Negators

Negators
A pointed Icovellavna
Battle Cry	"Remember me!"
Number	XIV
Successor Chapters	Unknown
Primarch	Aodhán Kael
Homeworld	Nusku
Specialty	Anti-armour operations, rapid redeployment, monster slaying
Allegiance	Traitors
Colours	Mist grey major, woad blue trim

This page is a work in progress, part of the Imperium Asunder project, a fan remake of the warhammer 40 000 history.

Primarch

Discovery

Aodhán Kael, Primarch of the Negators, was raised on the fiery world of Nusku. An arid, windswept planet, Nusku's surface was primarily made up of sweeping plains, along which scores of ragged canyons ran in twisting lines. The radioactive storms that plagued the surface had transformed a portion of the population into an abhuman species of disfigured giants who had enslaved the remaining humans, driving them into the shadowed ravines that scarred the landscape, forcing them to dig tirelessly for precious stones and scraps of old technology. It was among these downtrodden clans that Aodhán grew to adulthood. His stunning beauty and natural charm quickly raised him into a position of leadership, and, as though driven by a hatred bred into his very bones, he led a fierce rebellion against Nusku's ruling caste. By the time Aodhán was discovered by Imperial forces, Nusku's plains were littered with the bones of dead giants. The Emperor found his son seated upon a throne of bulbous, oversized skulls, adorned in the finery of a warrior-king and basking in the adoration of his people.

The Early Crusade

As a Primarch, Aodhán was boisterous, friendly, and wild, leading his armies from the fore and promising future glory to worlds that complied with the Emperor's will. He was initially glad to march across the heavens as the Emperor's champion, the notion that he was a child of the galaxy's rightful ruler fanning is enormous ego, and his statuesque appearance made him a popular figure with the Imperial populace. He had a friendly rapport with many of his brothers, particularly those more inclined to combat, though the more scholarly among them often thought him a boorish thug of a man, more suited to a life of directionless adventure than leadership. Aodhán, quite ironically, was among the tallest of the Primarchs, standing a full head over some of his brothers. First into battle and last to retreat, he cut a heroic figure, his legendary beauty matched only by his uncanny - some might say freakish - strength. Though never quite possessing the grace of Kashaln or the martial discipline of Staffel, Aodhán commanded prodigious physical might, even by the standards of other Primarchs.

Widowmaker

Boisterous and reckless, he often forged ahead in the Crusade. It was in this way that he came upon the weapon he wields today. Upon inducting a feudal world in the galactic east into compliance, Aodhán led his Legion to deal with the 'monstrosities' that plagued the planet - creatures hailing from a nearby planetoid, seemingly the remains of a once thriving world, now charred down to its very core. The beings he and his men encountered there were like nothing they had ever known. They seemed barely real, shifting and changing with every step, spewing garish torrents of prismatic fire and slipping across the airless surface of the rock like shadows. It was only through immense fortitude and a stroke of luck that the creatures were banished from that place. As the horde thinned and the Giant Slayers pushed them to the bowl of a massive crater, the greatest among them revealed itself - a creature of blinding, scintillating feathers and roiling eyes, space flexing and stretching at its command. Though worn down by weeks of sustained battle, Aodhán faced the beast in single combat. It lashed at him with burst of fire and lightning, its touch twisting his armour into gnarled shapes. When it seemed that the Primarch would fall, his weapon cast from his hand, he reached out and found the hilt of an unfamiliar blade.

Driven deep into the ancient rock, the sword was slender in design, shimmering as though with a cold fire, and so tall that even in the hands of a Primarch it seemed overly large. Drawing it forth, Aodhán felt a rage like none other overcome him, and he struck his foe down with a single blow, its breast cleaved open by some irresistible force.

From then on, the Primarch claimed the blade as his own, dubbing it Widowmaker. It has remained at his side ever since.

The King in Red

In self-imposed exile from the Imperium's remnants, Aodhán's strength has only grown. Though he managed to reject Daemon Princehood, the Warp left its barbs in him, and he has slowly become something not-quite-mortal. His skin has become like burnished bronze, his eyes blazing and his rage manifesting around him as a blistering heat. He no longer wears his armour, having little need, and leaves footsteps of flame in his wake.

Aodhán was always an adventurer before a leader, and, without the harness of the Imperium holding him down, this can be quite clearly seen in the erratic workings of the modern Negators. He makes little attempt to keep his Legion loyal - they stay with him as, though turned craven and cruel, they feel themselves bonded as brothers - and routinely vanishes from the estate carved out in Commorragh, often without warning. Once every hundred or so years, he will feast for fifty days, as though building his strength, before embarking upon one such endeavor. He inevitably returns battered, beaten, and awash with the smell of rot, but wearing a winning smile, as though each time he comes a step closer to achieving some great feat.

Aodhán rarely leads his Legion to war, letting them persecute their own raids upon realspace. When not adventuring or embarking upon a rare campaign with the full muster of his Legion, he amuses himself with the delights of the Dark City. His spirits, however, are turbulent, and though he is at many times possessed of a rapacious love for life and its joys, he often takes to brooding, either out of boredom or something darker.

Deep within, Aodhán feels a spark of guilt for the current shape of the galaxy and his hand in it, and foresees a vision of a universe picked clean of life, where there are no great heroes or valiant deeds to do, and no bards to tell his tale or sing his songs, only the laughter of craven gods and the wailing of their tortured supplicants. He drowns these fears in pleasures of the flesh, fighting and feasting and savouring hundreds of concubines, but they remain always, a nagging shard of encroaching doom at the back of his mind.

Organization

Tactics

Specialized in bringing down large targets, Negators are schooled rigorously in the means and method to destroying all manner of beasts and war machines. They field large numbers of armour piercing weaponry, utilizing teams of crack shot autocannon specialists, and coat their armaments with all manner of poisons and corrosive gels. Primarily raiders, the Legion strikes hard and strikes fast, their tactics centered around the annihilation of priority targets. They are quick to redeploy once the greatest of foes have been leveled and their glory has been had, utilizing specialized heavy weapon teams known as Venators, equipped with modified, jump-jet assisted power armour. Preferring decisive blows to the grind of sustained combat, the Negators tend to forego battles of attrition, and are often equipped with an array of unstable, single-use weapons that reflect this mentality. Combat is an all-or-nothing pursuit to the Negators - they either destroy their foe with extreme prejudice (and, more often than than not, a great deal of flair), or they themselves are destroyed.

Specialized Troops

Venator Teams

Exemplifying the Negators' preference for overwhelming killing power, Venator squads take the place occupied by Devastators in a more traditional Legion structure. Foregoing plasma and bolter technology, Venator teams utilize accurate, armour-piercing weaponry - autocannons (often equipped with specialized ammunition), lascannons, rocket launchers, etc. Renowned for their accuracy and encyclopedic knowledge of anti-armour tactica, many Venator teams are also equipped with modified, jump-jet assisted power armour, allowing them to rapidly move from one priority target to the next. Some Venators have taken this pursuit a step further, commissioning the haemonculi cults of Commorragh to fashion leathery wings or biological thrusters into their very biology.

Giantslayers

Veteran Negators, seeking to prove their worth against the greatest foes, sometimes embark upon a ritualized quest, delving into the darkest of daemon worlds in order to slay a Warp fiend of repute. They bind these defeated daemons to their weapons. Groups of Giantslayers, galvanized by daemonic energies and tempered by centuries of combat, cut a bloody swathe through the ranks of their foes, seeking out yet greater monsters to challenge and foes to break. Foregoing the use of ranged weaponry, they seek solely to test their mettle against the most terrible of daemons, warmachines and monsters, adding their foes' legends to their own.

Bane Knights

Typically disinterested in technical pursuits, it is no surprise to anyone that much of the Negators' equipment has fallen into a dire state of disrepair over the ages. Though the Legion maintains a vast horde of slaves to which the performance of mundane tasks is relegated, over time their lack of technical know-how and naturally adventurous spirit has resulted in inventive ways around this problem. One such method eventually lead to the Bane Knight tradition. Negators in search of new and higher thrills will sometimes delve into the murky depths of Commorragh, in hopes of binding one of the shadowy daemons that stalk those ancient passages. These nightmares, as they are called, are broken and trained as daemonic steeds. Carrying their riders across the battlefield with unnatural swiftness, they swathe the air around them in shadow, obfuscating their true position. Bane Knights generally wield Storm Shields and Flamespears, discarding these single-use weapons after a crushing charge to draw their primary arms.

Potentiate Auxiliaries

Have you ever found that combat against puny shits like Tau or Guardsmen gets totally boring after a while? Do you often find yourself hacking through swarms of disposable scum, bereft of glory or excitement? Do you find your thoughts drifting toward greater exploits? You too can solve this problem by chucking hordes disposable primitives at it. Plucked from savage worlds or Commorrite gladiatorial rings, these plucky mortals need minimal trailing and equipment, making up for with pure spunk and desperation. If any of them live long enough, they might even make good Legionnaires in future!

Equipment

One Shot, One Kill

Negators are partial to unstable, often one-use weapons that tear through armour like wet tissue and cause decisive damage in a single stroke. Their bolters are often customized with an cylindrical barrel known as a firedrake attached to the underside, carrying a one-shot melta charge. Unstable and wildly inaccurate at all but the closest ranges, these attachments are often fired at point blank against larger, armoured foes. In many instances, this causes severe damage to the bolter itself, sometimes even rendering it unusable. The Legion's characteristic Flamespears are a similar concept - polearm weapons designed to deliver a burst of melta waves upon impact - and often utilized by assault squads, alongside Eviscerator chainswords and other such weapons. Many Negators Terminators eschew handheld ranged weapons (though, shoulder-mounted autocannons remain popular), striding into battle with a pair of modified power fists. Constantly trailing tongues of crackling blue flame, these unstable modifications can be used to trigger a burst of melta emissions at will, often used to roast the innards (or crew, in the case of war machines) of a Negators' monstrous target.