Lions Rampant

Lions Rampant
Number	IX
Founding	First Founding
Successors of	N/A
Primarch	Cromwald Walgrun
Homeworld	Sommesgard
Allegiance	Chaos

This page details people, events, and organisations from The /tg/ Heresy, a fan re-working of the Warhammer 40,000 Universe.

The Lions Rampant once stood as stalwart defenders of mankind. Credited with brilliant leadership and numerous victories, their former glories are now forever stained by infamy. During the Hektor Heresy they cast their lot in with the traitors to the Imperium and are now among the greatest examples of the excesses of Chaos. Now they ride in an eternal quest to satisfy their dark master, the god of Chaos, Slaanesh.

The History of the Lions Rampant

Before the discovering of Cromwald, the Lions Rampant were an understrength legion known as the Highland Raiders. They were tasked with subjugating worlds that refused overtures of peace, and as a result were often set against well prepared foes. They lacked for glorious campaigns in their formative years, especially in the wake of legions more specialized, organized, or simply more brutal in their ways. It was not until the discovery of the lost primarch that they would be catapulted to the role of a vaunted vanguard, earning their name and place in the Great Crusade.

Cromwald Walgrun, Primarch of the Lions Rampant

Appearance

Cromwald has all the bearing of an aristocrat; he carries himself with confidence and poise as befitting his upbringing and is rarely seen in any state less than perfectly groomed. His charcoal shaded hair is short and neat, as is his well trimmed and maintained mustache. These are framed by prominent cheekbones and a well rounded, ruddy facial structure that lends him a noble, fatherly air. Despite his impressive presence as a primarch, he stands as disarmingly pleasant to look upon. Only his deep set brown eyes suggest anything other than a polite, erudite father figure. They are ever watchful, and have been likened to that of a hawk. No matter how amiable his expression or polite his demeanor, there can be no mistaking that Cromwald is constantly weighing the measure of those in his company.

Youth

The young primarch was discovered on the distant world of Sommesgard. His discovery as a child was credited to Captain Edgar Walgrun of the Royal Army of Prathia. This captain was guiding a routine patrol as part of the summertime wargames exercised by the 131st grenadiers, and stumbled upon a boy lost and abandoned in the woods. He responded by returning to headquarters with the child, and in the absence of any family, he then adopted the boy a few months later. Dubbing him Cromwald, the captain would raise the primarch in accordance to the traditions and customs of the privileged upper class the Monarchy's officers were drawn from, including an instilling of the virtues of martial prowess, duty and noblesse oblige.

As a primarch, the child grew swiftly. Captain Walgrun, despite being taken aback by his sons accelerated growth, raised the boy in the ways of etiquette, tradition, and ambition. He taught the child all he could about the privileges and responsibilities of the gentry, rewarding the young man with gifts and benefits befitting his station. Cromwald wanted for nothing, and before long the student had exceeded the teacher. It was then with great pride that Cromwald was entered into the academy to follow his adoptive father's footsteps as a soldier and leader of men.

The Military Academy of Her Lady of Grace was a prestigious institution that held a reputation for providing the finest officers in the Prathian army. Here Cromwald's upbringing was tested at every turn. As a soldier, he was expected to have a stout heart, a strong body, and unflinching courage. As an officer, he was required to have a sharp mind, a gentleman's wit, and absolute loyalty. As a gentleman, it was demanded that he be more still. To survive the politics of his social peers, he faced a complicated web of tradition and fashion. The noble sons of Prathia were a den of wolves set to prey upon any perceived weakness to advance their standing. Only by being a sportsman, a critic, a scholar and more could an aspiring young cadet achieve greatness. Cromwald rose to the challenge, proving himself to be a peerless athlete and cunning orator. He flitted through the social circles of the academy expertly and demonstrated time and time again that he was destined to succeed. Graduation from the academy brought tremendous pride to his house, and he celebrated with three full days of polite, measured indulgence. The rank he bore was christened with fine liquors, pleasurable company, and the smokey haze of narcotic smoke. When the revelry ended, it was time to report to the front for duty.

The wars that wracked Sommesgard were ceaseless as nations battled for the limited resources of the depleted planet. Fractured continents hosted bitter rivalries and tangled alliances; these formed a violent barrier to the unification Cromwald's career would bring. He began with a modest handful of battles against the rival nation of Calibrey, each marked by celebration in the wake of triumph. These minor gains turned into prolonged campaigns of conquest. Cromwald's abilites saw him promoted swiftly, giving him larger forces and greater challenges. He met them with dutiful acceptance of his duty, and when the Prathian flag stood ascendant over their longtime rivals Cromwald's rise to the rank of Field Marshal was all but assured. He had given the Prathian king the tool he needed to break the stalemate of the third great war of the continent of Maskovin. Soon the boots of Prathian troops would be heard across the whole of the mainland, none louder or closer to the front than that of the newly minted field marshal himself.

Victory over Calibrey was likened by the educated men of its time as the breaking of a floodgate. Prathia and her allies tore into their enemies with a renewed vigor, shattering a stagnant front with precision and coordination. Victory unified Maskovin under a single banner, creating a new superpower for Sommesgard. Victory had seen Cromwald lauded before his peers and placed as master of the kings armies. With a driving firebrand speech he proclaimed to the world his lofty goals. With the kings blessing, he would command an empire at war; his soldiers would herald the dawning of a new age. The unification was to be christened by the blood and toil of millions. Their banner would fly on foreign shores.

Conquest of Berau

At the forefront of the young general's list of targets was the techno-barbarians occupying the ruins of the golden age city of Berau. They had long possessed an insular culture protected by advanced weapons. Their lasguns, armor and tanks outclassed the more primitive armaments of the rest of the world, though their numbers had always been too few to wage aggressive wars upon all but their closest neighbors.

Recognizing the necessity of technological superiority in his aspirations, Cromwald quickly mobilized his forces to invade. Ships bearing whole divisions of men and materiel were deployed, and from the eastern shores they marched into position for his carefully laid plans. He had studied his foe extensively, and when his boots graced the sands of the shoreline it was with an ultimatum for his foes: surrender, or face destruction in piecemeal.

Arrogant in their technological supremacy, the technocrats rejected his offer with scorn. Their envoy had scarcely returned to their masters with word when the first shells began to fall from the naval batteries. Under cover of sustained bombardment, Cromwald's armor had begun to move.

The campaign was a long one, by comparison to his future conquests. His armored divisions had dispersed across the countryside, using the terrain to mask their presence and prey upon the enemy in a series of lightning raids. When the enemy gathered their forces to strike, a whirlwind bombardment from hidden batteries would ravage their position. When the enemy troops raced to return fire, the self propelled guns would relocate. Efforts by the technocrats to chase were met with infantry raids upon their rear and armored support from the fore. One by one, the enemy's divisions began to fall. Never could he strike at the Prathians in force, for they used their mobility and coordination to harry the overstretched technocrats. With a front spread wide, the superior numbers of the more primitive army began to tell. It would not be until the battle for the city that the advance would falter. Here the technocrats would make a desperate stand, using all the arcane weapons at their disposal to thwart Cromwald.

((Haven't gotten to this yet, but what follows is the victory over Berau, followed by the dual celebrations for officers and enlisted men. Cromwald is lauded and enjoyed himself among officers, but makes an appearance for the enlisted troops to party hard for a while. The widows of the defeated are given invites to the enlisted party, as a plot to get the men to breed and make ties between the two nations.))

Invasion From the Stars

In the wake of global unification, astronomers identified a sizable anomaly in the night sky. Ships from somewhere beyond the stars had begun to settle into orbit. Pandemonium set in amidst the people, who had long forgotten the days when mankind had walked the stars. No one knew what the strangers wanted, but Cromwald counciled preparation for the worst.

When the strangers landed, it was the field marshal that was to greet them from the turret of a braddigan heavy tank. He was wary of the red-robed envoys, who had chosen Berau as their landing site. His response arrived to see an armed force attempting to lay claim to the city. As he had with all of his previous conquests, he rode out to speak to their leader, man to man. The stranger, declaring himself a magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus, stated under no uncertain terms that he would take the city and claim a holy treasure that lay within. Cromwald, displeased at the arrogance of his counterpart, delivered his famed ultimatum of sovereignty. He proclaimed that his world would not yield to force, be it by their own or by the machinations from beyond. The magos would barter peacefully for the treasure of Berau, or he would face annihilation. The magos scoffed at the bold words of the barbarian before him. His insult would be the last thing to leave his lips; the combined firepower of Cromwald's guns obliterated the envoy and his honor guard from the face of the planet. So began the hardest fought war of his career.

The mechanicus fought like the technocrats before them had. They held strange and terrifying engines of war, and held the advantage of the high ground. Cromwald could do nothing to prevent the bombardment from the heavens that preceded the coming invasion. Populations were laid to waste by the opening days of the war, and concentrations of military strength were annihilated with no means of fighting back. It was a tense time, but the skilled oratory of the field marshal and his council steeled the people's resolve. The bombardment could not last forever; the enemy would need to land troops to claim their price. Neither could they fire upon Berau, lest they destroy that which they held in such high value. It was there he mustered his strongest troops, and prepared for the storm.

Dark days followed for the soldiers of Sommesgard. The mechanicus had landed in force with their secutors, myrmidons and tech-thralls. Tanks of unparalleled power stalked the ruins in the wake of bombardment by precision weapons. Deadliest of all the threats faced were the titans; a modest handful had made planetfall. For all of his prodigious skill, Cromwald's men were outclassed. Every victory secured came at terrible cost.

Only by riding out to meet the enemy personally would the invasion be broken. Outside the gates of the Berau slums he led an armored counter-assault to the mechanicus march. His presence was a threat the enemy could not ignore; killing him would sever the head of the fierce resistance they had met. In fixating on the enemy command, the mechanicus played into Cromwald's gambit. Though his tank was disabled, he escaped its destruction at the hands of a stalking titan with only the loss of his arm. His sacrifice was carefully calculated; behind their backs the mechanicus had been outfoxed. Vanquisher rounds, built by Berau technology, hammered into the titan from the rear and overwhelmed its void shields with their combined firepower. The god-machine fell before repeated hammerblows as troopers raced across the wastelands to reinforce the besieged city.

Victory had come at a terrible price. Even with his masterful strategy, Cromwald's forces had suffered extreme casualties. Each Mechanicus soldier to fall had taken five men with him; each tank to be destroyed had scrapped ten of its foes. Only grit and weight of numbers had allowed the defenders of Sommesgard to win the day, though many sons had perished.

The Coming of the Emperor

Defeat was a bitter taste to the Mechanicus. Two titans had fallen, causing great anguish among their keepers. Already they plotted retribution for their losses, and turned their efforts to calling for aid. They prepared for a renewed offensive, this time aided by a power far more formidable than their forces alone. Across the void the astropathic summons rang out, and from the crusading fleets of the Imperium came the answer: the astartes would come.

Less than a year after his final victory over the invasion from space, Cromwald was gravely disquieted. The leaders he fought under had lauded his victories publicly, but in their closed councils planned for further acts of war. The fleet in orbit had not left their system; it had merely withdrawn from orbit to lurk near their closest celestial neighbor. Alarms were raised when the small fleet was suddenly reinforced. Massive vessels appeared in orbit around the barren planet of Mairen. They rallied more and more ships to their fleet, then broke orbit on a direct course for Sommesgard. The situation was bleak; the casualties from the first invasion had sorely depleted the military might of the indigenous population. A second wave may very well be an irresistible force, though Cromwald was prepared to try. He prepared his men and ordered all forces to entrench as deeply as could be managed in preparation for the firestorm to come. They had a scant two days to make their defenses ready before the largest and greatest of the enemy fleet took to orbit.

Yet the inferno did not come. Observers noted a single small aircraft emerge from the belly of the steel leviathan. It charted a course to the planet surface, landing in what had once been the capital of Prathia. From this wondrous machine emerged a golden figure resplendent in radiant light. At his sides were a pair of figures, equally massive in full, faceless baroque armor. The awestruck messenger that met with this new envoy bore a summons: to the general who so skillfully commanded the defeat of the invading tech-priests, he wished to parlay.

Cromwald was taken aback by the offer, but accepted the summons all the same. As was his way, he extended all the hospitality of his home to the radiant figure; they withdrew to his private headquarters to speak.

What words were shared behind those closed doors have never been known to any but the Emperor and his newly rediscovered son. They remained at the table for two full days and nights, discussing in exacting detail a great many things. When they emerged, it was to a world holding its collective breath. All ears turned towards the field marshal, and a great cry of joyous exultation rang across the whole of the planet at the proclamation of peace.

In the wake of the meeting of Emperor and Primarch, the sovereignty of Sommesgard was assured. Cromwald would become her protector, wielding now a full legion of astartes to defend his homeworld and conquer in the Emperor's name. All this came from a formal decree from the Emperor himself; a binding carta served as a written oath to his son that no imperial institution would threaten invasion or violence upon the planet. To the mechanicus a severe censure was issued; the arrogance of their leading magos had sent the explorators on the warpath with a primarch. Worse still, his arrogance had cost said primarch his right arm. In payment for their misdeeds, the mechanicus would forfeit the STC discovered in the Berau ruins. Its stewardship, and the technologies behind the Vanquisher cannon would remain in the hands of the IX legion. Further still, the greatest artisans of the mechanicus were tasked with the forging of their crowning masterpiece in the field of bionics to replace that which had been stolen from Cromwald. The result was a miracle of technology; an arm forged of adamantine and ceramite that was every bit as formidable as the man that wielded it.

The Great Crusade

A Primarch Restored

Cromwald's legion had long fought ingloriously and forgotten among their brethren. The restoration of their primarch was the first step of many to change this fate; he set about redefining the nature of the IX legion immediately. He addressed the whole of his legion, massed on the fields of Berau in formation and watching from orbit above. To these men he delivered a firebrand speech of his heritage, of the victories he had achieved, and of the birthright that they carried in their gene-seed and their souls. No longer would they be known as mere raiders, preying on the enemies of man as carrion birds in the wake of their betters. They would become as lions, roaring their name unto the blackness of space and striding forth with pride to claim their place among the stars. All would hear the lion's roar and would submit, or they would face the kings of war on the field of battle. It was thus that the Lions Rampant were remade on the fields that had been so bitterly contested for so very long.

The process of remaking his legion was not so simple as speeches and bluster. Cromwald himself was faced with change; the Emperor had embraced his son, but he had found him wanting. For all his brilliance as a general and leader, the Lion was a man of many vices. Chemicals, drugs, perversions...these things ate at the moral fiber of the primarch. No longer could he merely partake discreetly and brush aside any inkling of scandal. He would be faced with a very real change in his ways, to mirror the dramatic reversal of his legions methods of war. The first year of his stewardship of legion IX was marked with prolonged transition and extensive training. The advances of the legion in the crusade had all but halted as the command infrastructure was rebuilt from the ground up. Officers were trained by the primarch personally in strategy and diplomacy, and in turn their new lessons were taken to the lower ranks. It wasn't until five long years of constant drilling, wargaming, and reorganization that Cromwald deemed his lions fit for the hunt.

Upon returning to the campaign, the newly christened Lions Rampant were an untested force. Carefully they chose their initial targets, picking worlds that would offer a suitable test of the new drill and doctrine. Initial successes against rogue human elements on a handful of lesser worlds saw them grow bold; those that did not accept terms of parlay had been invaded in brilliant campaigns that systematically overwhelmed the defenders. Skeptics within the legion were finding their fears baseless in the wake of the smooth operation of the newly minted command structure.

The true test of the legion's strategic worth would come on the blighted world of Yupsis, where the indigenous human population were enslaved by a technologically advanced xeno race. Paired with a detachment of the Mastondontii, the Lions made planetfall with mind to liberate the planet. On the great plains the armored fist of the Mastodontii clashed with strange alien armor. Though a company of vanquisher equipped predators from the Lions joined their brethren, the legion's full strength was committed elsewhere. Relying on the might of the steel wall blasting across the plains to draw attention, a series of rapid strikes to the enemy rear lines were executed to assess and hinder enemy strength. Pressed with a second assault from the rear, the aliens redeployed and shifted tactics to a more defensive posture. They halted the armored push into their front, but could not prevent themselves from being outflanked. The Lions were always one step ahead, turning the xeno counter push into an overstretched initiative. The aliens were swiftly losing ground, and when their doomed effort to reclaim lost gains struck it was shattered between the Lions precise deployment and the immovable anvil of Mastodontii steel. This first battle set the tempo of the war, as it was repeated time and again. The combination of the Mastodontii's strength and the Lions tenacity liberated city after city, which only added more fuel to the fires. The planet rose up in rebellion against the alien masters, and they were put to the sword to the very last. After the battle, before the fires had burnt out Cromwald invited the officers involved in the campaign to a celebratory toast. Here he praised Tollund before the whole assemblage, proclaiming a respect for the superb marshaling of their armored forces.

Brotherhood Among Primarchs

As the crusade ground onward, Cromwald had the chance to meet most of his brothers both professionally and personally. To him, his fellow primarchs were a class of soul that mirrored his own. Each was a leader of men and a master of whole worlds. Though some were crass, distasteful or "downright ungentlemanly", he was cordial especially to his brothers to which he had taken a disliking towards. It was his way to show hospitality and courtesy even in the face of one's rivals and enemies, and so it was with the likes of Nathanog, Gaspard Lumey, and several others among his kin.

While his haughty demeanor has alienated some of his fellow primarchs, others accepted him for the gentleman he was. To those who could abide his nature he was a fast friend, welcoming whenever the vicissitudes of fate would allow a pause in conquest to engage in more pleasant matters of recreation and sport. Often he would enjoy fencing with the likes of Roman Albrecht, who he found to be a kindred spirit, or indulging in debate over a regicide board with Uriel Starikov. They became his two closest compatriots. With them, it was as it had been living as an aristocrat of Prathia; his craving for socialization with peers of his standing matched well with their demeanors.

It was in this way that Cromwald formed a rapport among the men that would define his career. Advice from Uriel helped shape the command and intelligence infrastructure of the Lions Rampant, allowing the Primarch to better see the strategic scope of the battlefield. Roman's honorable Retainers Creed was an exotic taste of virtue that helped to sculpt the ties of loyalty the Lions held to their officers and primarch. Hektor himself helped develop Cromwald's understanding of the advancements in warfare that exceeded by centuries the tactics and engines of destruction that had been the cutting edge of the Prathian Royal Army. To his detractors, the Lions Rampant were the amalgamation of his brothers' legions; never defined by their own virtues but instead aping others. Despite this he persisted, and with the support of his kin Cromwald began to forge his own name among the stars.

The Fall

In the waning years of the Great Crusade, an affliction had begun to settle into the primarch of the Lions Rampant. It had begun in almost imperceptible degrees; a twitch here, a passing sense of pins and needles there. His liquor no longer carried the same pleasing bite to it, and his duels with Roman and Uriel had lost the thrill that came from heated swordplay. Initially he had ignored such things to fatigue or a passing anomaly in his otherwise healthy superhuman physique. But as the years turned to decades, the tingling lasted longer. The indulgences of his station left him wanting; his now innocent vices no longer satisfied. It was disconcerting to the Lion, who had lived all his days a life of polite indulgence to mirror his industrious war machine.

At first he merely turned to stronger drink to toast his victories, and pressed himself harder in his bouts of swordplay. For a time this sufficed, but he would only be sated but for so long. Within a year his choicest selections were losing their strength. Even the strongest cask strength vintage lacked bite; he would draw glass after glass in the celebrations of his champions only to find the taste to be tepid and bland. Toasts became binges as he hungered for what he knew to be eluding his senses, and he threw himself into his sport to recapture the thrill it had once brought to compete with masters. None questioned this; it seemed from the outside to be a simple case of overindulgence leading to burnout. His council within the legion advised he wait, allow his palate to recover and his mind to clear. In time he would again know the pleasures of a well earned libation.

Cromwald claimed to believe his most trusted men, though doubt gnawed at his mind. He had kept it silent from his brethren, but it was not simply his palate that was failing him. His limbs were growing sluggish and unresponsive. He masked it well, but the trained eyes of Uriel could see the failing coordination of his brother. He inquired to the Lion's health, though Cromwald insisted politely that it was nothing of concern. His excuses would grow feeble, however; no matter how poor the vintage, Uriel knew well that it would take more than rich living to shake the health of a primarch. His expressions of concern incensed Cromwald, whose pride would not hear of being any lesser a man than his peers. Uriel ceased to press the issue, though it meant the friendly games they enjoyed had taken a chilled air about them from that day forward.

Desperate to find something to bring life to his remaining flesh, Cromwald began to reluctantly turn to elements of his past. Drinks were laced with narcotics to give them a pleasing edge to revitalize his digits and expand his mind. In the wake of victory he commissioned specialists to soothe his weary frame and knead feeling into his flesh. Delicate hands worked his augmetic flesh, playing his skin and muscle with a skill no servitor could match. The sensual ministrations of his servants reminded his limbs of their lost vitality for a time. But beyond any skillful young thrall or potent concoction, one thing could truly flood his body with life and give him peace from his silent decline. In the roar of battle Cromwald found solace. With increasing regularity he would abandon his central command to spearhead the battle personally. While it came at some cost to his understanding of the grander scale of battle, his skill with strategy saw his legion through almost as well from the hatch of a vanquisher tank as it did from the armored bunker of his headquarters. It was a thrill to relive his conquest of Sommesgard, to be surrounded by the thunder of cannon and the roar of boltgun fire. Through the smoke and destruction of a hundred battles he thrived, though in the quiet hours aboard his flagship he slowly fell into despair for want of a new enemy to engage.

The Battle of Lignis IV

Lignis IV was the turning point. A world almost wholly given to great sweeping masses of land, its ragged plains of tatter-grasses and jagged mesas of granite held a bastion of technologically talented xenos dwelling in the ashes of ancient human cities. They fought on strange steel walkers bearing exotic energy weapons, and commanded legions of abhuman thralls bound by chains of steel and psychic might. The Lions Rampant came to the world with promises of vengeance for the degeneration of a once-proud world. Their planetfall and deployment across the steppes of the northern tectonic shelf was unopposed, and their forces mustered swiftly. The whole legion, over 100,000 marines strong, stood poised to make war with the hexapedal Grishnach.

From his forward command, Cromwald assessed the reports from his extensive forward reconnaissance elements. He knew the creatures numbers and the limits of their weapons from previous battles on the outlying worlds of the Lignis system. He had seen their sorcery and knew well the variables it had brought to the campaign, and deployed his forces to counter the strengths the aliens possessed. His tanks would outmaneuver their ponderous walkers, and with his superior reach he would wage a rolling battle with mounted infantry and heavy armor alike. The campaign was estimated to last two weeks.

Within the first days of the war for Lignis the campaign was shaping well. The enemy had been assessed, their assets, strengths, and abilities had been examined and accounted for. Cromwald had issued his orders of battle to his seniormost officers, who in turn saw to their own theaters of war. The machine of destruction had been given life, now he rode to see it consume the enemy in fire and steel. After the gains made by his infantry in claiming the highlands overlooking the field of battle, the Lion marshaled his assets to capitalize on his advantage. He shattered the alien resistance and drove them before him, leaving devastation in his wake.

Five days remained until his estimated victory. The enemy was fighting a desperate bid to hold the line, and Cromwald had outmaneuvered them at each turn.

Reports then began to filter in. Alien warmachines were counterattacking from the highlands. His marines were suffering casualties, as they were faced with foes that had seemed to materialize from the mountains themselves. Armored detachments across the whole theater of war were taking losses from well coordinated strikes from platoons of well armed xeno thralls. The enemy had rallied, reinforced, and redeployed with disturbing speed. Cromwald was forced to abandon his spearhead assault to break the alien line to cover the retreat from the highlands, where he was forced into personal combat when his tank was disabled. Losses were high across the legion, and the Lion found that unless he returned to his headquarters, the sheer volume of data from the sudden reversal would be impossible to coordinate, despite the efforts of his captains and their robust circles of command.

((More about the assault on his HQ and the breakout action to come. In a nutshell he and his legion will survive because of a last ditch, desperate race on jump packs to blast through a tightening noose. It will mark the first time the legion actively uses mass high-speed assault units, and also give Cromwald both a taste for the rush it brings and firsthand encounters with chaos, even if he doesn't recognize it for what it is just yet))

Aftermath

The near destruction of the heart of his legion had rattled Cromwald, but it had also given him a taste of what he sorely craved. His heart had raced as he felt the wind whispering in his ears during the breakneck rush into the enemy guns. It had been more than any number of guns or tanks could do to give life to his numbness, and he embraced it wholly. The shift became marked within his legion as his tactics evolved to take advantage of this new rush. Cadres of rapid assault teams were assembled in each company to escort their primarch. No excuse was made for the change in his demeanor; it became well known among the men that he fought alongside only the most bold and brazen of squads when the fighting began. His strategies became more aggressive to ensure the need for such measures, and with each battle he threw himself into the fray with almost reckless abandon. Between these frantic bouts of carnage, he withdrew from his legion. The numbness had almost completely consumed him. His serfs were beaten should their arts fail to stir his flesh, and his earthly delights were spurned for their endless failures. Despair gripped the Lion, whose pride forbid he admit weakness and seek the aid of his brothers. Madness began to settle in as the void taunted him. His indulgent life was nothing more than ashes as he found himself locked in a prison of meat and bone. Only his adamantium arm retained its senses, and he obsessed over it. Behind closed doors, he walked slowly into darkness. Lacking their leader, his legion would soon follow.

Ever since the return of their primarch, the Lions Rampant had looked to Cromwald for guidance and leadership. He had been open with his men, making his presence a constant among the ranks of his officers and often directly overseeing the training and progress of his men. With the onset of madness and the seclusion of the primarch, once again the legion was without a master. Promises of his presence on the field spurred many to strive for his blessing in hopes of rejoining their master, but the lapse of his rigid discipline saw a weakening in the ranks. Officers, now accustomed to the revelries and indulgences of their leader began to indulge among their own circles, emulating the primarch they so honored. The men themselves began to train themselves to meet their masters desires; he only appeared to wage war, and only rode with the most bold and daring of assaults. Competition between companies for such an honor became commonplace, as each outfitted themselves more and more with speeders, bikes and jump packs to be the tip of the spear and first to rip into the enemy. The squad that hosted their primarch in battle became exalted by their peers for their modifications to their wargear and the fearless fervor with which they rode into the enemy. The grand strategy of the crusades had begun to collapse in favor of a brilliant yet terrifying application of speed and firepower.

The fateful hour came a scant four years before the outbreak of the heresy. For years now the Lion had dwelled behind sealed doors, emerging only for the rush of battle. In the darkness of his chambers he raged at his fate, cursed the apothecaries for failing him and scorned the galaxy for denying him. His careful self control failed, and in the dark recesses of his mind he heard the whispers of madness gnawing at his soul. All mundane means of restoring his flesh had failed him. His apothecaries had found his nerves shredded and burnt, and the techmarines had found a fault introduced by his bionic arm from maintenance long past responsible. By now it was too late; even a Primarch could only heal but so much. No substance, no skilled hands, no rush or thrill could rouse his senses save for the barest of glimmers from the most extreme of actions. To do more would ravage his body further still, damning him more than he already was.

Cursing his steel fist yet refusing to part with the only window of feeling to the outside world left, he made a drastic decision. He sought out Victus, the former chief librarian of the legion. Now a mere marine in the wake of the Emperor's decision at Nikaea, he still retained a great reserve of well restrained power. If no mundane means would save the Lion, then he would seek out that which the Emperor had forbidden to stave off his suffering. Victus resisted, speaking to his Primarch of the wishes of the master of mankind. Cromwald eased his fears, wielding a well practiced roguish smile and carefully placed words. It was then that the psyker attempted to stir the flesh and make it whole, but failed despite all his reserves of power. His mastery of the warp could not heal his ailing primarch. The failure enraged Cromwald, who rose to his feet in thundering anger. Curses and accusations flowed from his lips as a poisoned torrent, and he tore into the marine before him. Powerful though Victus had been, he was no match for the ferocity and strength of his master, and he was struck down where he stood. Cromwald ravaged the corpse with his steel fist, venting his fury as the psyker's death cry echoed across the warp. What responded was a silken kiss placed behind the Lion's ear; a knowing whisper that spread an insidious notion into his thoughts.

When he emerged, it was with a dark purpose. Striding along the halls of his flagship, he gathered the combined personage of his apothecarion. To them he issued a singular task: to extend his curse into the gene-seed of his legion. "After all," he said, "is it not right that a gentleman's servants share in his bounty, for good or ill?"

A full quarter of the apothecaries present balked at the audacious request. They were slain, cleansed from the vessel for the insult they brooked to their primarch. The rest set to work diligently, swiftly instilling the primarch's curse into his legion. It would take time, but many of his marines and all future recruits would feel his despair. The fate of the Lions Rampant was sealed, as those who were afflicted would in time mirror their primarch in searching for an escape. He would offer them salvation from his curse in the form of the terrible darkness that now whispered to him. It was a poison that was to spread like wildfire among the legion, given name only when they joined Aubrey at Istvaan and were initiated into the worship of the ruinous powers. The Lions Rampant now served a new master, dubbed by the first heretic as Slaanesh. His perverse pleasures would give them relief from their numbness, and drive them to terrible atrocity in his name.

Pre-Heresy Legion Disposition and Tactics

Moreso than many legions, the Lions Rampant undergo a distinctive change in their tactics and weapons of war. Before the fall, they stood as a tightly organized, highly disciplined machine that worked in brilliant synchronicity. Upon embracing Chaos, this machine ran wildly uncontrolled, and while the brilliant minds that commanded the legion lost none of their prowess, the squad level discipline has been eroded away, replaced by a heedless abandon to make war and slake the endless thirst for the rush it brings.

Pre-Heresy, the Lions were built to engage in large scale, set-piece battles. Like pieces upon a regicide board, each unit had a role to fulfill and was expected to engage the enemy in accordance to the grand strategy relative to that role. The specifics of tactic in the field is often left to the commanders in the field; they are handed the task at hand, and are expected to accomplish their goals. To coordinate this complex strategic-level interaction of the full legion, Cromwald faced the issue of developing a strong infrastructure of intelligence and communications to maintain order and orchestrate his campaigns.

Legion Organization

Nominally, the legion operates in codex structure. The overarching command of the legion revolves around the primarch and his advisers, and steps down to the division, battalion and company levels of organisation. The differences lay in the constituent parts of the hierarchies, which sport additional assets dedicated to each level of command.

Every officer, from the lowest lieutenant to the primarch himself possesses a dedicated Consul, which ranges in numbers from three to thirty marine dependent on organizational level. Additionally, every battalion maintained a dedicated advance patrol platoon of thirty marines led by a lieutenant. These marines largely replaced the standard assault marine positions, though they seldom fulfilled the same battlefield role.

Secondly, the Lions varied greatly from the codex with regards to the division of armored assets from the infantry companies. Tank and artillery units were grouped into full company-strength detachments all their own. Though nominally these companies form a fully armored division, in practice they operated at the company level in tandem with other, more conventional units. While this stripped the organic support a codex legion's line company could expect from within its own ranks, it allowed for greater massed firepower to be deployed as needed, leaving the close support roles to up-gunned rhino transports and attached elements from the legion naval air support.