Melita Neritos

Once regarded as one of the greatest warriors within the Palatine Wings, save for Surag Genden himself, Melita Neritos was raised to the legion shortly after Bartosz’s founding, the sole child taken from amongst the population of Ranox, otherwise known as 949-1. A world which saw Bartosz and Surmah come to disagreement that would taint the XXth in the Shining Son's eyes from that moment on. Melita had been the son of one of the planetary governors in the days before the Imperium, and had been rescued by Bartosz personally, as well as being present on the bridge of the Imperial Sagittarius’s flagship when Surmah brought the captured governors before the lord of the XIVth, ripping them apart to make his point. It was something Melita never forgot, fueling his ascension and ascendancy into the legion. Soon, Melita had proved himself exceptionally skilled in the art of war, and was raised to the Equus Hussars, the Perundan, Bartosz’s most trusted confidants and skilled warriors.

Melita thrived in such an organisation, taking to the saddle of the Equus Maxium like a natural from the moment it was made available to the legion, and soon was one of the few warriors known across the spread out and disconnected XIVth Legion; joining the elite ranks of those such as Surag Genden, the first Hussar and Champion of the legion, one of the deadliest swordsmen in existence, Danel Rasna, Skycaptain of the Svetovid and the undisputed lord of jetbikes within the legions, Sa'al Kova, Bartosz’s personal Aquilifer and bearer of the first Palatine Aquila that the Emperor bestowed upon the XIVth and Dykyn Harlak, the leader of the Jarog, greatest psyker amongst the XIVth, and one of the greatest within all the legions.

As such, Melita stood with the Triglav at the onset of the Istvaan Muster, awaiting the orders from the Warmaster that would see his legion go to war, alongside the vaulted warriors of the IInd and XIIth. In short order, Melita found himself upon the surface of Istvaan V, fighting for his life against an enemy who mere moments before had been his allies, such a betrayal unthinkable. Like so many of his kind, Melita would not leave that planet, at least not truly, captured and chained where others were killed. Dragged before a coven of XXth Legion Vicars,  warp manipulators and architects of the Apostasy itself, Melita watched as a dark ritual was cast, and though he was across the galaxy, Surmah Nyyrik, the First Apostate, did look upon those captives his sons had taken, judging their worth for sacrificial offerings to the gods.

Initially, none drew the eye of the First Heretic, their worth of minimal importance to him, Vicars dragging the unworthy away to be sacrificed to the Dark Gods to give birth to something far greater than themselves. Then Surmah looked upon Melita, and recognition filled his eyes. Surmah knew Melita, and Melita knew him, enmity rolling off the warrior as he looked into the face of the one who had killed his father. Such a bond had power within the emotional tides of the warp, Surmah was well aware of this, and with a word, sealed Melita’s fate, dragged away in chains not to be sacrificed, but to be elevated.

Transported to the *Sielun Murskaaja*, flagship of the XXth Legion, Melita was subject to heinous tortures for close to a year, his body flensed alongside his soul, slowly breaking down what he had been and rebuilding him anew. To his credit, Melita resisted far more than many had assumed he would, the pain of the flesh doing little to weaken his soul. The Vicars would not relent however, and finally, they found a gap in his mental defences, though not one of Melita’s own making.

The Orcadian Curse, something that would soon become feared by the XIVth Legion, was still in its infancy, only affecting a small portion of those who had directly seen Bartosz’s decapitation, but that was enough, Melita having witnessed the event, and now, fell under the first stages of the curse, his conscious body shutting down. With his defences utterly reduced, it did not take long before his soul was likewise laid bare, the Vicars entrusting him to the care of the Plague God Nurgle, the Great Grandfather smiling at this new offering, and for the first time, an Orcadian stirred.

Melita was reborn, the curse of the Orcadian still inside him, but not the loss of sanity that came with such an event. So prepared, Melita walked free of the *Sielun Murskaaja*, though he was forever changed. The *Sagittarius*, Bartosz’s ancient warframe, had been recovered by the XXth Legion on the surface of Istvaan V, and now, Melita was bonded to it, flesh of sacrificed XIVth Warriors threaded through the mechanism of the warsuit, a leech-like proboscis writhing with a life of its own when Melita was away from it, plunging into his neck when they were together, the two becoming one entity.

As befitted a Chaos Lord of the Wretched Sons, Melita soon took up a new title, “The Nuckelavee”, vowing to serve the Hound of the Moors in all things, above even the Warmaster, and to discover the secrets behind the Orcadian Curse, wishing to use it against the remaining Palatine Wings and in so doing turn them to Chaos as he had been turned. For decades, Melita fought, though comprehension of the curse forever eluded him, dangled just out of reach, forever driving him on. As it would happen, this drive would succeed, though not in the way Melita or Surmah would have wished.

Years after Terra had fallen to the hands of the Chaos Legions, in the period of time known as the Frontier Wars, Melita would come face to face with a force long thought dead. Malal was well known in its existence by this point, Terra constantly under siege by the Forgotten God, but his chosen sons had not been seen; the Kraken Lords, long thought dead at the Sinking of Osyr.

Melita was a great fighter, is powers only having grown since his eyes were opened to Chaos, and yet he was no match for the Malal infused Astartes who now came at him, torn from his mount and thrown to the ground, an axe pressed to his neck. Here, Melita was given a choice; give them sport of the hunt and run, or live forever as a plaything of Malal. It was no choice at all, Melita taking off, his natural speed seeing him well served, interfacing with the Sagittarius in a heartbeat as he cantered away. The Kraken Lords let out whoops of laughter as Melita fled before them, but they did not give chase, simply watching as he grew further and further from their grasp. This should have been his first warning, but Melita missed this obvious bait, falling headlong into Malal’s trap.

The interface between Melita and his mount suddenly came alive, the flesh held their no longer merely material, but playing host to the immaterial, a daemon of Malal now infused into it. Flesh began to grow across the *Sagittarius’s* surface, glading it like an Equus Maxium mount, the link between Melita and mount now becoming non-existent, one being the other, two beings in perfect harmony.

Melita screamed, but his void did not break free from his lips, his body no longer his own. He was a prisoner now, forever trapped inside his own mind, the daemon, the Nuckelavee made manifest, was all that remained, a Champion of Malal, beholden to none, and now, Lord of the Orcadian Curse.

Disappearing from the galactic stage, none saw the Nuckelavee for close to a decade, before reports arose of strange horsemen butchering their way through Palatine Wing forces, especially those that had pledged their soul to Chaos. Soon, it became clear that the Nuckelavee was no longer a singular entity, but a warband of terrifying prowess and power, despite their size. Led by their centaur lord, the warband would ride to war upon daemonic steeds of Malal, the warband truly becoming a twisted parody of the Primarch and legion they had once sword themselves too.

When they fought others of their bloodline, the death toll amongst the sons of Bartosz was minimal, though many would have undoubtedly preferred this fate. Dragging unfortunate victims away for experimentation and corruption. Though at first this was seemingly at random beyond the genetic link, the legion too spread out to put together the pattern the Nuckelavee was weaving, it eventually became clear that these warriors were those who either had, or would soon be, afflicted by the curse of the Palatine Wings, the Orcadians. Their curse made them prime targets for his rituals, dragging them into service of the Malal like him, the warband of Nuckelavee growing in strength. Their forms became a dark reflection of the Orcadians, and the Palatine Wings themselves, to be forever loathed and feared in equal measure. For in them, and in the Nuckelavee itself, the Palatine Wings and their successors saw themselves, refined and pushed through the lens of chaos, but themselves nonetheless, and though the Legiones Astartes knew no fear, that terrified the legion, even if none ever voiced this out loud.