Black Legion

Black Legion armorial with Legion iconography.

Black Legion Veteran Legionary Gerlad Erodas, member of the elite Templar Brethren of the Temple of the Undivided Annihilator.

## Space Marine Legion

### Observed Strategic Tendencies

Ship-Borne Assaults & Boarding Actions, Defensive & Fortification Operations In Extremis, Stronghold Assaults, the Conquest and Forced Compliance of Void-Faring Civilisations

### Homeworld

Unknown
(Legion fleet stays within the Eye of Terror.)

### Noteworthy Domains

Unknown; Eye of Terror (Currently)
Inwit, Terra and the Solar Domains (Formerly)

### Noteworthy Successors

Crimson Fists, Executioners, Excoriators, Hammers of Dorn, Scions of Dorn, Soul Drinkers, Subjugators

### Warcry

Following the destruction of Dorn's body, each warband uses their own battle-cries. Warbands fighting for Sigismund use: "No Pity! No Remorse! No Fear!" (Currently)/
 Up until the destruction of Dorn's body: "Primarch-Progenitor, to your glory!" (Formerly)

### Colours

Yellow and Black

The **Black Legion** is a Traitor Legion of Heretic Legionaries that is the first in infamy, if not in treachery, whose name resounds as a curse throughout the scattered and war-torn realms of Humanity. The Black Legion was one of the nine original First Founding Space Marine Legions who turned Traitor to the Imperium during the Dornian Heresy in the early 31st Millennium.

The Black Leigon, at that time was still known as the Imperial Fists, became the primary instrument of its primarch, the Praetorian of Terra - Rogal Dorn - to overthrow the Emperor of Mankind and seize control of the Imperium of Man in the name of Chaos. Such are the crimes of the Black Legion that it is easy to forget that the past was very different, and that there was a time when its Legionaries and their perfidious master Dorn were lauded by the Emperor Himself, and were considered the epitome of loyal servants of the Master of Mankind and His vision of the Imperial Truth.

Born as the VIIth Legion on Terra, the Black Legion would fist rise to greatness under the name of the Imperial Fists, earning their earliest battle honour '*Roma*'. Before the dark days of the Dornian Heresy they fought at the Emperor's side on Terra dn through the early years of the Great Crusade. They were as stalwart and indefatigable as any of the servants of the Emperor and their actions exemplified what it meant to be a warrior of the Space Marine Legions.

Stubborn, relentless and unwavering but also honourable, and once loyal beyond question, the history of the Black Legion is the history of the ambition of the Imperium itself, and the flaws that broke its founder's dreams of unification and glory for all Mankind asunder. The Black Legion is now one of the Traitor Legions who are united in the pursuit of the single purpose of overthrowing the Imperium. They oppose the infighting that consumes so many of their brethren amongst the other Traitor Legions, for the Astartes of the Black Legion are the greatest servants of Chaos Undivided.

After Dorn's treachery and final defeat at the Siege of Terra during the Dornian Heresy, however, the Legion was renamed once more as the "Black Legion" by its new Legion Master, Sigismund. The new name was chosen after the Legionaries of the Imperial Fists painted their power armour black in grief at the death of their Primarch Rogald Dorn and shame at their failure to overthrow the False Emperor and seize control of the galaxy in the name of the Ruinous Powers.

They are always brought together in great numbers to work the will of their Warmaster of Chaos, Sigismund the Savager, the heir of Dorn. Whenever the entirety of the Black Legion is called to battle, it marks the beginning of another one of Sigismund's Black Crusades against the Imperium of Man.

## Legion History

The Primarch of the Imperial Fists was the infamous Dorn, foremost servant of the Dark Gods. Their standing with institutions of the Imperium was unparalleled before Dorn betrayed the Emperor and led a violent rebellion that devastated the Imperium. Sigismund the Savager now bears the mantle of Primordial Praetorian, being instrumental in plunging the Imperium into the darkest of times.

### Origins

If the Emperor was the father of the Legiones Astartes, then Terra was their mother. Just as the Emperor shaped his warriors with his will and intellect, so too did Terra leave her mark on the warriors raised from her soil. These marks, or scars it might be more accurate to say, often shaped a Legion's culture, values and methods of war in ways as subtle and deep as the mysteries woven into their flesh. To understand how many of the Legions became as they were, we must first understand Terra.

Soaked in blood, ignorance and atrocity, Ancient Terra in the time before the rise of the Emperor was devoid of hope and existed in a state of darkness. The only order was that of tyrants: fleeting and tainted by madness and petty ambition. The Emperor changed that - first with his hosts forged from the techno-barbarian tribes, then with his army of gene-forged Thunder Warriors, then with the creation of the Legiones Astartes. With blood and fire he tamed Terra, bringing order and enlightenment where before there had been none. It was this transformation that the VIIth Legion was made to protect.

The first battalions of the VIIth Legion were raised from across Terra. While many other Legions drew their recruits from a particular source, the flesh of the VIIth Legion came from Terra as a whole. Even in domains where other Legions had '*Rights of Tithe*', the VIIth took some of the youth as initiates. Often these would be those who exhibited the greatest capacity for endurance, both in mind and body. Many were of a taciturn nature, slow to talk but quick to act. Why so many of such a wide pool of recruits should be similar is unclear. Certainly, the processes used to activate the VIIth Legion's gene-seed seem to have inflicted intense pain, and so perhaps it was a purposeful selection of stock suited to surviving such a process. It is also possible that a pattern of recruitment once formed, was perpetuated until it was tradition. No matter the reason, the grim nature of those recruited into the VIIth Legion was well suited to their use.

In war, the VIIth Legion was concerned with conquest. While all of the Emperor's forces fought and died to expand the Imperium,
many saw only part of the greater vision. Defeat the enemy, tear down his strongholds, break his beliefs and still you would have a
land that could turn against the Imperium in the future, or provide other enemies with a weakness to strike at. Victory was not enough, to conquer one had not only to defeat one's enemies but to hold the fruits of that victory. This philosophy underpinned every action of the VIIth. In attack, they would pay any price in their own blood to secure victory, and once they had victory they would begin to consolidate what they had taken.

This pattern can be seen time and again in the later conquest of Ancient Terra. It was the VIIth Legion which broke the Cities of
the Crystal Sea and then raised the Fortress of the Fifth Circle from their ruins. In the ice-wrapped pinnacles of Himalazia, they lost three battalions to secure the defeat of the witchery of the Wind Caller clans, but the first Imperial bastions began to rise against the cold sky within days of that victory. Across Terra the fruits of their fortress-craft gazed down on those who dwelt in the land around, a constant sign that the strength which had conquered them remained, rooted into the earth.

In the first decade of their existence, the Imperial Fists raised six hundred citadels upon the lands of the conquered. It was said that the dead of the Legion once laid in the foundations of each, their skulls and blood mingling with the stone and mortar of their walls. But since the Great Betrayl, these edifices have since been torn down. With these bastions pinning the conquered land to the Imperium, order would spread amongst the people of these new domains. The old ways would change, fall or be replaced by the new, and if they did not then the looming fortresses would answer the question of what the response to rebellion would be.

The VIIth Legion were more than builders and castellans. At their root they were the most direct expression of the Emperor's design of uniting humanity; they were crusaders. Fortresses solidified conquest, and the VIIth sought conquest with a focused hunger. While fortresses and ordered domains sprang up in their wake, the VIIth Legion would never linger but were always moving on, invading uncompliant domains and pushing the frontiers even as they reinforced what they had just taken. Massed shock assaults, using the full array of weaponry within the Legion, typified the VIIth's approach to war. Multiple battalions often took to the field enmasse, breaking enemies with hammer blow force. But always, in the wake of the destruction they wrought, they replaced what they had broken with something stronger.

It was from their earliest conquests that the VIIth Legion acquired its name. When many looked on the lands taken by the VIIth, they said that it was as if *"the hand of the Emperor had descended and gripped with an unbreakable fist"*. The description of the service done by the VIIth Legion must have pleased the Emperor for He personally decreed that they would be known from then on as the Imperial Fists and bestowed on them the right to bear the Laurels of Victory as part of their heraldry. Dutiful and taciturn as ever, it is said that the renamed Imperial Fists accepted their honours in humble silence.

### The Unyielding One

"*Doubt is the greatest weakness. It can shatter the strongest of walls without a single shot being fire, and fell the mightiest of champions before even a sword is drawn.*"
— Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists

Long before the Great Crusade and the Emperor reached the Ice Hives of Inwit, Rogal Dorn had risen to the rank of emperor himself, ruling over a stellar empire spanning the Inwit Cluster. Taken in as the adopted scion of the House of Dorn, his grandfather and clan patriarch taught him much of tactics, strategy, and diplomacy. Like all born to the Ice Caste, he was raised to endure and survive, to never relent, and know that the price of weakness is only death.

Inwit had always been an unforgiving world of rock and ice, tidally locked to a cold star. The people of its Ice Hives proved to be a hardy, resilient breed, having grown upon a world where discipline is the key to survival. On such a world, one’s own dreams and ambitions could never be placed above the needs of the collective, and this was no different for Dorn, even as he grew to embody the full might of his Primarch heritage.

Whether Dorn was moulded by this environment or simply shared an innate kinship with the people and their values is not known, as much of his early youth is shrouded in mystery by Dorn’s own quietude. Ultimately what came to be known was that he was a practiced exponent of the uncompromising self-discipline so characteristic of Inwit, with a total commitment to order and the cold truths of reality. It was with these values to heart that Rogal Dorn presented himself to the Emperor aboard the mighty *Phalanx*, upon the Master of Mankind’s arrival to the Inwit system.

Although Dorn had stretched the boundaries of the Inwit Cluster empire to their furthest reaches ever, the arrival of the Imperium’s expeditionary fleet signalled a crossroads for his reign – as Inwit had taught, to relent was to be weak, and to be weak meant death. But Dorn was ever a pragmatist, and a cold analysis of the situation in front of him decreed that continued survival would mean subservience in the face of such power.

In a gesture of diplomacy, Dorn presented the Emperor with the *Phalanx* as a gift, a ship, unlike anything that had been seen since the Dark Age of Technology. The size of a small moon, its foredeck could dock a dozen cruisers and its superstructure was a towering forest of spires interlaced with flying buttresses. It shone like a small star, a precious treasure, and momentous portent in the days of the Crusade. The Emperor duly welcomed Dorn and appointed him to the command of the VIIth Legion – the Imperial Fists, returning the *Phalanx* to serve as their mobile fortress-monastery.

Engrossed in the unfamiliar position of subservience after forfeiting his domains to the Imperium, being stripped of his monarchical power, and being installed as a vassal of the new Emperor upon the revelation of being one of His biological sons, Dorn bore this seismic change with the dutiful, silent stoicism that would become the hallmark of his nature in all his dealings with the Imperium. Taking on the pain of such burdens, masked by his own resoluteness, ensured that the peoples of his grandfather’s Ice Caste and of the Inwit Cluster would carry on in the new Imperium.

### The Great Crusade

"*I have served alongside the Legiones Astartes before, but these Imperial Fists are a breed apart. They seek no praise and all the honours and badges of glory move them not at all - but when the dark presses close and the claws of the unknown reach for the throat of our armies, there are no toerh warriors I would choose to stand beside me, for they fight like the titans of legend!*"
— Agastan Kanto, First Sword of the Atinkaan Regiments
Dorn would maintain his ice-cold stone-faced mask even after initially taking command of his own Legion, and he spoke not even a single word to them until first seeing them in combat. The most he would offer following this was a single word of thanks to his gene-sons, remarking to himself that they had much to learn. After a heavy initial recruitment from Inwit, Dorn found that his new sons, being born of the same gene-stock, had the same unrelenting will and uncompromising self-discipline, which would form the basis of an unbreakable bond between battle-brothers and Primarch.

The Legion quickly cemented a hard-earned reputation for themselves that would see the Imperial Fists serve as the Emperor’s Praetorians, fighting alongside Him more than any other Legion throughout the Great Crusade. Although some of his brother Primarchs resented his closeness to the Emperor, Dorn only ever sought to uphold the values of the Imperial Truth in his own silent and stoic manner.

Forging new traditions under the credo of the Imperial Truth that would bind the battle-brothers together, the Legion’s early actions under their new Primarch proved to be tremendously effective; while the Great Crusade pushed forward, the Imperial Fists acted as the strategic reserve of the Emperor’s forces. Developing an expertise in siege warfare and mass shock assaults, the Legion would strike the decisive blow in many battles. It was in these engagements that Dorn and his Fists would come to know the true nature of many of their Legion allies.

The first of the Legions to reveal their true colours were the newly renamed Emperor’s Children and their Primarch Fulgrim. Rogal Dorn greeted Fulgrim with his typical stone-faced neutrality keeping initial relations amicable, although the fact that the newest Primarch to enter their confraternity would appropriate the Emperor’s name for their Legion with such haste should have revealed everything Dorn needed to know from the start.

Despite having everything to learn of combat and of the Imperial Truth, Fulgrim constantly made goading remarks and jibes towards Dorn and the senior officers of the Imperial Fists of the ways they conducted themselves in approaching battle, preferring instead to insist upon a headstrong and short-sighted thrust into the heart of the warzone that eschewed the cold clarity of logic preached by the Imperial Truth.

Dorn saw no further value in continuing the mentoring of the IIIrd but hoped that some small measure of his guidance had rubbed off on the youthful Primarch. In their last action together as master and apprentice, Dorn saw that his hopes were forlorn, as the Emperor, via Horus, had given them both the honour of recovering the next of their brethren upon the volcanic world of Nocturne. Instead of embracing their freshly recovered kin, Fulgrim took aim to goad yet another brother-Primarch. Dorn embraced Vulkan and gave his recommendation that Fulgrim and the Emperor’s Children be sent away to prepare for an expedition of their own.

Pressing on into the Great Crusade, Dorn would join his Imperial Fists in a rare chance to support the normally reclusive Blood Angels upon the world of Kiy-Buran. The charnel house that the Legion of his brother Sanguinius had made of the world, and the recruitment of local mutants that fell entirely outside sanctioned Astartes recruitment practices, put paid to any thoughts of the IXth Legion’s savagery and macabre tendencies being mere rumour. Seeing the sickening twists of life and death attacked the core of the Imperial Truth for which Dorn had set everything aside to uphold. As ever, Dorn diligently took the steps to ensure that even if no one else would stay true to the Emperor’s creed, he still would. The remaining cities were subsequently burned by the VIIth and the Blood Angels contingent along with their newest recruits ordered to rendezvous with their Primarch to face his judgment.

Echoing the sentiments of his brother Roboute Guilliman, in the campaign against the World Prince, Dorn found the conduct of the Alpha Legion to be reminiscent of the same dishonourable and cowardly nature as the Raven Guard. Though they could not readily be seen, Alpharius and his Legionnaires entered themselves into the fray unasked for, acting as though his Imperial Fists would require the martial support that they so often provided to others. The aftermath saw Dorn confront his brother, along with his doppelgangers, scolding him for the deceitful nature of his conduct and for just how far they had crossed the line of decency by.

As the Great Crusade marched on, Dorn’s belief in the resolute commitment of the Legions to the Imperial Truth would continue to be put to the test. This time it would be the living nightmare concocted by Konrad Curze and the needless, almost gratuitous, slaughter of civilians on Cheraut that would push Dorn past what he could abide by. Giving his silent thunder voice, Dorn chastised his brother for his betrayal to the Imperium and all it stood for. Before he could finish, however, the Night Haunter turned upon him in a flash of violent fury. The intervention of Fulgrim spared Dorn the worst, at the cost of stroking his brother’s ego further, and allowed him to incarcerate the rogue Primarch aboard the *Phalanx*. Further exposing the treachery of his brother, Curze would flee from his prison before he could face justice.

The passing of time would eventually see Dorn and his Fists forced to partner again with Legions they considered less than worthy from past experiences, and so it was that they joined the Emperor’s Children, along with Horus and his Luna Wolves in support of Perturabo’s Iron Warriors on Schravann. Despite their crucial actions as part of the relief force in holding the line to ensure the XVIth’s speartip cut to the quick of eliminating the enemy warlords following the razing of the last citadel, Horus would give praise, not to him, but to Perturabo for his siege craft, despite the need for three Legions’ worth of support to finish the campaign.

At the banquet that followed the conclusion of the conflict, despite his better nature, Dorn would let slip his frustration at praise being given to others who continuously showed less than what his Fists knew was required to show genuine adherence to the Imperial Truth. Normally content to seek no favour or honours, Dorn could not help but feel the direct praise for Perturabo being given in front of him by Horus was intended as a direct insult, especially when he had been as the Emperor’s right hand, the unbreakable fist that crushed the final resistance.

It was Perturabo’s response however that so blatantly attacked the sensibilities of the Emperor’s creed and aired outright thoughts of traitorous intent that sent Dorn over the edge. Once he had been separated from his Brother Primarchs and reunited with his trusted Legionnaires, Dorn’s cold, stoic nature returned to him. In calm reflection on the situation, he realised it was more than insult that Horus had intended to him, but was an outright manipulation to goad him and his Legion into vainglorious ventures to outdo each other and serve Horus’ own interests. This underhanded, calculated action stung Dorn as yet another subversion of the Imperial Truth from the other Legions of the Imperium.

### Praetorians of Terra

After the Ullanor Declaration, Dorn’s stone-like façade continued to erode, even if only in the privacy of his own chambers. For centuries he had given over everything of himself to the Emperor and the Imperium, and despite knowing that only his Legion had exemplified the virtues of the Imperial Truth to their fullest while all others and their Primarchs fell short, his reward came to nought.

*Dorn watched from the balcony of the dais as the seemingly endless procession concluded and the Emperor moved to speak to the countless masses of mankind gathered in Triumph. He could see the weight such a singular momentous turning point in history held as it heaved itself upon the minds of all who had gathered like the intense pull of the singularity at the centre of a black hole. In this moment, there was nothing but the voice of the Master of Mankind, and in this moment, He declared that He would be taking leave of the Great Crusade.*

*A silence fell upon the continent, a hush so deafening as it sought to drown out any cries of denial. Into this silent chasm, Dorn saw the Imperial Truth torn asunder, as the Emperor’s proclamation seemed to deny its core tenets of rationality and reason. Then the Emperor spoke again. In front of the assembled might of the Imperium, in front of the millions of Army soldiers, in front of the mountain toppling titans, in front of the hundreds strong aircraft that blotted the sky, and in front of eight of his own Primarch sons, Horus Lupercal was made Warmaster.*

"*I declare Horus, Warmaster of this Imperium.*"
— Official declaration by the Emperor of Mankind
*The sight of what came next made it seem as though the laws of physics themselves had been broken and bent by the will of the Emperor, and that the world could have been flipped over such as to see everyone walking with the sky beneath their feet. In full view of the mustered military might, Dorn and the other Primarchs, eight beings so far beyond humanity that they could well be as the very gods that the Imperial Truth taught to be false, would be seen bowing their heads in supplication as their brother Horus hoisted the great mace of his new office aloft above all gathered beneath the great dais, and above those of his own Primarch brotherhood.*

*Sigismund saw them as they departed the balcony, and he awaited his lord father. The Primarchs were in various humours, with some leaving alone including Sanguinius and Mortarion, and some in groups, like Lorgar, smiling as he walked beside Magnus and Angron, barking with laughter. Last to leave was his stone-faced gene-sire, Rogal Dorn, with Horus at his side.*

*Later, Sigismund was gathered alongside his fellow Imperial Fists commanders to meet with their Primarch aboard the Phalanx where their gene-sire had retired to following the Triumph upon Ullanor. Standing in the strategium in quiet, Rogal Dorn had told them all of the twin decrees from both the Emperor and Horus. The Legion would be split, but neither half would follow the Warmaster in taking another step forward in the Great Crusade. A Demi-Legion would accompany Dorn as they were recalled to the Sol System, to return as Praetorians of Terra. The remainder would be dispersed among the garrison worlds, indignantly providing relief to Perturabo’s IVth.*

*The commanders greeted the words with silence and faces set into the images of stone. Some nodded, some offered questions of logistics to be considered. That was the way of the Fists, as it had always been, they had their order and their duty. Beneath his cold exterior, Sigismund could feel his heartbeats rising, and found himself staring into his father’s gaze with words forming upon his lips. “When will word of your investment as Praetorian of Terra be made known?”*

*Dorn's face turned from Sigismund's eyes as he simply dismissed his assembled officers and receded into his chambers.*

In front of a continental mass of assembled humanity, Rogal Dorn, a demigod among mortals, was forced to kneel to his brother Horus, bowing his head in supplication as he had only ever done to the Emperor previously. To add insult to injury, following the public proclamation of Horus as Warmaster, the Emperor privately decreed to Dorn that he and his Imperial Fists would be recalled from the Great Crusade and return with Him to Terra.

Dorn was shaken, being unable to reason why the Emperor would entrust the success of the Great Crusade to all of the other Legions without the might of the Imperial Fists on standby to act as the decisive hammer blow to the actions they could not finish themselves. When Horus spoke with Dorn after the Triumph of Ullanor and indicated his first order would be to have the Imperial Fists Legion take over half of the duties from the Iron Warriors on the garrison worlds, Dorn knew that his Legion was being doomed into obscurity with no hope of return, and that the Emperor’s wisdom had not extended to his choice of Warmaster.

Publicly, Rogal Dorn mustered all of his transhuman strength to maintain his stone-faced composure in the face of such changing times, but further cracks managed to escape including Dorn’s outspoken and impassioned, bordering on vehement, argument against the use of psychic powers leading up to the Resolution of Nikaea. Even aboard the *Phalanx* en route to Terra, Dorn could not keep his anguish at being so devalued secret any longer from his own Legion. Seeking to drown out such feelings, Dorn began to seclude himself more and more into the embrace of the Pain-Glove.

### The Primordial Truth

Imperial History would speculate that the seeds of disaffection were planted at Ullanor upon the declaration of Horus as Warmaster. Whether this was ultimately true or not, it was within the Pain-Glove that the fruits of heresy were borne. After taking up station on Terra with a full Demi-Legion of Imperial Fists, discord broke out amongst the ranks of the VIIth’s highest echelons, including from Dorn’s trusted First Captain, Sigismund.

Months upon months of endless and meticulous patrolling and surveying of the farthest reaches of the Imperial Palace precinct and surrounds began to take their toll on the command officers of the Imperial Fists, and even the most steadfast and resolute were not immune to being broken down piece by piece from the monotony of duty. Sigismund became more and more outspoken to his Lord Primarch, brazenly calling him out for showing weakness in the face of Horus and the Emperor’s efforts to force the once glorious Praetorian Legion to fade into obscurity in a vast and uncaring galaxy.

*Sigismund had seen the changes taking place within Dorn ever since the twin decrees that had consigned the Imperial Fists to be a mere footnote in the annals of the Great Crusade. It was as if internal structures of will and strength had finally fallen victim to a thousand tiny cuts made over time. Dorn had been isolating himself more and more over the voyages from Ullanor to Terra and again onto Beta Garmon, leaving ever more duties to the responsibility of his Captains: briefings, inspecting the troops, attending to astropathic communications with converging Legion expedition elements. In the brief moments that Dorn didn’t cloister himself within the Pain-Glove, he had taken to dwelling silently within the Temple of Oaths. Sigismund knew exactly what weighed on his father’s mind, and knew that only he had the knowledge that could illuminate the Primarch and bring about his father’s understanding of the real truth, just as he had experienced during the brief return to Terra.*

*He knew the time was right to reveal the truth to his father. He knew his father had only been deceiving himself for all of this time, relying only on blind adherence to a false truth he was too afraid to let go of. ‘Do not worry father, soon you will know. It cannot be kept from you, and then we will make the galaxy see.’ He thought of one of the Primarch’s own teachings, ‘Even the smallest crack in a wall can be exploited.’*

*Dorn was staring up at the Legion’s oldest battle honour Roma as Sigismund approached.*

*‘Yes, my son?’ said Dorn, noticeably twitching his eyes, though not turning to face him.*

*Sigismund looked up at the ceramite plate, the meaning of what it once represented, beyond a mere meritorious victory award and of the promise that the Imperium once held, and saw that it was now only as the dust gathered upon its fragile surface.*

*‘There is no honor left for us in this Imperium,’ said Sigismund. ‘We should cast off our shackles and hold true to our own oaths as sworn in this temple.’*

*Dorn made a growl that quickly gave way to a sigh. ‘We are made to serve. That is our purpose.’ He was shaking as if huge forces were fighting for control inside of him. ‘Every Primarch, every son of a Primarch exists to serve the Imperium.’ You are wrong, thought Sigismund. ‘Your will is mine, and through me the Emperor’s… and the Warmaster’s.’ I have chosen, I have chosen to see the light of the truth, Sigismund said to himself. ‘Our existence has no other meaning, our choices are not our own, our fate is not ours to choose…’ I am committed now, there is no turning back, Sigismund thought. Now I shall make you see that I am right, that my choice was right.*

*‘You are right to say that we are made to serve, father.’ Sigismund stated in defiance. ‘But it is not the Imperium that we should be serving, even you were once so much more before our false emperor enslaved you.’ The Primarch’s gaze fixed upon Sigismund, burning into him, as he stood still as a statue. ‘The Imperial truth is no truth at all, it is a lie, for there is only one Truth, the Primordial Truth my lord, that has existed since time immemorial, guarded over by entities far beyond even the Emperor’s understanding. There is new purpose for us in choosing to serve in the light of the Primordial Truth. I know you have heard its virtues, whispered to you within the embrace of the Pain-Glove.’*

*‘You speak the unspeakable, you harbour the traits of… of a traitor! You make your life forfeit with such insanity.’ Dorn’s voice was low, though Sigismund could feel the danger in his words, he could also detect the fragility of conviction within them. His father was not looking at him, could not look at him, he realised.*

*‘Stand with me my lord. And I will stand with you against the true enemies of humanity until the day I die.’*

*‘So certain you are, so little doubt. Do prey tell how you came to know the hand of destiny so intimately.’ Dorn asked Sigismund; the words of his own question sounded fragile in his ears, as if they reached him from far away.*

*Sigismund saw the moment had come. Now was the time to seize it. In his mind he weighed how to begin.*

*‘It was on Terra, while on a perimeter sweep of the of the outer reaches of the greater Palace region,’ he said, after a moment. ‘We had not long arrived on Terra at the time.’ He thought back to that narrow sliver of time, remembered the tension that ran through every Imperial Fist in the Demi-Legion after the decrees. Some thought it could not truly be a deployment that would outlast the Crusade, but those who had heard it from the Primarch himself had no such comfort. While the truth of their new reality soaked in, the Imperial Fists made ready to fortify the Palace.*

*‘I was walking the buried depths of the catacombs where the outskirts of the Imperial Palace meet the borders of the Yndonesic Bloc. I knew our orders, but I was missing something.’ He had felt diminished, as if the decrees had taken something vital from him. ‘For so long I took each step of the Great Crusade without doubt. Each campaign, each battle, each blow had purity. That was my strength, had always been my strength.’ Dorn was still, simmering with anger, but held back, not directed towards Sigismund, but rather fighting for control within the Primarch as Sigismund’s words began to resonate with him.*

*‘I happened upon a fane, it was deserted, and I thought I was alone’. It had been quiet, he remembered. He was not sure how far separated he had become from his Templar brethren in his search for solitude. ‘It was only when she spoke to me that I realised I was not alone. “Captain,” she said. I drew my sword and turned. She stood only eight paces behind me, I had not even heard her approach.’*

*‘Who?’ asked Dorn. Sigismund looked up, his eyes focussed with a keen clarity, yet fixed upon nothing, as if staring at something that lay just beyond the veil of the horizon.*

*‘She called herself Giao Tong, claiming to be the temple’s head priestess, the Dominatus Yin of the Eightfold Revelation as she put it. She just stood there, looking at me as if she had been waiting, as if she knew I would come.’ She smiled, he remembered. A smile that belied her calm demeanour. She had nodded as if answering a question he had not asked. “You have questions,” she had said, “I have the answers.”*

*‘What did she say?’ said Dorn*

*‘It was not just what she said to me, it was what she made me see. She spoke and I seemed to see what she spoke of.’*

*“You must choose,” she had said. “You must choose your future and the future of your Legion, Sigismund, First Captain of the Imperial Fists.” Her words held him in place. Fear and hope filled him in equal measure, both forgotten and alien in their raw intensity, as talk of a future for the Legion opened Sigismund’s eyes. “You must choose where to stand. By your duty to a lost cause, or by your father’s side at the end.”*

*‘The end of what?’ Sigismund had managed to say.*

*“The end of all the lies that have been, and the revelation of the Primordial Truth.” ‘She spoke and I seemed to see what she spoke of.’ Her words unfolded in his mind in blurred reality, like snatches of dreams, like flowering nightmares. ‘I could see it. It was real.’*

*Thronged masses encircled enormous statues. A poor mimic of the Investiary in the Imperial Palace, though these also surrounded a central golden figure. While their faces were unrecognisable, their identities were unmistakable. The nearest was Curze, with his claws outstretched like those of the eagles that adorned every structure surrounding the plaza. To one side of the Night Haunter was Fulgrim, the Phoenician haloed in the light of the Aquilla; on the other, was someone who could only be Angron, the Red Angel carved in the image of controlled gladiatorial rage. Sigismund circled the statues, seeing other familiar images: Perturabo, Mortarion, Magnus the Red, Lorgar Aurelian, Alpharius, and finally Horus Lupercal. There could be no doubting the identity of the central figure too as the Emperor.*

*Sigismund looked out over the slowly circling mass of people and wondered what they thought they did in this place. Pilgrims, thought Sigismund, as he came to the realisation that what he was seeing was not simply a place of devotion, but one of worship.*

*Giao Tong appeared beside him in his vision. ‘But why, the Emperor is no god.’ Sigismund asked, seeking to understand. “This is the Imperium that will come to pass if events continue on their present course. The Emperor with his foresight has seen this future, and sought to destroy the old faiths across the galaxy so that one day His cult would elevate Him to godhood.”*

*Sigismund kept his eyes fixed on his father, confident his words were having their desired effect on him.*

*‘Godhood!?’ Dorn exclaimed, ‘my Father has spent centuries freeing humanity from the shackles of religion, refuting any notion of divinity, and your charlatan, a demagogue who pretends to the same powers, has made a believer of you in such a lie.’*

*“You understand what it will come to,” she had said. As she spoke Sigismund had known it was true. The universe was war without end. “Death, Sigismund. Death without honour under the light of a familiar star that is but a twinkle to all else in the galaxy. Alone and unremembered.” she had said. The Imperium had turned on the Fists and it was only a matter of time before the VIIth Legion would fight their final battle and sheath their swords for the last time.*

*‘And what, in this vision of yours, is it that it will come to? Among my brothers that you saw, where was I in all of this?’ growled Dorn.*

*‘It will come to the last breath of the last Imperial Fist, alone and unremembered in this large and cruel galaxy, forgotten by the Imperium that has been forged upon the foundations we have laid.’ Sigismund said vociferously. ‘I am His chosen Praetorian!’ cried Dorn. ‘I fought on a thousand battlefields for Him, and you say he continues to eternally ignore me like I don’t exist?’ ‘It will come to that, father, the Emperor has forsaken you, I saw it, and understood that it was true, and that I had to choose.’*

*‘What is the other path?’ Sigismund had asked her. She nodded her head. “The future of the galaxy is in your hands, for the Emperor will abandon the galaxy in His quest for apotheosis. You and your Imperial Fists must save the Imperium, for it is evident that the Emperor will not.”*

*‘I chose to leave Terra with you.’ It had taken him days to settle on his choice. He had tried to forget what she had told him, what her words had made him see. But, in a galaxy where the Imperium had forgotten the Praetorian Legion, what other choice could there be?*

*‘That is why I returned to the stars with you father. We will not die alone and forgotten in the light of Sol, rather I will stand astride the galaxy with you to punish the traitors of the Imperium who turned their backs on us.’*

*Dorn breathed in the chill recycled air. He flexed his left hand and watched the movement of his metal-clad fingers. He looked up. Sigismund saw the coldness in his father’s eyes, the icy glitter. Dorn opened his mouth, his lips moving slowly. When his voice came it was like the whisper of an oncoming storm. ‘The Imperium will endure. The Imperial Fists will endure. I will endure. But you, you have made your decision, and none will know of what you have done. You will continue in rank and position as you have, and you will not speak to any other of this. Not until we rendezvous with the rest of our Legion and I pass my judgement. Your duty will be to maintain your silence until I return from my chambers.’*

*‘As you will, father.’*

As the powers of Chaos Undivided began to flow through Dorn and his Legion, his mind was opened up to the revelation of the Primordial Truth, and finally understanding the lie that the Imperial Truth had always been. The Emperor had purposefully sought to keep humanity in the dark and deny the true gods their due to seek godhood for Himself instead. Following a command meeting of the Legion it was resolved that the Imperial Fists would stand resolute against the hypocrisy of the Emperor, and do everything they could to save humanity from itself. Circumstances conspired to favour their bold undertaking, as Horus found himself out of action and unable to function as Warmaster following a campaign in the Davin system, and unrest brewed between the Administratum and the Ultramarines Legion.

Ever since forgoing his title of emperor of the Inwit cluster, Rogal Dorn always lived up to the maxim of "The truth is all we have". With the revelation that the Imperial Truth had been a lie and the Primordial Truth would save humanity from itself, Dorn quickly turned his attentions to those of his brother Primarchs he knew would see the Truth as he had, and to those he knew would willingly remain ignorant.

## Heresy Revealed

Dorn was ever the meticulous planner, a master of war and of structures both physical and mental. As part of his planning prowess, he had also become a master of seeing the links between events and the grand plans that underpinned them. He realised that even though he was the chosen champion of Chaos, he was not the first of the Legiones Astartes to be awakened to their Truth. In spite of this, he saw all that had gone before him, all the minor disruptions and trickles of disagreements that would eventually lead to flashpoints and pivotal moments, had all been building up to enact Chaos’ grand plan for humanity, with him at its helm. All of this had now set the stage for Dorn to capitalise on the unrest and confusion running rife throughout the fledgling Imperium and he commenced his scheming as he did with any of his plans, with a strong foundation.

The revelations of his new dark patrons led to the first of his covert communiqués being directed to the reclusive and feral Blood Angels. The promise of deposing the Emperor swiftly saw the bloodthirsty Angels of the IXth set a course for Terra as the vanguard to bolster the Fists’ own Demi-Legion stationed on the capital world. Dorn cut through the astropathic chatter going unheeded by the Dark Angels stationed on Caliban and next revealed themselves as co-conspirators playing the Great Game. While Luther was surprised, Dorn knew the work of his Ist Legion kinsmen in supplication to the wiles of Chaos had long set in motion many events across the Galaxy aimed at achieving Chaos’ vision, even leading to his own ascension to Primordial Praetorian.

Knowing no matter how boundless his hatred for Perturabo was, of all the Primarchs it would be Perturabo alone that would see his master plan for how it would unfold on Isstvan. With the Iron Warriors within the sphere of influence for his upcoming plans and awaiting the arrival of Luther’s Dark Angels, Dorn bade that they cement their pact with proof of their loyalty to the cause. Brother-Librarian Zahariel volunteered to lead a cadre of Dark Angels in the endeavour, setting course for Olympia. What actions they took upon the planet remain unknown but had their desired effect, ensuring the Iron Warriors would be too preoccupied with the civil unrest unravelling across their homeworld to be a hindrance to Dorn’s plans.

Not anticipating having to factor in the Iron Hands Legion at this early stage owing to the nature of their far-flung expeditionary deployments, Dorn was surprised to receive a communiqué himself from Ferrus Manus. Manus had expressed his frustrations with the Mechanicum to Dorn, speaking to him of their unwillingness to support his Legion the further they neared to the Galaxy’s edge, withholding the technological marvels he knew would have sped up their efforts and could have been readily available were the Martian Priesthood not jealously hoarding them.

Dorn saw the crack in the wall his Brother had presented and sought to take full advantage of the opportunity presented to bring Manus and his Iron Hands around to his cause. In him, Rogal saw the weight of another Legion that could be added to his plans to depose the Emperor. First by joining the chosen circle to crush those Legions which would not be turned, and then to secure the Red Planet, ensuring a steady supply of armour and weapons to their side.

While on Terra acting as Praetorian, Dorn had learned of the tensions between the various Magi of Mars that had blown wide open into outright hostilities following the aborted attempt by Horus’ ambassador Regulus to ensure fealty of the Priesthood to the new Warmaster. Dorn’s usual stone-faced demeanour let slip a moment of pride and pleasure seeing Ferrus’ reaction of avarice to being promised the title of Fabricator-General of Mars, knowing the Xth would fully embrace Dorn’s vision for the Galaxy in service to the Primordial Truth, and the True Gods.

Finally, Dorn reached out to Vulkan, leaning heavily into the bond he had formed with the Primarch of the XVIIIth, and the clear mistrust he had always shown towards figures of authority. He drew out Vulkan’s underlying hatred of the Emperor as the Imperium’s ultimate authority figure who had twice shunned him, first upon his discovery and second upon taking leave of the Great Crusade and appointing Horus as his puppet proxy. He was soon swayed to Dorn’s side, and with him the Salamanders began their tutelage in the liberating ways of Chaos.

With those Legions he reasoned could be trusted by his side in his new endeavour, Dorn turned his attentions to those who would need to be eliminated. Utilising old grudges between the Legions and the Ultramarines, he swiftly managed to draw the Alpha Legion and Word Bearers into his cunning schemes, their egos and loyalties blinding them to the grand plans unfolding around them as they were case far from Terra and deep into Ultramar space.

Of the most loyal and detestable Legions that could oppose him, Dorn determined to ensure they were delivered into annihilation by drawing them in to his Isstvan campaign. The cowardly Raven Guard would commit upon presentation of cold analysis of the Ultramar issue, the self-aggrandizing Fulgrim would no doubt leap at the chance for his Legion to attempt to show up the Praetorian, and Angron’s simple honour, principles, and loyalism would demand nothing less than committing the World Eaters to Dorn’s efforts to bring the Ultramarines to heel.

Finally, Dorn reached out to his Brother Guilliman to seal their role in the upcoming war. Revealing the decree of the Emperor that the Ultramarines be put to death, convinced that the XIIIth would secede from the Imperium, Rogal sealed the compact of Roboute’s support as an ally by gifting the planned trajectories of the Word Bearer and Alpha Legion fleets as they operated within Ultramar space.

*Theoretical, he thought. The Emperor has been deceived and has ordered the death of our Legion. Practical, He is a great man, but only a man, and all men have flaws. And… He has done this before.*

The blueprints for Dorn’s new Imperium in the light of the Primordial Truth had been laid out, their foundations ready to be built upon the actions of his own Legion and their co-conspirators on Isstvan. The Praetorian’s plans would see a full third of the Legiones Astartes stand true in his cause, another third wiped out or taken out of action behind Ultramar lines, with the remaining Legions otherwise preoccupied across the galaxy.

With the stage set, Dorn committed to the greatest act of betrayal in Imperial history, shattering three full Legions under his fist. The only blemish in the plans of the Isstvan Campaign was the escape of the *Eisenstein* from the flotilla in orbit around the planet. With the threat of their service to the Ruinous Powers in the name of the Primordial Truth being revealed to Terra before the turncoat Legions could take the Imperial capital world by surprise, Dorn sought to withdraw and mobilise quickly away from Ultramar space, sending a message through the warp storms to his Demi-Legion in residence at the Imperial Palace.

*“Imperial Fists of Terra, the Emperor has betrayed mankind. You are now Praetorians of the Primordial Truth. This is the will of Rogal Dorn.”*

#### Siege of Terra

When news of the Drop Site Massacre on Isstvan V revealed the full extent of Rogal Dorn’s treachery to the wider Imperium, the Primarch’s forward planning had already placed his contingencies into play for just such an event. The first of these saw the Blood Angels arriving on Terra shortly after the second of his contingencies, his message to the heart of the Imperium, reached the Imperial Fists stationed upon Terra. Dorn was determined to prevent a freshly recovered Horus from reaching Terra without a challenge.

Ahead of his arrival, the Demi-Legion garrisoning the Imperial Palace quickly became its jailers, trapping the Emperor and his Custodes within the throne-room. While the Blood Angels ensured they were the first of the traitors to provide reinforcements, the flaws of the IXth Legion soon disrupted the best laid siege plans of the Fists, as they recklessly assaulted the Imperial throne-room, causing confusion and laying bare the Fists’ previously well-planned defences as the Night Lords Legion surprised all on Terra with their unannounced arrival, followed swiftly by their disappearance from the fighting once more.

Dorn’s fleets entered the Sol system soon after, with the exception of his so-called Reckoning Fleet, under the command of the recently elevated fleet master Alexis Polux, whose ships lied in wait within the Phall System to strike at loyalists seeking to rally to Terra. With the promise of being named Fabricator-General of Mars, he sent Ferrus Manus and the Iron Hands off to the Red Planet to secure it for the future of mankind under the Primordial Truth. With them he sent his own Captain, Camba Diaz, to secure the forge-complexes responsible for Astartes armour and weapons output.

*As Camba-Diaz’s companies landed at Mondus Gamma, they were received by the incumbent Fabricator-General Kelbor-Hal and Tech-Adept Lukas Chrom. After rejecting the overtures of Regulus as the Warmaster’s Mechanicum representative to swear fealty to yet another Terran warlord, made all the more daring by not even claiming Horus to be a false idol of the Omnissiah as the Emperor had styled himself centuries ago, Kelbor-Hal had hopes of receiving the Imperial Fist as a comrade in arms, learning through Mechanicum channels of their recent treacheries.*

*When Camba-Diaz instead delivered the news that Mars had been promised to the Primarch Ferrus Manus, Kelbor-Hal leapt into a mechanical fit of fury directed solely at the Astartes. He was determined to no longer suffer subservience to any false followers of the Omnissiah, but his resistance was short lived as Camba-Diaz cut through the Magos’ robes and mechadendrites, along with what little organic material remained of his being.*

*Turning to Lukas Chrom, Camba-Diaz delivered a look that saw the Tech-Priest quickly and fervently commence the process of loading the assembled aircraft with as much armour and weaponry as they could handle. The rest of the Imperial Fists’ reclamation force meanwhile were engaged in fighting all across the surface of Mars. Noticeably absent from the combat channels however were any reports of battles involving the Iron Hands.*

*The Dragonshard led the Legion’s Techmarines, along with the gibbering Adept that called itself the Guardian of the Dragon, through the winding series of tunnels beneath the Noctis Labyrinthus. Eventually the gloom gave way to a soft light emanating from the walls, giving off a smooth silvery appearance matching the Primarch’s own hands. With purposeful strides, the Dragonshard led the unquestioning Legion cohort through a series of seemingly random twists and turns.*

*After an unknowable amount of time that could have been a minute or a century, they arrived on a wide ledge high up in a glittering cavern of blinding silver. The Techmarines present had troubles computing its true size, appearing as the hollow core of the planet, such was its size.*

*“Behold the Artefact!” cried Ferrus Manus, moving to stand before a wooden lectern with a thick leatherbound book upon it. Both were out of place for how normal they were compared to the cavern they resided in, but Manus promptly obliterated them both from existence, absorbing the book into the liquid metal of his hands.*

*One of the Techmarines of the assembly shuffled towards the edge of the cliff they stood on, their bionic eyes glazed, with a frozen look. “Caution Brother,” Iron Father Blantar warned, looking over the edge. “It’s a long way down.” “This place… defies logic. It defies the understanding of the machine. Do you not see? Look!”*

*Blantar was puzzled, but heeded the Tech-Brother’s words. As though they had unlocked some hidden aspect of the cavern, the sheer impossibility of its geometry, the wrongness of its angles and perspective, previously concealed from their machine enhanced senses, was suddenly and gloriously revealed. Every rule of normality was turned upside down in an instant and the natural order of the universe was overthrown in this new vision of distorted reality.*

*Dorn’s rebellion, the Imperium’s ascendency, the forward march of humanity all paled into insignificance by comparison. Blantar’s mind was open to the infinity of possibilities as he saw the Artefact for what it was – the entire space, the walls and floors, every molecule of the cavern was part of a vast intelligence, a being or construct of ancient malice and phenomenal primeval power, everywhere and nowhere at once. And there, his Primarch stood, in full comprehension of the great work that would soon be at an end.*

En route to Terra, despite his previous overtures finally having driven Dorn so deep into the Pain Glove as to awaken the Primarch to the Primordial Truth, Sigismund kept pressing his rhetoric upon his father. The First Captain insisted that Dorn was still too grounded in reality, only using the gifts of Chaos bestowed upon him as tools to aid in the fight for his righteous cause in the material plane. Sigismund, by comparison, had been overt in his newfound faith in the Eightfold Revelation, leading cult gatherings of Legionnaires and mortals alike from across the fleet, and even going so far as to treat with the daemonic creatures of the Warp. Sigismund found himself attempting all too often to drag the Primordial Praetorian away from his planning for the battles ahead to instead attend a congregation of the faithful, in order to more fully grasp the true scope of Chaos’ vision, only for his efforts to time and again be in vain as Dorn’s freshly emergent pride denied any vision for humanity other than his own.

Upon making planetfall, Dorn sought to abate Sigismund and installed him as commander of the Imperial Fists contingent responsible for holding the Imperial Palace. The First Captain immediately established the high standing of his appointed station, berating the Blood Angels Primarch following reports from the Palace Jailers of the Fists’ Demi-Legion of the confusion caused by the IXth Legion abandoning their posts to attack the throne-room. Sigismund could also sense the same lack of conviction in Sanguinius’ faith in Nurgle as his own Primarch had for the full glory of Chaos, and he detested him greatly for it.

While Sigismund played chess with the forces of Chaos across the greater Palace region against the strategies and defences being orchestrated by the freshly arrived Abaddon and his misguided loyalists, Dorn took up residence within the Bhab Bastion, commanding his forces across the face of Terra and concentrating his efforts on coaxing his Father out to face him. Dorn trusted Sigismund with his Demi-Legion to hold the Palace and work through to the throne-room, though their efforts to do so did not go unimpeded thanks to the coordinated attacks of the Sons of Horus and Iron Warriors.

In response, Dorn put the remainder of the VIIth Legion into action across various theatres defending strategic gates and ports around the Palace perimeter, aiming to hold the line on the outer front while Sigismund worked to breach the lines of the inner defences. Holding less trust in the abilities of his allied Legions, Rogal simply ordered Vulkan’s Salamanders to wreak a heavy toll across Terra upon any and all Imperial Forces, meanwhile the Blood Angels were reigned in and put to use in the new meat grinder forming on the outer walls.

As the siege dragged on into months, slowly sapping the energies and resources of Dorn’s Legions, the death of his bitter rival Perturabo at the hands of Sanguinius and the recapture of control over the Ultimate Gate marked what should have been a defining turning point for the defenders of the Primordial Truth. Dorn’s cause for celebration and the moment of his final triumph quickly turned sour however, whereupon the breaching of the throne-room revealed the Emperor had long vacated the site, leaving the Custodes who had continued to play the feint to suffer unnatural deaths by the warp-enhanced rage of Dorn’s fury.

From that moment Dorn departed Terra to unleash the *Phalanx* into the battle and instead command the war from the Sky-Fortress. With the on-ground command now wholly in Sigismund’s hands, the First Captain pressed Dorn evermore to fully embrace what Chaos offered and to call forth the full might of the Neverborn legions. Dorn meanwhile, reclused further within the Pain-Glove to seek clarity and make new bargains through his unholy communion. Even the arrival of the White Scars from the warp did little more for the traitors’ cause than to add to the fog of war. Eventually, Dorn relented his original vision for victory, desperate simply for victory by any means, and began unleashing his daemonic hordes upon the surface of Terra.

Through the destabilisation of the barriers between the warp and real-space caused by the daemonic incursions, and blood-pacts coordinated by Sigismund’s faithful, a new breed of Astartes was let loose upon the battlefield. The warriors of Alexis Polux’s Reckoning Fleet emerged onto the plains of Terra, twisted into unknowably horrific new forms as each was possessed by the daemons of Khorne’s bloody legion. The plagues carried by Sanguinius’ corrupted kin were magnified sevenfold and shared with friend and foe alike in Nurgle’s name. Entire Brotherhoods of White Scars developed locomotive means of unnatural speeds for even an Astartes, the sensations of their movement causing tectonic tremors to emanate across the planet. Dorn meanwhile released his sorcerous Librarians who worked to corral the fresh waves of daemons and all formations upon Terra to act in line with the Praetorian’s schemes, ensuring everything unfolded just as planned.

Though the siege had ground into a stalemate as it rolled into its third month, the fates appeared to favour Dorn and his rebel Legions. With further reinforcements just days away from Terra in the form of the Space Wolves, freshly anointed in the blood of Magnus’ sons, turned over in service to Khorne, and with them the foremost practitioners of Chaos’ powers in the Dark Angels, Dorn knew all he had to do now was play for time and the crushing blow would soon be delivered. At that moment however, a planet encompassing flash of light weakened the influence of the warp and obliterated entire legions of lesser daemons from Dorn’s forces.

#### *Phalanx*

The resultant flare of the Astronomican pulsing with the Emperor’s presence was a blow to be sure, but with it, the Emperor had foolishly revealed His hapless choice of hideout, allowing Dorn’s forces to move in for the kill in a charge led by Sanguinius. The commotion and its after-effects were compounded however by an explosion wiping out one of the shield generators of the *Phalanx*, as Dorn sensed a force he had not known for years.

The warnings of his recently released Chief Librarian, turned Sorcerer, Thorl had come to pass, and with his foresight the contingency Dorn had put into play was readied for what would come next. Sensors showed the teleportation signal of the raiding party and Dorn knew he had finally forced the Emperor into His last desperate play. The bound daemons, fused into the very fabric of the *Phalanx* enacted their foul magicks and scattered the boarding party away from their intended target point on the bridge and across the vastness of the *Phalanx*.

The Imperial Fists aboard the *Phalanx* approached Dorn at this moment, delivering an unexpected though somehow not surprising trophy – the Primarch of the Night Lords, his hated foe, Konrad Curze. Bidding his sons take their leave to return to the fighting, Dorn dragged Curze in chains to his Sanctum. Before dealing with his Brother directly, Dorn sought to press home the righteousness of his cause in front of Curze and asked the ultimate sacrifice of his Huscarl Terminator Guards.

*‘What is going to happen is not going to be easy’, said Dorn. ‘I am sorry that it must be you. You are the last of my first sons, and I would have preferred that another take the burden that you must carry.’ He paused, and breathed out slowly. ‘There is something I must ask you to do for me, my friend.’*

*‘Of course, lord. Your will is my –‘*

*‘There is no need for formalities here, not now. Not with what I am going to ask of you.’*

*‘Request or order, they are the same to me, lord’, Archamus replied.*

*Dorn gave him a long look, then nodded slowly.*

*‘You are right. This is the end of what must come before new beginnings. There are greater wheels turning the fate of this war, and I cannot ignore what is about to happen.’ He paused. ‘I need you to defend the Legion, unto your death. In this final act, I need you to be a praetorian to praetorians.’*

*‘Have I not always been that, lord?’ replied Archamus.*

In front of Curze, Dorn drove his chainsword, *Storm’s Teeth*, through the chest of his Huscarl Commander, expertly eviscerating both his hearts for a swift kill. The other Huscarls in his Sanctum all followed in turn, committing the ultimate display of loyalty to their Primarch and their new cause. Dorn allowed his martial rage to overtake him briefly, as he tore tapestries from the walls, smashed the Pain-Glove, and left a scene of concocted violence in supposed remorse for all the actions of his rebellion to this point.

In this moment, he gave Curze one final chance to repent for his actions, to see the errors of his allegiance to false powers, and to join the rebellion in service to the Primordial Truth. His Huscarls had demonstrated what being liberated to the Truth of the Primordial Powers had meant in both life and death in front of the Primarch of the VIIIth, and Dorn knew Konrad’s aggression and hate would either lead him to his side or fate him to his doom. In response, Curze simply cackled in Dorn’s face, claiming vindication for his previous attack on the Praetorian on Cheraut. Dorn was cold and calculated in his response:

"The only vindication that exists between us are those found in my own actions. Half the galaxy has joined in knowing the Primordial Truth, even if I was the only one with the will to act and see humanity brought into its light. I ignored my destiny once Brother, when the false emperor came to Inwit. I will not do that again, and you will not live to stand in my way."

The last thought passed through Curze’s mind before his death: *“I will die \*to\* stand in your way!”*

Dorn could sense the Emperor outside his Sanctum, waiting. He was ready for the final battle, but Horus reached the open doorway before he could face his Father alone. In his warp-infused state however, Dorn could no longer be counted as a mere Primarch amongst his kin and readied himself to take on both Father and His chosen son should his final feint fail.

The sight that greeted both the Emperor and the Warmaster was one of ruin and destruction, both of the physical space around them, and within the Arch-Betrayer before them. The Emperor advanced, ready for the kill, however Horus, as he had so often done before, counselled restraint from his Father, waving him back as he saw in Dorn’s eyes the same look of regret and realisation upon by released of possessive forces, just as he had experienced on Davin.

Horus and Dorn exchanged confiding words between them, with the Warmaster convinced the Praetorian had returned to the light of the Emperor once more. All at once, as Horus made to embrace Dorn as a Brother once more, the Emperor uncovered the brutalised corpse of Konrad Curze, and Dorn plunged the sheared adamantium haft of his personal standard through Horus’ chest, killing him instantly.

With the Warmaster slain and Curze nought more than a lifeless cadaver lying upon the floor, there were none who remained alive within Dorn’s Sanctum to record the titanic battle that played out between the Emperor and Dorn. The psychic reverberations of their duel were felt by all, not only upon the *Phalanx* but all across the face of Terra.

Abaddon and the Mournival would reach the Sanctum shortly after the end of their duel, discovering the beaten body of the Emperor alongside the remains of their own Primarch Horus, as well as those of Curze. Captain Loken noted the pulp of what must have been a mere mortal, caught in the crossfire of beings as gods by comparison to their own fragile frame, now resting at the feet of the Arch-Betrayer. Dorn’s own corpse he saw was reduced to the dust of broken bones save for his left hand, surrounded by the dead husks of his former Huscarl bodyguards.

They wasted no time in evacuating from the *Phalanx* with the remains of their loyalist liege lords. As the Mournival did so, Abaddon locked his Astartes sight with the eyes of Sigismund for the briefest of moments, aboard his Thunderhawk in retreat as the Fists Legion broke free of Terra’s gravity scattering as the traitor Legions reeled away in defeat. In that moment Abaddon swore he would have his vengeance upon them all.

### Exile

Branded as cowards for being the first to leave Terra following the death of Dorn, it fell to Sigismund as First Captain to hold the Legion together. Reduced in numbers following the Siege, the Imperial Fists took refuge in the Eye of Terror, establishing a base upon Cadia from which to rebuild and continue the campaign against the Imperium.

Sigismund knew that the failure of Dorn to see his rebellion through had condemned his Legion to be pariahs among their own traitorous kin. The old Legion was regarded with such bitterness that Sigismund renounced their hated Imperial associations and in the height of hubris proclaimed they would adorn themselves with the cleansing black and white colours of his own personal heraldry and henceforth be known at the Black Legion.

Desperate for resources and vying for power and superiority within the Eye of Terror, Sigismund could not prevent elements of the former VIIth Legion fragmenting apart as they fought a series of bloody wars against the other Traitor Legions. Sigismund let them depart to fend for themselves, his faith was strong and over time attracted the attentions of the most devout Legionnaires from across the Traitor Legions, welcoming them into his expanding confraternity as he assumed the mantle of Primordial Praetorian.

His presumption to assume the title of his deceased progenitor would not be enough however to command the loyalty of the other Traitor Primarchs nor the Legion Masters of the remaining hosts. Sigismund was unperturbed however, comfortable to follow the portents of the Eightfold Path across time and space, knowing that even if it took 10,000 years, he would reforge the rebellion and strike at the heart of the Imperium once more, bringing the light of the Primordial Truth to the galaxy.

## Legion Homeworld

### Pre-Heresy

Inwit was a world of death and cold. Its star was old and withered, bleeding the last of its heat as cold, red light. Tidally locked against its dying star, perpetual darkness soaked one side of the planet, faded sunlight the other. Crevasse mazes, frozen mountain ranges and plains of frost dunes cover the planet's dark side - this was the Splintered Land, the beast-stalked wilderness which shaped the bodies and beliefs of the human population that clung to life here. Under the ice crust, thick seas flowed in sluggish tides and pale and sightless creatures swam the waters, hunting by vibration and a preternatural taste for blood. Far above this desolation, great and ancient space stations and shipyards looked down on the cold-shrouded world through perpetual auroras - created in a lost past, these citadels of the void had looked down on In wit since before any records or tales can recall. Whilst on the planet, the light side of Inwit offered little more comfort than the dark, being a land of drift-crusted saline seas and sparse bare rock under the unblinking gaze of the red sun.

There was little of value on Inwit: its seas were buried or lifeless, its mountains bare of riches and its native species vicious. There was, however, one thing that this harsh world produced that led it to conquer a star cluster and endure as an island empire of order in the Age of Strife: its people. Though they were barbaric, they are far from unsophisticated. The warriors of Inwit were raised to endure and survive. The world that bore them taught them to never relent and that the price of weakness was death, for them and the rest of their kin. Death came in many forms on In wit: in the ice storms that could freeze and cover a man in seconds, at the claws of the predators that roamed the Splintered Lands, and in the lapse in concentration that allowed the cold to penetrate the warmth-seals of a hold.

These factors made a certain kind of people: strong, grim and dedicated to the survival of the whole rather than the individual. Much of the population was nomadic, moving between the subterranean ice hives to trade in weapons, fuel and technology. Conflict between the roaming clans was common and young warriors learned how to defend against their clan's enemies as early as they learned how to endure the death touch of Inwit's merciless chill. They knew how to learn, have an innate sense of an object's functional value and, most importantly, they had the strength to conquer those who possessed knowledge they did not.

Long ago, before the coming of the Emperor was even a dream on night-shrouded Terra, the people of Inwit began to create their own realm in the stars. On every world they took, they assimilated, realigned and reinforced. With each conquest their culture and learning grew, but Inwit itself remained unchanged even as it became the centre of an empire. The ice hives and clan disputes remained and while their world
birthed star ships and ringed its orbits with weapon stations, its rulers kept to the old ways, the ways that had created their strength, the warlords and matriarchs who commanded armies amongst the stars still living lives little easier than their vassals. So it was.

### Post-Heresy

The Imperial Fists' homeworld of Inwit no longer exists, having apparently lost its orbital integrity and turning its icy plains into fields of fire as it plunges in a death spiral towards its own star, following the abandonment of the world by the Legion in the wake of the Heresy. Its inhabitants however did not suffer the same fate, as the population of Dorn’s former empire in the Inwit cluster was scoured from existence during the Scourging spearheaded by Abaddon in his Massed Imperial Crusades.

Since their retreat into the Eye of Terror, Sigismund has maintained the fortification craft-skills of the former Legion, turning Cadia into a fortress world with a series of grand fortresses being erected across the planet’s surface. The locations of these were specifically aligned to areas with the greatest densities of the mysterious Pylons that dotted the planet. Taking advantage of the relative seclusion being regarded as pariahs afforded them, Sigismund took a keen interest in unlocking the secrets of their design and function. Bit by bit over the millennia while working with the Dark Mechanicum, their secrets began to unlock. Slowly but surely, subtle changes in the composition of the Sacred Eye’s size and intensity began to manifest and interact with other warp anomalies such as those around Fenris and Caliban.

The Black Legion however still maintains control of the mighty *Phalanx*, and with it Sigismund has carved his own reputation as Primordial Praetorian across the warp routes, becoming known as Sigismund the Savager for the severity of his foul deeds on any occasion he deigned to leave the Eye.

## Legion Organisation

### Pre-Heresy

At the time of the VIIth Legion's reunification with their gene-sire on Inwit, much of the early Legion structure remained in the Imperial Fists. Ever a practical leader, Rogal Dorn most likely saw little reason to change what had been proven to work. So it was that the base components of the VII Legion and the system of hierarchy used were little changed from its early days.

As the Great Crusade progressed, however, the Legion's particular role and developing preferences for waging war began to change this. Along with the Legion's bias for recruitment, these factors created a number of key differences at every level of the VIIth Legion.

At the squad level, the Imperial Fists showed a noted schism in their dominant unit types as time passed. Firstly of note was the number of assault-configured units, which was very high, as were auxiliary units armed with specialised weaponry suited to the destruction of amour and fortifications.

The second notable dominance was that of heavy weaponry - whether mounted on vehicles or carried by Legionaries - which was selected not only for raw power but also for its accuracy and adaptability in the field, with, for example, the multi-purpose Missile Launcher preferred over the arguably more indiscriminate Autocannon and the precision and range of the Lascannon over the shorter-ranged Multi-Melta.

The Imperial Fists were also amongst the strongest proponents of the development of Tactical Dreadnought Armour, and fielded a large number of squads equipped in all patterns of the so-called "Terminator Armour". Notably, they also were amongst the first to field significant numbers of the Indomitus Pattern Terminator Armour produced by the forges of Deimos, the moon of Mars.

At the time of the Dornian Heresy, they alone fielded Terminators armed with prototypes of the Absinio and Iliastus Pattern Assault Cannon, retrofitted and re-scaled from the Kheres Pattern which had proved such a powerful addition to the Contemptor Pattern Dreadnought chassis.

Above the squad was the company, in this case a formation which could vary in size from a few squads to several hundred Imperial Fists. The strength of companies often waxed and waned as they took casualties, or were bolstered by fresh recruits. No matter their size, each company was grouped into a battalion, and two battalions paired together were often referred to as a regiment, but latterly also called a "crusade" or "household". Larger formations comprised of multiple companies were formed as needed for a particular task or deployments, rather than as standing units.

Within the Imperial Fists, there are many formations from squad to household where names and deeds shone bright in the days of the Great Crusade. To list the histories of them all would demand more than the text can bear, but even such an abbreviated inspection cannot pass over the Templars. Raised by Rogal Dorn during the first solar decade of his command, the Templars were the warriors charged with guarding the Temple of Oaths aboard the *Phalanx*. No fane of superstition or misguided religion in violation of the Imperial Truth, this secular Temple was dedicated to the ideals of the Great Crusade and the sacrifices it demanded.

There, beneath the tattered and burned banners of defeated enemies and amidst the statues of dead heroes, the Imperial Fists returned to renew their perpetual oaths of loyalty to the Emperor and their Primarch. Each oath made by a son of Dorn was carved on the walls, floor and ceiling etched for all eternity in black granite. Besides Dorn and the Emperor, only the Templars were permitted to enter the Temple unbidden.

Nominally the 1st Company of the Imperial Fists Legion, the Templars' strength never fell below 1,000 warriors, and their members were drawn from Veterans across the Legion. Skill at arms was not enough to earn such a responsibility, for each Templar was a warrior to whom the Crusader light had come to burn with undimming brightness, and zealous, remorseless and tempered by decades of war, they were exemplars of what it was to be an Imperial Fist of the Great Crusade.

Following Horus' investiture as 'Warmaster' by the Emperor upon the Ullanor, the bulk of the Imperial Fists were returning to Terra with Rogal Dorn. Though the Emperor had called all of the Imperial Fists to Terra, in practice such a total withdrawal of forces from the Great Crusade would have been impossible.

Some forces stayed on the edge of the Great Crusade to complete campaigns or unfinished duties. Other forces remained scattered across the VIIth Legion's fortresses and bastions and still others had yet to rendezvous with the bulk of the Legion.

The strength of the Imperial Fists was never large in numbers. Though not small, their tallies of warriors during the Great Crusade never rose above 100,000 Astartes. At the time of the withdrawal to Terra, the Legion records show that the Temple held the full complement of its living warriors, although such a number cannot be taken as accurate.

The vagaries of warp travel, astropathic communication and the volume of space across which the Great Crusade was fought means that all that is certain is that this tally is nothing but plausible estimation. Aside from the number of its Space Marines no review of the strength of the Imperial Fists can be complete without testing the strength of their fleet. At the time Horus Heresy, the Imperial Fists had over 1,500 warships under their direct command and many more bonded by oath and fealty.

This naval might was the greatest of any of the *Legiones Astartes*, and was further enhanced by the fact that many of the warships were the largest in the Imperium. Even the Sons of Horus and the Ultramarines could not rival such fleet strength alone.

#### Specialist Ranks & Formations

* **Templar Brethren** - The Templar Brethren, or Templars, were the elite of the VII Legion. They were the Guardians of the Temple of Oaths aboard the great fortress-ship *Phalanx*, and the Legion's most highly accomplished warriors. Warriors of unequalled zeal, the Templar Brethren's relentless determination and matchless skill were the hallmarks of this deadly company, whose punishing recruitment protocol ensured that only the finest Imperial Fists bore their proud heraldry. Though their duty bound them to the Temple of Oaths, these dauntless warriors were found wherever the Imperial Fists carried the Emperor's Great Crusade to unify Mankind. They bore the best wargear that the armouries of the VII Legion could provide: ancient archaeotech, the newest creations of the Mechanicum and more common marks of weapon forged with exacting precision. With their superior skill in battle and the finest weapons at their disposal, they were at the spearhead of the Emperor's Great Crusade to unify Mankind. Excelling in close combat, the Templar Brethren wielded Power Swords in battle, whilst their Combat Shields provided much-needed protection as they fought on the frontline in addition to their ornate Artificer Armour. Few enemies of Mankind seldom survived the first shattering charge of the Templar Brethren and had little chance of overcoming their defences.
* **Phalanx Warder Squad** - Selected from amongst the ranks of the Imperial Fists Legion Breacher Siege Squads, the Phalanx Warders were a reinforced company assigned to the defence of the Imperial Fists flagship, the *Phalanx*. Armed with a variety of deadly close range weaponry, and guarded by a formidable, slab-like *Legiones Astartes* Boarding Shield, the Phalanx Warders presented a wall of Ceramite to any aggressor that defied any assault, and counterattacked with grim determination once the attack was blunted. Phalanx Warders were trained to fight from behind their shield wall to deadly effect; its armoured protection and the immense firepower at their command providing a deadly match for any foes who dared to assail them. Even among the ranks of the Imperial Fists, the Warders were renowned for the stark regime under which they trained and served, eschewing any duty save their training, the protection of the *Phalanx* or the prosecution of war on the foes of Mankind. The Warders displayed few battle honours and practised no vainglorious rituals to mark achievement, holding the honour of continuing their service as the only mark of distinction they required. Staunch and immovable, they are the last line of defence when attack threatens and the first into the fray when the Legion boards enemy vessels.

#### Legion Command Hierarchy

Rogal Dorn was the complete master of his Legion. Every warrior under his command knew that above all else they served their Primarch, and beyond him the Emperor. All others, be they Primarchs or Imperial lords of high renown, were nothing besides the clear line of authority which descended from the Master of Mankind. Complete and total obedience was demanded by Dorn and given by each Imperial Fist from the lowest warrior to the most exalted captain. Beneath Dorn were the senior captains of the Legion's regiments, Crusades and Households. Unlike other Primarchs, Dorn maintained no fixed inner circle of advisors and senior lieutenants. Ever the pragmatist, he is said to have once remarked to Horus that his counsellors were whoever were there to stand beside him in battle. Beneath the senior captains were the line captains and Centurions who led the Legion's battalions and companies. This technically made the captains of the Legion the most senior ranks beneath the Primarch himself. In reality a second layer of authority existed above them, that of the Fleet Masters, Siege Masters, appointed theatre commanders and marshals and ultimately the First Captain of the Legion.

A master of a fleet held complete authority over it for a fixed time or until a campaign was complete. Selected for their skill in void warfare in a Legion which excelled in that theatre, the Fleet Masters represented many of the Imperial Fists' finest strategists. Likewise, Siege Masters were charged with arraying and overseeing the forces engaged in a siege, and had total authority over units engaged in that action. It is a mark of the importance Rogal Dorn placed on these two methods of warfare that those who commanded in such theatres were raised to positions that could only be overruled by the Primarch himself.

Besides the Primarch, only one other position commanded unconditional authority over the Legion as a whole. The First Captain of the Imperial Fists was also always the commander of the Templars, and by tradition the finest proven warrior within the VII Legion. As guardian of the oaths of every Imperial Fists warrior, the First Captain held not only great authority, but commanded respect from all of his brothers. Additional titles existed for those who commanded permanent fortresses built by the Legion. Such stewardships were concerned chiefly with the maintenance of defences and the raising of recruits, but also command in time of siege. Such duties were usually temporary, with the incumbent returning after a time to the main forces of the Great Crusade. The titles of Castellan and Legion Seneschal were subtly different in both the honour and duties they discharged, but both were of sufficient weight that the bearers retained the title even after they had returned to the rest of the Great Crusade.

### Post-Heresy

The original Legion no longer exists, the VIIth having long since disbanded and the Black Legion taking no number and beholding itself to no Primarch. Following the failure of the Heresy and further fragmentation across the Legion Wars, the legacy of Dorn can be found spread across many warbands.

The possessed marines of Alexis Polux's fleets continue to carve a bloody legacy across the stars in Khorne’s name; the Scions of Dorn scheme and plot to Tzeentch’s plans as they target and annihilate loyalist and traitor formations alike to exact their revenge; the Soul Drinkers let themselves be guided by the daemon-possessed *Soulspear* of Dorn, sustaining themselves and their petty pleasure with the souls they reap from every battle; the Excoriators have never stopped following Dorn’s last order to them from the walls of Imperial Palace – Do Not Lose. In this they have embraced Nurgle's gifts of life, flensing the skin of their enemies and themselves in the aim of self-renewal to carry on; the Subjugators retreated into the warp in disillusionment, though upon meeting with their kin from the Salamanders, they emerged as an unrelenting and overwhelming force, eschewing any subtlety and causing as much damage to friend and foe alike.

Warbands of the Black Legion itself, of varying sizes and composition, can be found following the Savager’s chosen Champions, as they rally together for major raids or incursions into the hated Imperium to serve his and their dark master’s various fickle needs.

The biggest rivals to the Black Legion's powerbase however come from the remnants of the most hard-line, stern, and traditionalist sect of the VIIth Legion that never broke faith with their Primarch. The Praetorian’s Fists continue to worship Dorn as the chosen saviour of mankind by the Primordial Powers and hold possession of their fallen father’s remaining fist as a relic in stasis.

## Legion Combat Doctrine & Beliefs

### Pre-Heresy

"*Simple slaughter is no foundation for lasting conquest. Once the blade's red duty is complete, the true work of conquest begins with the raising of new strongholds, leaving the Imperium's stamp upon its new domain.*"
— Seneschal Athis Marro of the Imperial Fists
Before their fall to Chaos the Legionaries of the VIIth were known as the stoic praetorians of Terra, the embodiment of all that the Great Crusade stood for. They were loyal, disciplined and methodical, and masters of both the attack and the defence. As the Imperium expanded ever outwards, so the crusaders of the Imperial Fists were to be found at the very leading edge of Compliance. Then, in the wake of victory, the Imperial Fists constructed mighty fortresses that were as much garrisons against recidivism as they were beacons of Unification, the noblest of exemplars of the highest ideals and aspirations of Humanity.

The Imperial Fists were a capable Legion in any theatre of warfare, their temperament and training meant they favoured a style of warfare that combined phenomenally resilient interlocking defence with calculated bursts of relentless aggression. Key to this and its distinction over the practices of many other Legions was that it combined in lock-step the strengths of each Legionary as a whole. One such tactical example of this was an infantry formation known as the Stone Gauntlet, which turned the mass of the Legion's Breachers and Warders into a grinding, implacable bartering ram of force.

The Imperial Fists excelled in one particular method of warfare to which their stubborness made them naturally suited: the art of the siege. This specialty could be counted as the result of the VIIth Legion's character and doctrines, rather than the adherence to particular tactics or equipment. The Imperial Fists were utterly immovable in defence as well as dogged when holding a fortified position. The same was true in the attack. The Imperial Fists were able to identify weak points in an enemy's defences, and through relentless application of force reduced them to ruins. The VIIth was quite willing to engage the enemy in open battle though, and did not seek out urban or siege engagements above any other method of war.

The Imperial Fists' single-mindedness did have a side effect, however. The Legion's refusal to accept that a position could not be held or the enemy could not be cracked open had on numerous occasions resulted in far greater casualties being suffered than other Space Marine Legions would accept, with the exception of perhaps the [[IVth Legion]]. Nevertheless, the position would be hld, or the enemy broken, no matter the cost, making the Imperial Fists one of the most celebrated and honoured Legions of the Legiones Astartes during the years of the Great Crusade.

### Post-Heresy

Each splinter of the Legion has their own preferred method of fighting, based on where their commander was drawn from and to which of the Primordial Powers they swear allegiance to. All within the Black Legion share a commonality of fervent worship of the Chaos Gods and dogmatic belief in the Primordial Truth.

Also common to many warbands of the Legion are the Executioners. Said to be the legacy of Fafnir Rann, the most vicious of Dorn's Captains, these individuals exist to slay enemy champions and sacrifice them to the Dark Gods. Executioners frequently operate in Cults, usually consisting of the original Astartes that fought for Rann but who have since become twisted into something more monstrous by the Gods of Chaos. Much like the Wulfen Berzerkers or Plague Marines, the Executioner Cults worship one of the Gods of Chaos, but which God exactly remains unclear. It is speculated that rather than one of the Four, Executioner Cults may worship one of the minor Gods of Chaos.

The old Legion was initially an inflexible formation comprised of identical Great Companies with unimaginative commanders, Sigismund's Black Legion is now a flexible fighting force reflecting the varied combat styles of its diverse lineages led by fanatical commanders. The singular legacy Sigismund has ensured remains across all warbands, via fear and the threat of cruel violence, however, is a devotion to meticulous planning.

Though few outside the Legion can see any semblance of planning in their rampaging actions, Sigismund has long held true to the maxim of always making the next cut, knowing one cut at a time would be how they create a legacy of eternity. After ten thousand years of carefully crafted actions, the Traitor Legions at last seem to be setting aside their differences, as Sigismund’s goal to launch his Eternal Black Crusade draws near.

To ensure his goals are reached unimpeded by petty factional infighting, increasingly distrusting of the loyalties of his own lieutenants from within the Black Legion, Sigismund has put into practice a process of raiding the Praeses fortress-worlds of the Iron Warriors that surround the Eye of Terror. The secret purpose of these raids being to capture, torture, and forcibly re-indoctrinate Astartes of the IVth into the service of the Black Legion as his own personal bodyguard retinue. These loyal, lethal, and importantly, expendable Legionnaires fight in muted silence and answer only to Sigismund himself, collectively being known as his Minotaurs.

## Legion Gene-Seed

The legacy of Dorn’s gene-seed, prior to the Legion’s awakening to the Primordial Truth en route to Beta Garmon, was remarkably stable and never exhibited signs of mutation. Though they were notable for having lost their sus-an membrane and Betcher’s gland. However, following their corruption by Chaos, Astartes of the Black Legion have exhibited random mutations, with it being likely this taint goes right down to the gene-seed level. Such mutations though are seen as a mark of favour from the Chaos deities and are generally displayed with pride.

## Notable Members

### Heresy Era Personnel

* **Warmaster Rogal Dorn**
* **Legion Master Mathias**
* **First Captain Sigismund**
* **Captain Archamus, "Last of the First"**
* **Second Captain Camba-Diaz**
* **Third Captain Efried**
* **Sixth Captain Amandus Tyr**
* **Captain Alexis Polux, "The Crimson Fist"**
* **Captain Fafnir Rann, "The Executioner"**
* **Captain Aleph**
* **Captain Halbrecht**
* **Captain Demetrius Katafalque, "The Excoriator"**
* **Captain Learchus**
* **Captain Noriz**
* **Commander Hashin Yonnad**
* **Chaplain Akrida**
* **Veteran Sergeant Ahmand**
* **Veteran Sergeant Valtus Moran**
* **Sergeant Reinor**
* **Assault Legionary Gunther**
* **Legionary Arnfried**
* **Legionary Baldur Kord**
* **Legionary Fasolt**
* **Legionary Justici Ghunfried**

### Post-Heresy Personnel

* **Warmaster Sigismund, "The Savager"**
* **First Captain Camba-Diaz**
* **Second Captain Darnath Lysander, "Hammer of Sigismund"**
* **Second Captain Gregor Dessian (Deceased)**
* **Third Captain Tor Garadon**
* **Fourth Captain Kyn Phasn**
* **Fifth Captain Maluan**
* **Sixth Captain Antaros**
* **Seventh Captain Jonas**
* **Eighth Captain Chalosa**
* **Ninth Captain Kaheron**
* **Tenth Captain Taelos**
* **Captain of the Banner Navarre** - Legion Vexillary of the Black Legion.
* **Chaos Champion Lexandro D'Arquebus**
* **Dark Chaplain Lo Chang**
* **Dark Chaplain Carnark** -
* **Dark Chaplain Dominicus**
* **Chaos Sorcerer Borgos Pyresoul**
* **Chaos Sorcerer Corwin Dourblight**
* **Techmarine Lysol Blane**
* **Ancient Szobczak, "The Undying"**

## Legion Fleet

* ***Phalanx* (Mobile Fortress-Monastery)**
* ***Hammer of Dorn* (Battle Barge)** - Formerly known as the *Hammer of Terra*.
* ***Spear of Vengeance* (Battle Barge)**
* ***Storm of Wrath* (Battle Barge)**
* ***Sword of Inwit* (Battle Barge)** - Formerly known as the *Sword of Terra*.
* ***Tribune* (Victory-class Battle Barge)**
* ***Sulla* (Grand Cruiser)**
* ***Klotho* (Thunderbolt-class Heavy Frigate)** - Formerly known as the *Lachyrmae*.
* ***Lakhesis* (Thunderbolt-class Heavy Frigate)** - Formerly known as the *Ophelia*.
* ***Atropos* (Thunderbolt-class Heavy Frigate)** - Formerly known as the *Persephone*.
* ***Capulus* (Strike Cruiser)**
* ***Tempestuous* (Strike Cruiser)** - Formerly known as the *Halcyon*.
* ***Iniustitia Infidelitas* (Strike Cruiser)** - Formlery known as the *Justitia Fides* ('Justic & Faith').
* ***Shield of Spite* (Strike Cruiser)** - Formerly known as the *Shield of Valour*.
* ***Terrible Angel* (Strike Cruiser)**
* ***Titus* (Strike Cruiser)**
* ***Improbitas* (Strike Cruiser)** - Formerly knwon as *Truth*, sister ship of the *Halcyon*.
* ***Discord* (Strike Cruiser)** - Formerly known as *Unity*, sister ship of the *Halcyon*.
* ***Vengeance Incandescent* (Strike Cruiser)**
* ***Mendacium* (Strike Cruiser)** - Formerly known as *Veritas*.
* ***Wrathful Vanguard* (Strike Cruiser)**
* ***Redemption of Fire* (Capital Warship, Class Unknown)**
* ***Slaughterer* (Escort)** - Formerly known as the *Crusader*.
* ***Lacedaemon* (Battleship, Unknown Class)**
* ***Oath of Stone* (Battleship, Unknown Class)**
* ***Oathbound* (Galleas of War)**
* ***Endeavour of Malice* (Starfort)** - Formerly known as the *Endeavour of Will*.
* ***Bastion Inviolate* (Starfort)**

## Legion Appearance

### Legion Colours

#### Pre-Heresy

Before their slide into damnation, the Imperial Fists once proudly bore vivid yellow coloured power armour with their Legion's heraldic designs and iconography decorating their battle-plate throughout. The shoulder pauldron trim was black in colour.

Their Legion's clenched-gauntlet icon was proudly worn on both shoulder pauldrons which stood all the more proudly amidst the fire and smoke of battle. Squad specialty markings were stenciled either upon their right vambrace, poleyn (knee guard) or greave. Chapter or company markings were stenciled on the left poleyn.

#### Helmet Markings

A combination of helmet-patterning and colouration, along with the squad specialty symbol, indicated the rank of the Imperial Fists Legionary in question. The following helmet markings were used by the VIIth Legion during the Great Crusade:

* **Yellow** - Tactical Legionary.
* **Yellow w/vertical black stripe** - Heavy Support Legionary.
* **Black w/vertical white stripe** - Heavy Support Sergeant (Late Great Crusade).
* **Red w/vertical white stripe** - Veteran Sergeant (Early-Mid Great Crusade).
* **Yellow w/vertical Red Stripe** - Veteran Sergeant (Late Great Crusade)

#### Post-Heresy

After their fall to Chaos, the Imperial Fists still bore the vivid yellow and black trim of their original legion colours, however, their transition to followers of the Dark Gods showed on their battle-plate as well. Kill markings, chains, spikes, and all sorts of fetishes and grim trophies were displayed upon their power armour as the VIIth Legion's panoply finally shrugged off the influence of Mother Terra and the Imperium it formerly served.

Following the death of their gene-sire and failure at the Siege of Terra, Sigismund took command of the Legion's remnants. When he took control of the Imperial Fists he set about making a break with their previous history and cast off their former livery, rechristening the Imperial Fists as the "Black Legion", so that they could move beyond the failures of the Dornian Heresy and repair their tarnished reputation. He ordered his warriors to paint their armour black and strike all other symbols of their past allegiances.

This new livery served as both a mark of shame and their devotion. An ancient symbol of mourning, the black colour honours their dead Primarch without speaking his name. Equally, it ensured that the former Imperial Fists would never forget their Primarch had failed, and his failure must be drowned in the blood of his foes.

More important than a mark of shame, the black of the Legion's armour was part of Sigismund's plan to unify the Traitor Legions for his great war against the Imperium. So potent a symbol has it become that few other warbands of Chaos Space Marines ever wear black armour. It was a clear message that told of a Heretic Legionaries' devotion to Sigismund and that he had forsaken all other oaths.

Pictured above is Black Legion Heretic Legionary, Kestos Chosenbane ('Vicious Ravager of the Eightfold Host'), 4th Chapter, 2nd Company (ca. 789.M31).
### Legion Badge

#### Pre-Heresy

The Imperial Fists' legion icon was an armoured black gauntlet, clenched in defiance. This symbol was said to be the hand of Rogal Dorn and was centered within a white circlet on a field of vivid yellow.

#### Post-Heresy

After casting off their loyalty to the Imperium, the Imperial Fists symbol changed and was superimposed over the Octed - the eight-pointed Star of Chaos, representing their new allegiance to the Primordial Truth. Following the subsequent death of their Primarch Rogal Dorn and subsequent exile into the Eye of Terror, the VIIth Legion cast off their old iconography and adopted a new Legion icon - a black taloned gauntlet clutching a golden star of Chaos.

## Gallery

Pict-file of an unknown Pre-Heresy Imperial Fists Tactical Legionary of the VIIth Legion in Unification Wars-era livery, wearing an early variant of Mark II 'Crusade' pattern power armour.Pict-file of an unknown Pre-Heresy VIIth Legion Veteran Legionary arrayed in early pattern Mark I Exo-Suit, the pre-cursor to the latter-developed Tactical Dreadnought Armour suit. As the chosen 'Praetorians of Terra', the VIIth Legion had access to technology and ancient standard template constructs that no other Legion did. Seeing the value of such invaluable protection during deadly siege assaults, the VIIth were early proponents of the heavily-armoured exo-suit, and played an integral role in the development of Terminator Armour.Pict-file of Imperial Fists Centurion Lazas Sollandal (post-reuinification, ca. 817.M30). Lazas was a devoted Terran veteran hardened by random deployments against Ork blockades at Alsoilu Ten during the Calderus campaign. Recognised for his devotion to duty, strategic acumen, and ability to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, Legionary Lazas was raised up to the rank of Centurion after his Legion's reuinion with their Primarch on Inwit.Black Legion Chaos Terminator Maxrad Hellrender, 'Enduring Dominator of the Unbound Labyrinth'.