Editing Ghosts of Dorn

{{Infobox Spess Mahreen Chapter
|Name = Ghosts of Dorn
|Heraldry = [[Image:bonefist.gif|center|100px]] 
|Battle Cry = None. They don't talk much.
|Number = Endangered
|Founding = 22nd
|Successors of = [[Imperial Fists]]
|Chapter Master = Geirod Verus
|Primarch = [[Rogal Dorn]]
|Homeworld = Dysa
|Specialty = Fortification and Armored Air Assault
|Strength = Endangered
|Allegiance = [[Imperium]]
|Colours = Light gray with light blue pauldrons, helmet, and hands, and dark gray trim
}}
[[Image:Ghosts of dorn.jpg|thumb|right|Helmets are mandatory to hide those pretty, pretty faces]]

The Ghosts of Dorn are a /tg created successor chapter of the Imperial Fists. Due to a mutation in their [[gene-seed]], their skin is entirely transparent. All of their muscles and bones can be seen to the naked eye. This does not endear them to their allies, which is why even their captains tend to leave their helmets on.

Ghosts of Dorn are taciturn warriors. They march grimly into battle without a sound. This also does not endear them to their allies. 

Their favorite tactic is to fly their forces in with [[Thunderhawk|Thunderhawks]] to establish a beachhead before fortifying the absolute shit out of it. Playing "Flight of the Valkyries" when you do so is not required, although it is encouraged.

[[Image:Ghosts of Dorn Termies.jpg|thumb|right|First Company Terminators]]
= Home Planet =
The home planet of the Ghosts of Dorn is Dysa, an iceworld so bitterly inhospitable that [[Battle of Skalathrax|not even Space Marines can survive,]] at least on the surface. Under the permafrost, humans eke out a living in the [[Underdark|immense system of underground tunnels]] that have been carved out over thousands of years.

It is not a fantastic life. The food is shit, the lighting is finicky, it's always cold, the [[Nightsider|Nightsiders]] three caves over keep stealing the wifi... oh, and every so often giant worms and rats come up from the undertunnels to eat everybody.

But the subject of greatest fear and awe are the ice giants that descend from the sky every decade or so, demanding a sacrifice of the bravest and the strongest among them, to be delivered lest their wrath destroy the world.

You know, standard recruiting policy.

= History =

The Ghosts of Dorn were founded in the 37th millenium as part of the 22nd founding. They were among the first chapters established after the utter destruction of the Imperial Fists chapter in [[The War of The Beast]], once its various successors had finally gathered enough gene-seed to create a new chapter. 

There was considerable concern upon their creation due to their mutation, which smacked of the [[21st Founding|Cursed Founding]]. Indeed, in its infancy it was to come under intense suspicion by the Ecclesiarchy during the [[Abyssal Crusade]]. Although no warp storms had descended on Dysa, their unsettling mutation led many to believe they had been corrupted. In the end, the Ghosts of Dorn just barely managed to avoid joining the [[Judged]].


Of particular note in their history is their ill-fated assault upon the Craftworld Ijain. In his [[Rage|righteous furor]] and [[Derp|infinite wisdom]], Chapter Master Belaphion Ortef led the entire chapter in a head-on assault. Though his zeal was to be recommended, his grasp of tactics was not.

The chapter's fleet was torn apart under the fire of the Craftworld's defenses. Ortef was among the first to be killed, and his death led to chaos and confusion in the chapter, as some pursued the attack while others struggled to disengage. Hundreds upon hundreds were slaughtered under the Eldar guns. However, the Brother-Captain of Sixth Company, one Geirod Verus, led a desperate spearhead that broke through the Eldar defenses and breached the Craftworld. He and his men fought to destroy as many of the Craftworld's defenses as they could, allowing the tattered remnants of the Ghosts of Dorn to escape.

Upon their return to safety, the Ghosts of Dorn unanimously declared him their new Chapter Master. Now, he leads the Ghosts with a good deal more wisdom than his predecessor.

(to be fair, the Ghosts of Dorn had fought the Craftworld on several occasions beforehand, where their use of Ranger snipers and Striking Scorpion ambushes frustrated and demoralized the space marines. Ortef likely felt that a head-on assault would be effective against such trickery. It's just a shame it didn't translate on a space scale)


An Adeptus Sororitas Order, the Order of the Shining Spear (no relation to the Eldar aspect) was once under assault by a massive force of Aosh Dynasty Necrons. They called for aid and the Ghosts of Dorn answered, but the sisters were dismayed when the Chapter Master arrived with little more than a hundred space marines, less than any other force had provided. When the Canonness asked why he had brought so few, Geirod replied that he had brought his entire chapter.
Touched by the Ghosts' willingness to sacrifice their entire chapter for her Order, the Canonness declared that the Order of the Shining Spear would forever stand with the Ghosts of Dorn as allies. Their combined forces proved able to push the enemy force off the planet.

= Writefaggotry =

[[Image:GoD CM.jpg|thumb|right|Geirod Verus]]

There was silence inside the assault boat, which was not to say that it was quiet. Thuds echoed through its chambers as the ship rocked from glancing pulsar fire. Only their pilot’s frantic maneuvers kept them from becoming direct hits that would hole the Shark from nose to stern, sucking its innards out to the vacuum.

The cogitator display at the front of the room let out a beep to mark each time a friendly vessel encountered such a fate. 

Beep: a fellow assault boat destroyed.

Beep: a frigate blown apart.

Beep: a Battle Barge, lost with all hands.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

There were not many ships left.

Still, amid the noise there was silence, in the marines strapped to the seats lining the plasteel walls. Their colors were the light blues and grays of ice. No Veterans or Terminators here, in the sixth company. Their heads were bowed, but they did not pray. Some great despair weighed upon their limbs, pulled them into a silence even heavier than their taciturn nature endowed. They sat, and waited, and listened to the sounds of men dying.

“Brothers,” said their Brother-Captain, after an age. He had disdained the use of a helmet for the battle, and beneath the glistening sheen of his skin, the muscles of his face could be seen at work, flexing to form his words. On such a face, emotions were more easily read and harder to disguise.

He looked tired.

“Brothers,” he said again, “I am not one to make florid speeches. The art is beyond me. I cannot fill you with courage, or hate, or strength, by my words alone. I know only how to speak my thoughts plainly.”

“I cannot pretend that our Chapter Master’s actions have been correct in this battle.” A few helmets lifted at this, but there was no protest. “To pursue the xeno wherever he flees, that is just. To destroy them wherever they are found, that is just as well. But zeal must be tempered with tactics. To die needlessly, to waste the Emperor’s chosen soldiers, that is not just.

“I believe our Chapter Master has made a grievous error on this day. And if he were alive, I would surely tell him.”

He paused, searching for the right words. The marines seemed unwilling to put weight to his speech. How could they, when any instant it could be interrupted by the chance impact that would snuff out their lives? How could anyone?

“We are among the last left of our chapter,” he said. “If by some divine providence we breach the Craftworld, our task is clear. We do not fight for honor, or glory, or vengeance. We fight to survive, that whatever shreds of our chapter are left can escape this slaughterhouse.

“Do not seek out the xenos,” he said. “Leave their treasures undefiled, their soul-stones unsmote. We cannot spare a moment for anything other than our supreme task. But if an Eldar stands between you and those defense pulsars, that Eldar must die.

“I do not make florid speeches,” he repeated. “Each of you must be brave and wrathful and strong regardless.”

Suddenly, the shriek of sirens, harbingers of a bone-twisting impact that filled their world with crashing thunder. All heads rose, hands grasped frantically at weapons. The fate they had made peace with hours earlier had passed them over.

They had arrived.

“To battle, brothers,” said the Brother-Captain, in the brief seconds before the door blew open. “Let us make Dorn himself proud.”