde. Even the great Bloodsmiths of Khorne acknowledge the legitimacy of the Hashutite Eastern Orthodoxy, hated though they are. The great success of the Hashutites is simply in their quality and efficiency. To make enemies of those who worship Hashut is to make enemies with Hashut, and thus the Forge Lords. To do so is to deny yourself and your forces the finest weaponry, armour, and monstrous creatures the Dark Mechanicum can provide. Independent forges exist, most certainly, each God has their own famed tech adepts and forge worlds they can call upon, but the Hashutites are second to none. Uneasy pacts, lucrative contracts, and proxies are all used by powerful warlords to ensure that are recieving the quality of the East. Because of their fame and usefulness, the Forge Lords feel they can berate and bully smaller forge worlds and conclaves with impunity, and to a greater extent, they're correct. However, a callous act of destruction has made fatally powerful enemies for the Forge Worlds, and when all is said and done, when all exchanges are made, the friends of the Hashutites are few and far between.

==Legion States==
[[File:Primaris_Nova_Dragoon.png|200px|thumb|right|A Primaris Nova Dragoon Soldier]]
[[File:Primaris_Astral_Warden.png|200px|thumb|right|A Primaris Astral Warden Crewman]]
[[File:Ussuran_Liberator_Marine.png|200px|thumb|right|A Firstborn Ussuran Liberator Trooper]]
[[File:Primaris_Corsair_Gallant.png|200px|thumb|right|A Primaris Corsairs Gallant Marine]]
* Dragoon Sovereignty, [[Emperor's Dragoons]]: The Dragoon Sovereignty is a strange mix of corporate meritocracy, elective monarchy, and military junta, in which through valorous and dedicated military service, one could in theory rise to the most prestigious positions in the Legion territory. The most notable feature of the legion state is the realm of Ultramar, containing the seat of the central Union government. The Dragoons have the honour of protecting the senate housed on Macragge. Established in M31 after the outbreak of the civil war, [FINISH]The Sovereignty is ruled by an Emperor, always an Astartes, who is chosen by a military tribunal composed of mortal and Astartes high command. The Emperor has total control over the state, but employs a great number of advisory staff in the decision making process as well as delegating matters of state. Legislative, military, and judicial councils exist either in an advisory capacity or as fully operational institutions based on the wishes of the Emperor

* Providence, [[Astral Wardens]]:
* [[Iron Guard]]
* Ussuran Federation, [[Ussaran Liberators]]:
* Hounds Regency, [[Pale Hounds]]:
* [[Dusk Phantoms]]
*[[Corsairs Gallant]]

==Notable Figures==

>Haraan Ban'Doon

There is a common misconception in the UA that the vast majority of Imperial servants are unwashed peasants, illiterate zealots who fear the sky. Likewise, the Imperium pontificates about mindless Union drones, milling about in sunless hives, faithless slaves to the merciless technocratic regime. In reality, the Imperium has just as many hive and industrial worlds as the UA on average, and base literacy is common in many worlds to promote reading scripture. Meanwhile in the Union there are scores of feral worlds that are dedicated to producing Astartes aspirants and Union Defense Force conscripts. This particular practice is relatively common on both sides of the Hellreef, and these are prized assets to claim by the humans superpowers, afterall, a fighter competent with a crossbow or arquebus is downright lethal with a lasgun. Devilsharks will often target these worlds close to their domain in the hopes that they will deny the opposition prime recruitment material. Scaddébraugh was one such world, embedded within the Hellreef itself. Under Imperial control the world was buffeted by Ork incursions on all sides, often Devilsharks warring with invading Klans. When such campaigns were poised to cost the Imperium the planet, they would send a Chapter of Marines to liberate it, and select the surviving adolescent males for recruitment, and the adult veterans for Guard service or induction in the Fratis or Sororitas Templars. After a warp storm cut off Imperial reinforcements the planet and its late medieval level of technology was left to fend for itself against a Devilshark raiding party.
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The defenders took to their keeps, their forts and their citadels, but the might of the Orks and their allies pushed them to breaking, even with their centuries of experience. A Corsair Explorator fleet caught wind of the situation, and with UDF support in tow, entered the fray. The Corsairs were well versed in dueling the Xenos of the Hellreef, and rebuffed them handily with the unexpected flank. The planet was liberated, and ostensibly, in Union control. To their surprise, the Imperial Faith was fairly sparse on this world. They venerated the Emperor as a distant and powerful High King, having united the warring clans in a time forgotten. Ancestor worship was far more common, as was worship of Imperial Saints as minor gods of various domains. The clanfolk of Scaddébraugh and their lax approach to the Faith allowed for them to be "integrated" into the Union with only minor Iron Guard reeducation protocols. The planet was then sold by the Corsairs to the central Union government, who used it extensively for UDF conscription and for the Stormtrooper programs, similar to the Imperium.
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Haraan Ban'Doon was one such conscript. Made an orphan by yet another Devilshark attack he was pressed into the local lord's service, a kindness to war orphans in his lands, and raised till adolescence in the levied forces. Haraan adopted his lord's clan name, a privilege afforded to him after taking command on the battlefield when his senior man-at-arms was struck down by an enemy huscarl during a land dispute. Despite his age he was able to seize the initiative and reform the scattered ranks, ultimately seeing the day won. It was clear he was destined for great things in the service of his lord, but his potential was also noticed by the Union in an Orkish assault, where under his leadership the clan's forces prevented even a single ork from breaching the keep's walls.
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He was conscripted into Stormtrooper school, on the cusp of being too old for the gruelling reeducation and indoctrination the school instills in its prospects, but he took well to the training and excelled in his tasks and assessments. Once fully inducted into the force, he participated in several black ops missions deep in enemy lines. He performed admirably, even if it became apparent that his "rustic" upbringing wasn't completely stamped out by the rigours of the school. Often he would resort to using a power sword or ordinary commando stiletto to save himself ammunition. In his own words, "A blade never needs reloading, has no recoil, no muzzle flash, and is overall more satisfying." No matter the enemy he was determined and professional, but he always became more vicious and daring against the greenskins, always bearing down on them in a fashion borderline suicidal.
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His excellence as a Stormtrooper and general disposition as a leader, he was sent to Commissar Selections. To the surprise of no one he was instated and promoted into the UDF Commissariat. Here he truly shone as a peerless leader of troops, as his stalwart and bold presence inspired troops from across the Union, cases of desertion and cowardice in battle became unheard of. In many cases, troops simply didn't want to be the one to desert under Commissar Ban'Doon. At this point in his career his knowledge and understanding of Ork psychology and "culture" became apparent. Inbetween campaigns he would be invited to lectures on the greenskins, and indeed he was amongst the first to infer that the differences between the Devilsharks and other Klans were deeper than simply cultural, and that the presence of the "Admiral" induced a sort of physiological change.
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At his posting at Vigilus he was involved in the Second and Third Hellreef Wars, where his expertise in the Orks was invaluable. He served alongside Grand Admiral and Fleetmaster Ousmane Keita'màario, and is distinguished amongst mankind in being one of the sparse few to actually encounter the Devilshark Admiral and live to tell the tale. The firsthand accounts by the Legion Master and Ban'Doon are one of the reasons the Galaxy at large even believes the Admiral of the Sharks exists at all. During these campaigns Ban'Doon formed a particularly intimate rivalry with the Devilshark Second in Command, Vise Admirul Thundajaw Uruk Mag Bloodteef. Ban'Doon is actually the reason for Bloodteef's appellation of "Thundajaw", as during their first duel at the culmination of months of tactical maneuvering and protracted engagements, Ban'Doon struck Bloodteef in the face with his powerfist, dislodging the Ork leader's jaw plate and dislocating the jaw itself, but shattering Ban'Doon's arm. The blow sent both sprawling, but they regained their feet, dazed and rung. They continued to duel, and despite his reduced state, Ban'Doon held his ground long enough for reinforcements from both sides to arrive, extracting the now battered fighters. This marked the end of the Second Hellreef War, the conflict ultimately resolving in a stalemate, which would lead to the Third Hellreef War.
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Ban'Doon claimed Bloodteef's imposing jaw plate for himself, adorning it upon his uniform as a pauldron, and replaced his ruined arm with a Power Klaw from an Ork Warboss slain he slew in the conflict. Bloodteef reforged his plate, using the powerclaws from fallen Astartes as a grim reminder to the Union of their losses inflicted in the war. For both commanders, they left the war with something akin to respect for eachother, and Ban'Doon's long history of close combat against Ork-kind elevated him to a sort of hero amongst the greenskins. In their eyes, there was no finer human ever made, a pinnacle amongst his people. His reputation was both a blessing and a curse, due to lesser klans actually fearing him and avoiding his campaigns, and greater contenders actively seeking him out for a scrap. For Ban'Doon, he cared little, as long as Orks fell dead at his feet.
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He retired soon after the war, settling in Macragge as an instructor at the Union War College, teaching both aspiring UDF high officers and Legion commanders. The effects of old age and a life of warfare began to take their toll, even with the extensive bionics and rejuvenation procedures he underwent to stay in the frontlines. Some pressured him to run for Force Commander of the Union, but he'd rather deal with the dangers of war rather than the dangers of politics. When the Third Hellreef war broke out, now with the Hive Fleets and Leviathan Host and Forge Lords in the conflict, he felt compelled to return to service as a Commisar. Even at his age the return to battle reinvigorated Ban'Doon, and he assumed his position as if he hadn't aged a day. Now joined by the Astral Wardens, Nova Dragoons, and Corsairs Gallant, the Union response was swift and deadly. When the fourfold forces met at Vigilus the Union found, shockingly, that the Devilsharks elected to ignore the Union-held fronts in favour of fighting the Great Devourer and the forces of Chaos.
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When asked about this peculiar behavior, Ban'Doon stated, "Thundajaw doesn't want to share the battlefield. Frankly, I don't care to either." In a bizarre moment of solidarity, the pirate armies and the Union fighters simply ignored each other to engage the other invaders. The Admiral of the Sharks himself did battle with Warmaster Set, a legendary battle that shook the very ground they bloodied, which was brought to an unsatisfying end by Forge Lord orbital bombardment, no doubt intentional. The Warmaster and the Beast escaped narrowly, only for Set to encounter the Dragoons in the next line of defense. Emperor Leothe Merovín led the charge into the traitor lines, which found Set once again dueling a faction leader. This time he was found bested by the Lion of the East, after Leothe planted a melta bomb on Set's person whilst grappling. The victory was short lived as the witch Eris issued a psychic scream that sent Leothe flying. That front was eventually lost before the parallel lines of the Devilshark and Union navies made pressing into Union space impossible.
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Legion Master Erasmus Cochrane of the Astral Wardens meanwhile used his extensive knowledge of combatting Genestealers to repel the Xenos swarms, using easily scuttled space hulks as chokepoints for the encroaching hive fleets. Once the war was simplified to the two factions, the Sharks and the Union, the war began in earnest. Once more Thundajaw and Haraan Ban'Doon sought each other out, the two forces surging into eachother with zeal. The final battle of the war was legendarily bloody, and the tide turned against the Union as the Admiral's hand was revealed. Using dark bargains with the Dark Eldar and other Ork Klans, the enemy force multiplied, and the Union found themselves vastly outnumbered. Only the last minute reinforcement of the Dusk Phantoms and the Iron Guard saved them from losing Vigilus and the entire western front. Even still, it was divine intervention that saved Ban'Doon's life. Struck by a vision, the prophetic Thundajaw saw Gork and Mork calling him elsewhere, and his Devilsharks abandoned the war. The enemy force was broken, and the Dark Eldar and Orks summoned by the Admiral turned against the Sharks, feeling betrayed. The enemy forces collapsing to infighting, Ban'Doon took his dedicated force and took to chasing the Devilsharks through the Helltrench, where he has remained since.

==See Also==