Editing Bloodhounds (section)

=Legion Equerry=

==Writefaggotry==

===Conjunction at Octarius===

Captain Gaspar Armistead stood on the embarcation deck of the Executioner, flagship of the 46th expeditionary fleet, and personal vessel to Balthasar the Bloody. The Gloriana class ship floated elegantly in high anchor above the planet 46-8. 46 because of the fleet which discovered it, and 8 because it was the 8th world discovered by that fleet. Armistead's men had taken to calling the planet Octarius, and now that the Remembrancers had heard it, the name was likely to stick. Armistead himself stood on a gantry overlooking the rows of Thunderhawk dropships filling the deck. His armor was the deep red of wet blood. Speckles of dried blood, deliberately left uncleaned, made a camoflage pattern across the red plate. He wore no helm, instead favoring a black cloak and tabard over his armor, with a hood drawn over his head. On his equipment belt were two blades, one crimson, and one black. The crimson blade was a sawtoothed beast, with a three feet long chainblade which could tear an Ork apart in seconds. The black blade, in contrast, was a simple thing. Its blade apparently of knapped flint, and its hilt of unpolished gold. It did not seem a dangerous thing, but in truth it was by far the more deadly weapon.

Armistead came to this gantry every time a ship launched, or near enough. He liked to marvel at the sheer audacity of it all. Their ship, and thousands of support vessels, had been parked above 46-8 for six years, and showed no signs of leaving. The planet below was an unending mountain range, with each peak climbing higher than the last. In the steep valleys between the mountains, however, lived billions of brutal Ork xenos, green monstrosities the size of an Astartes with an insane lust for war. In that way, Armistead supposed, the Bloodhounds and the Orks were alike. Thunderbirds deployed down to the surface of the world in squadrons, dropping off companies of marines on their three week hunting expeditions. When they returned, they would bring back trophies of the hunt: Ork teeth strung along wires, weapons of the enemy, and even, if the marine were boastful enough, the decapitated heads of the foe. Armistead had seen and liberated dozens of worlds which the foul greenskins had torn asunder, terrorizing the human populace for centuries. But here, on this crinkled ball of a world, the Bloodhounds hunted them for sport.

The voxcasters lining the walls of the deck crackled to life, jostling Captain Armistead out of his ruminations. The mechanical voices of a thousand speakers all spoke in unison, "A fleet has entered the system. All hands, all hands, a fleet has entered the system. Await orders as the fleet enters auspex range." The marines below stood in bemusement, unsure if they should continue boarding. The Captain, however, acted with knife-like certainty. "Disembark and muster on decks. Whether they are friend or foe, they will board us, and we must be prepared for it. Gear-check all chainswords and get your breacher shields." A holo-display on Armistead's eyepiece informed him he was summoned to the bridge. "I am summoned to the Hunting Lodge, brothers, see to your orders."

The Captain climbed up the many passageways of the ship to it's command center, the Hunting Lodge. It was a massive circular chamber with a hololithic windowed dome, through which one could see the surface of 46-8. On the walls of the chamber were arrayed thousands of trophies of war. Rows of ork heads, monstrous talons of the megarachnids, and countless trophies of the myriad beasts of a thousand worlds. Arranged against the many taxedermied trophies hung thousands of weapons taken from the many worlds who had surrendered before the might of Balthasar's Bloodhounds. In the center of the chamber stood seven Astartes, armored like Armistead. They were his brother captains of the Warpack, highest and greatest officers of the First Legion.  Each of Armistead's brothers were armed as he was, with crimson chainsword and black flint blade. Two among their number weren't present, fighting with the Primarch on the planet's surface.

Forming two concentric circles around the captains were navigation consoles, data readouts, and auspex stations. In the inner circle sat Commodore Frost and his command crew, in the outer circle sat support staff and auspex readers. All of their stations were set deep into the ground so that no one's view of their Lord's trophies would be occluded. Occasionally Servitor Helots would skitter into the chamber, report to one of the staffers, deliver or receive some message, and then scamper back out again.  The Lodge had always made Armistead think of a massive ampitheatre, except the audience was facing the wrong way.



Gaspar turned to his brother captains and spoke, "Have we identified the fleet yet, comrades?" Captain Abrams gave a gruff shake of the head, his rough black drakespelt gyrating from the movement. Abrams spoke in reply, "The Warmaster could have sent anyone, brother. They have only just made translation to realspace."

Gaspar watched as the hololithic displays began to render their long range scans. "That can't be right..." Gaspar said, his eyes memorizing every detail. If the scale of the display was correct, the ship entering the system was absolutely massive. On Terra Gaspar had once seen [[REDACTED]]'s warship, The All-Seeing-Eye, hang like a jealous brother next to the moon. That vessel had been more space station than ship, and even it would be dwarfed in comparison to the Space Hulk entering the system.

One of the servitors in the outer ring begane to tone ident codes for all to hear, "Expeditionary designation 666, command designation Legio VIII, Cognomen Void Lords." Captain Wyght's hackles rose, his slate grey eyes widening in anticipation, "The Void Lords are cunning warriors, the Warmaster has blessed us!" Captain Gaspar grinned in reply, "Yes, comrades, together we will purge these greenskins with the terrors of the void." Something about what Gaspar had said unsettled his brother captains, a visible awkwardness spreading among them. Before Gaspar could inquire, he heard the Hunting Lodge's portcullis blast doors begin to open.

Through the great bronze doorway came Balthasar Bornhold, Primarch of the Bloodhounds. Every inch of the primarch's skin was covered in a thick red mane of fur, ranging from the bright red of a hot brand, to the dull brown of dried blood. He wore bronze banded armor, twisted with iconography of screaming faces, snarling hounds, and dark riders. His vambraces and gauntlets were matte black ceramite, gouged with a thousand scrapes. His right gauntlet ended in a power talon, fueled by glowing red power cables like arteries. In his left hand he bore a long bastard's sword made of black flint. Shards had been visibly broken from the blade, turning it into a cruel, jagged thing.

Flanking the Red Lord were General Captain Cullen, Master of the Legion, and Lord Overseer Lazaar, the Mouth of the Warmaster. Captain Cullen's armor was bright and ostentatious, decorated with rubies. Overseer Lazaar wore no visible armor, covering himself with an oily black cowl. The black robes seemed to drip and flow like resinous pitch, and underneath Lazaar's cowl floated two bronze stars and a bright white smile like a crescent moon.

Balthasar and his retinue approached the command platform. As they reached the center, the Primarch spoke to his captains, "Brothers in blood, the hunt begins in earnest. My brother Graha'nak has come at the Warmaster's call, and the butcher's bill is due. Come dawn, this world must run red with blood." Gaspar and his brother-captains knelt, and Captain Cullen approached them. He handed each man a soft vellum scroll with a name etched in blood. The name was written in the harsh runes of Karach, made with a stylus and inked with blood drawn directly from a source. Each captain took his scroll and drew his athame blade, etching the runes into the surface of the black flint swords. As they did this, they recited the names on the scrolls. General Captain Cullen spoke once more, "Each of you has your quarry, let not the blades be sheathed until their thirst is quenched."

As the ritual ended, Overseer Lazaar stepped forward. The man reached up and pulled back his cowl, revealing his coal-black face. "I am the mouth of the Warmaster, I speak with his voice to the many forces of the perpetual crusade. Let it be known among all present that this conjunction at Octarius is to be the commencement of a great crusade across the segmentum. Our enemies are cunning, beasts of great guile and terror. Do not fear, for the Warmaster's eyes are upon you, and his Mouth shall sing your battle chants." At that, Balthasar stirred. He rose like a great red behemoth, and went to the trophy racks of the hunting lodge. From the wall he pulled a great brass horn, like the trummets of old Terra. He approached the hololothic display, gazed upon the miniature space hulk, and blew on the horn. "LET THE HUNT BEGIN. WE SHALL SHOW OUR BROTHERS THE MEANING OF TERROR."




Gaspar and his men sat in their thunderhawk dropship as it rumbled through the high atmosphere. Each man was locked into place with his jump pack secured behind him. Mechanicus helots blessed the machine spirits of their equipment, but Gaspar turned them away when they reached for his Athame. As they began to aerobrake, the ship rumbled about, and the serivors locked themselves into place. Abruptly the ship turned, and the deployment bay doors swung open. Gaspar and his men lept out of the bay and engaged their jump packs, their jets easing their descent to the surface.

Below sat a rusted Ork fortress, nested around the peak of granite dome. The greenskins turned their dakkacannons upward, but Gaspar and his pack descended with boarding shields drawn. The Bloodhounds crashed down and engaged the orks blade to blade. The brutish fiends were no match for the well trained bloodhounds, and soon their dark red blood was staining the grey granite.

Gaspar's hair began to prickle, and he could smell ozone and burnt brimstone. A loud thunderclap echoed across the mountains, and from nowhere appeared the Void Lords. Teleporting among the orks, the beasts of the Void began wreaking havoc among the greenskins. Gaspar and his men lept in to join their brothers, fighting through to join their comrades. The Void Lords' armor was a deep midnight blue, with red totemic ornaments. The Void Lords' Ceramite armor was wet with warp residue from their teleportation, giving it an organic appearance. Gaspar landed a jump next to one of the Void Lords, crushing an ork slugga with his boots. "I am Gaspar Armistead, Third great captain of the Bloodhounds, who do I fight beside?"

The Void Lord did not speak. It stood in a low stance, with a hulking chainfist in one hand and a pounding storm bolter in the other. He rammed his chanfist into the ramshackle wall of one of the Ork structures, and swung his arm to cut a hole. He then turned his storm holter toward the hole and opened fire. Pulpy smacks and cracks could be heard within as orks were blown to bits. Turning from the wreckage, the Void Lord regarded Gaspar, and finally spoke, "I am Voidseeker Vark'ash, here to scourge Octarius. These Orks must learn to fear the beasts who come from the void.

At Gaspar's side, his athame began to humm. The runes etched into its blade began to resonate, and the next thing he knew, the blade was in his hand. His shield lay on the scorched floor below him, and in his other hand he held the chainsword. He felt a rhythmic pulse from the athame blade, like a beating war drum. "KILL!" the drumbeat shouted, "MAIM! BURN!" Gaspar Armisted turned to Vark'ash. The drum beat faster and the voice spoke louder. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" shouted the Bloodcaptain, as he jammed the blade into the Voidseeker's heart.

The Bloodhounds turned on the other void lords in ambush, their chainswords tearing through ceramite. Captain Armistead had his men gather the corpses of the Void Lords, cutting them out of their armor. They were gathered in a great heap of flesh, with Voidseeker Vark'ash crucified above them. Gaspar stood atop the corpses, and with his athame blade he drew blood from the beating heart of Vark'ash. The blood ran down the blade, trickling onto Gaspar's black gauntlets and staining them red.

The heap of corpses began to churn, and the bodies twisted into new forms. Great bronze horns grew from their skulls and elbows. Their flesh had been flayed off by the bloodhounds, and their bare muscle burned with unholy cinders. Their heads became elongated like wolves, and from their muscular flesh grew black poison quills. Their eyes burned, revealing a malicious intent toward all life. The daemonspawned beasts walked on all fours, loping about in great bounds.

Suddenly, explosions rocked a nearby peak, drawing the eyes of Gaspar's men and their hellhounds. On a nearby spire they could see a Void Lords party being ambushed by another bloodhound dropship. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" chanted Captain Armistead, "SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" He and his men engaged their jump packs, flying toward the spire. Their daemonhounds leapt along on wings of flame.

==Beliefs==
The Bloodhounds, besides the Khornate usual, prize pack mentality.

{{Imperium Asunder}}