Lore

Head Canon

How I justify my modeling/painting for my Charnel Guard army

Formation of the Chapter: 

After the Heresy War, Zephon is given command of a new chapter, the Charnel Guard.  Starting with some of the surviving Blood Angels, they begin to build their strength, and start recruiting potential neophytes from planets they stop by for resupply, or that they are sent to defend.  They are given the battle-barge "The Invictrix" that will serve as their flagship, as well as their fortress monastery.  

Land, Genes, and Sleep:

Arken Land joins his old "friend", with the intent to accompany the chapter to new worlds and make new discoveries.  Land, during long boring void travel, begins to work on various projects, to include alteration of the Chapter's Gene Seed, and manipulating the Astartes Physiology.   The details of the gene seed alterations are a chapter secret, known only to Land and Zephon, and result in some subtle changes to the physicality and character of the chapter's Astartes warriors.  One change that stands out to Astartes from other chapters, is the lengthening of their eye-teeth, which can be startling to outsiders. 

Land learns how to manipulate the Sus-an Membrane of Astartes warriors, and they use this as a tool to deal with brothers succumbing to the Black Rage.  They are put to sleep against their will and put into long-term storage on the Invictrix.  When there is an upcoming battle, they are awakened.  In the unlikely event that their symptoms have decreased or ceased, they are put back into normal service, though monitored closely by Wardens.  If they are still showing signs of the black rage, they are assigned to the Cadre of the Black Skulls, where they will fight and die. 

Over time, they start using this method on all Astartes in the chapter, keeping only a skeleton crew of Astartes awake during travel/ between engagements.  This has become the standard of operation for the chapter over the years, unless they are currently engaged in conflict, only 5% or less of the chapter's strength is awake.  They believe that this helps to slow the eventual progression of the Black Rage, and keeps the Chapter rooted in it's fundamentals(that doesn't really work). When there is a battle to be fought, companies are rotated from sleep shortly before the battle, and given some time to prepare: learning about the enemy/situation, getting up to speed on any new weapons or technology that has come to the chapter since they were last awake, etc. 

Thralls:

The Invictrix, and accompanying ships are mostly run by Thralls in the service of the Chapter.  There are "Waking Thralls", who serve the active or "awake" Astartes, and "Sleeping Thralls" who maintain the ship and do all the things that the sleeping Astartes would normally do on space voyages or while garrisoned. 

The Astartes in the Chapter have a very close relationship with their thralls.  They depend on them to get them up to speed upon waking, and to monitor and protect them while sleeping.  They show higher levels of respect to their thralls than many other chapters, and the thralls are afforded many comforts that may seem unnecessary to outsiders.  They are fed well, have comfortable housing within the ship, and are afforded opportunities to socialize with the other thralls onboard.  Socializing, of course, leads to increased population on the ships, which suits the chapter's need for more loyal servants.  There is never a lack of candidates for Neophyte training, and there are always thralls available for service.  There is even a way for a chapter thrall to request ending their service of the chapter or "retire", though none have ever done so.

Bones:

On a nameless, smoldering planet, where the clash of ceramite and the roar of bolters filled the air with the acrid scent of battle, an Astartes lay grievously wounded. His lifeblood poured into the putrid soil as his brothers fought on. His Waking Thrall knelt beside him, witnessing the struggle of the Apothecary to piece him back together so he might rejoin his brothers in the battle.  Pushed away by the Apothecary, the Thrall’s gaze fell upon his masters’ severed finger, still encased in the ceramite finger section of his gauntlet. With care, he retrieved the limb and removed it from the armor casing, intending to present it to the Apothecary for reattachment.  When he approached the Apothecary again, it became clear that he was too late, as the Reductor was already removing his Master’s Progenoid gland.

Grief-stricken, the thrall shuffled away as he was ordered to the rear of the company, and after the battle, returned to the flagship with the rest of the surviving warriors and retinue.  Upon his return to the ship, he was immediately reassigned to a newly awakened brother, and ordered to present himself.

As the thrall introduced himself to his new master, he unconsciously clenched his fists, and realized he was still holding the severed digit.  In his attempt to conceal what he held, he succeeded only in stuttering and shifting his hands awkwardly, alerting the towering Astartes warrior that he was hiding something.

"Speak up Thrall!  Why do you stammer?" the Astartes demanded, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the chamber. "What have you got there?"

He slowly raised his trembling hand, and uncurled his fingers to reveal what he held. "It... it belonged to my master, sir" he confessed, his voice barely a whisper against the solemn silence of the chamber. "He fell in the battle, and I... I didn’t know what..."

 “Silence!” his new master bellowed, as he reached out.  The thrall shrank back, closing his eyes as he awaited to be struck or killed for his transgression.  But instead, he felt the giant’s hand under his, pulling it up into view.  He opened his eyes, and beheld the warrior staring thoughtfully at the gruesome item in front of him.

"A finger?" he said. "You hold onto a finger as if it were a holy relic?"

The Thrall lowered his gaze, shame etched upon his features, and the Astartes' demeanor suddenly shifted.  He felt the enormous fist close around his hand.

"It is obvious that you were a loyal servant to my brother” he declared, “You honor him by attempting to preserve this.  Keep it.  Would that we all had such trinkets to remember the lost."

The relic of flesh eventually became a relic of bone, adorning the thrall's neck as a solemn emblem of remembrance. Over the years, this would become a tradition among the Waking Thralls, to proudly wear or display a bone of their fallen Master.  Over the centuries, this tradition would spill over into the practices of the Charnel Guard warriors as well, who would adorn their plate with the bones and skulls of their fallen brothers, and display them in their quarters. In the 41st millenium, the halls and chambers of Charnel Guard ships are lined with the bones of fallen brothers, and even the bones of enemies who were deemed worthy of remembrance. 

The Company of Death:

PLACEHOLDER FOR GENERAL SCHTICK

Witnesssing Madness

A Short Story, by Me - No AI

 On the training deck of the Invictrix, Lieutenant Sephios of the Second Company of the Charnel Guard stood with his Captain, the storied champion Mordath, reviewing a list of pict recordings of a recent engagement on a wall-mounted console.  Warriors of the Charnel Guard were expected to learn from both the actions of their Battle Brothers, and much of their time between awakenings was spent reviewing recordings of their fellow Astartes. 

 Soliciting an uneasy glance from Sephios, Mordath selected a marker with the icon of the Black Skulls: a pale “X” with the shape of a fanged skull in black at its center. Sephios wondered silently why his Captain had immediately gravitated to the selection of their cursed comrades, as he could imagine very little could be learned from reviewing what would surely be a disturbing display of uncontrolled, clumsy slaughter. Perhaps it was simple curiosity, perhaps a morbid fascination with the ferocity of the Black Skulls, even though the veteran Captain and Sephios himself had witnessed their fury in person on several battlefields.

  The capture came from a pict recorder on the interior of a Black Skulls landing chamber—more of a shipping container than a troop transport—just after landing. The screen was black, and the sounds emitting from the console were like that of a den of animals—howling, panting, snarling, even weeping. The ping of small arms fire could be heard intermittently, as the enemy outside likely attempted to shoot down the carrier. After the sound of the carrier vessel taking off, the sides of the chamber fell away with a metallic crunch, allowing the light of the battlefield to flood in and reveal the source of the bestial noises. Along each side of the chamber were five warriors, some kneeling, some crouched like predators, with their arms affixed by short chains coming from locks on the floor below them. As the light hit them, it was apparent that they had all been pulling relentlessly at their chains, pleading with the metal to release them to their bloody vengeance. Their heads were all adorned with helms that resembled something like a cage, rather than a protective piece of armor. Many were missing components of their battle plate: pauldrons, vambraces, even boots had been damaged and wrenched off as they struggled against their chains and bashed into each other in their futile struggles. All were armed with weapons that would befit a hive-ganger more than an Astartes: rusty blades, bludgeoning weapons, antique bolt weapons that looked in a state of disrepair or even obviously inoperable. Some had their weapons permanently attached to their gauntlets, apparently to prevent their habit of dropping them in favor of using their hands to tear enemies apart.

 In the center of the chamber, the recording showed another figure adorned in the battle plate and livery of the Black Skulls, though his armor appeared to be in a better state of repair than those that surrounded him.  He was the only one standing, though still affixed to the floor with long chains coming from his wrists; only this warrior was not pulling and wrenching at the chains as his lost brothers did.  To the left of the warrior, with the point buried in the steel deck, there stood a sword of massive proportions, with a blade easily a head taller than the warrior it was intended for.  Suddenly, from a speaker in the roof of the chamber, there came a series of three chimes, during which the warrior finally began to pull against his chains.  A mechanical clunk accompanied the release of his chains from the deck, and he immediately turned to grasp the hilt of the giant blade and wrench it from where it was jammed into the floor.  As he did so, he looked to the rear of the chamber, and for a split second, appeared to stare directly into the pict recorder’s lens.  It could be seen now that he was not adorned with a helm of any kind, and his long, ragged, white hair and beard fluttered in the breeze of this new battlefield.  His eyes were terrible to behold, devoid of life, resembling the eyes of a mindless predator from some forsaken jungle world.

  “How many studs do you see?” Mordath muttered.

  “Six, my Captain,” Sephios replied, as the figure turned and walked forward, past the straining animals on either side, and into the light of the cursed planet he would bestow his wrath upon. As he took his first step onto the dirt, the chamber began to chime again. Before the third chime, he was at a dead sprint, charging headlong into a crowded formation of what appeared to be cultists of the Ruinous Powers. Another loud clunk emitted from the chamber, as all ten of the seething killers’ chains were finally released.  Immediately the murderous pack clambered out, following the lead of the ancient warrior ahead of them, snarling and bellowing incoherent curses as they charged. What followed was a slaughter that resembled the furious attacks of World Eaters berserker charges: relentless, merciless, without concern for cover or defense of any kind. The squad moved through the enemy formation like fire through a hab-block, with the ferocious warrior reaping the foe at their head.

“Brother Captain Ariath… Grandfather, as they call him now, not that he answers to any name or title… over 600 years in the service of the Emperor, and he’s reduced to this… beast,” Sephios murmured, shaking his head.

“The curse is indeed a cruel fate, little brother.  However, I would be hesitant to say he is reduced.  Look upon the path he carves, and more importantly, the way the Black Skulls follow him.  It’s as if their rage is focused by his own."  After thoughtful pause, the Captain continued. "He has been leading our fallen brothers long enough to have earned at least another stud on his brow, and yet the curse hasn’t worsened.  This is indeed a rarity among those who share the blood of the Angel.” Mordath continued to stare at the pict caster, watching the mayhem created by the squad of Black Skulls as they plowed through the heretics.  Were they too afraid to run?  Or fanatical enough not to see their own deaths screaming towards them?  

  After a long pause, Sephios finally commented, “Yes, Captain, his longevity is indeed rare.  The way it was explained to me, he only endures because he had lost his mind long before the Black Rage overcame him.”

 Mordath gave the slightest hint of a smile. “He was… unique, yes.  But there was no other warrior I would want by my side during a charge into a hardened enemy position.” Mordath’s face resumed its forever grim, stoic expression.

 “I… My apologies Lord, I did not know you knew him personally.” Sephios stuttered, with an amount of panic in his voice.  Mordath simply nodded.  Seeking a way to change the subject, Sephios asked, “Forgive me, Captain, but what might we learn from studying the battle actions of the lost? Surely there are no strategic lessons in this display.”

 “Correct, brother. There is nothing of tactical value in the methods of these killers; this is just a reminder of the fate that awaits us all, should we live long enough to be afflicted,” Mordath intoned, as Sephios lowered his gaze thoughtfully. "But do not despair, young Sephios," Mordath continued, "because even though their souls have abandoned their mortal flesh, to rest alongside the Great Angel, their bodies are still valuable weapons in the service of the Emperor. If that is to be our fate, we must not be apprehensive about it."

With a solemn nod, Sephios acknowledged the weight of his Captain's words, understanding that every brother's path, no matter how dark, would always serve the Emperor's will.

BOOK LIST

Below is a spreadsheet of all the Warhammer books i have listened to, with some notes.  This is mostly for me to keep track, but maybe useful to you.

I wish I didn't have to say this, but these are my opinions.  All were listened to as audio books.  Open to suggestions on further reading, though I will not revisit those I skipped in Horus Heresy.