Surmah Nyyrik

d

## History

### Youth

*As his birth capsule blasted through the storm-wracked skies, a streak of incandescent fury lit the heavens, it plunged tens of meters down into the murk, the swamp devouring it like a starving animal. Months passed before the caustic elements of the bog it dwelled in finally began to seep through to the inside. Searing pain welcomed the child Primarch to the world of the living, and taking quick stock of his situation, realized that he was in imminent danger. Bracing himself, he broke free of his metal tomb and, meter by agonizing meter, he hauled himself up from the feculent depths of Verivaltas.*
Breaking the surface, he swam to the nearest edge and collapsed as he dragged himself onto the spongy earth, his skin blistering from the caustic brine that had birthed him. Gazing up he beheld the sky for the first time, a churning morass of dark grey clouds that ceaselessly cried their sorrows upon the grim landscape. As he laid there under the weeping skies, he realized he was no longer taking heavy breaths through gritted teeth; raising his hand over his face he saw that it had recovered from the blistering embrace of the waters surrounding him, that his skin had taken on the pallor of a corpse, though how he knew this detail, he was not sure. Gazing about and with nothing but swamp and forest in every direction, he wandered off into the dark woods, there to learn that only the greatest of beasts could hope to survive.

 A decade passed, and rumors began to spread in the surrounding cities of a new beast that stalked the moors and woods; a pallid giant with eyes like weeping alabaster that would leave the brutalized remains of other monsters out near the borders of various cities. As the parliament of Otsotar met to formulate a plan on how they would capture this new found threat, a sibilant voice with the cadence of ice grinding upon itself greeted them. They could not discern its location and so, rather than devolve into panic that would see nothing done but some of their number trampled to death, they sat and listened to what the voice proclaimed. It spoke of how it had watched their kind for months, how it had discerned their motivations and goals, how it had slunk into their cities and listened to the private pleas and proclamations of its denizens with equal fervor and found them wanting. It offered an alternative, a chance to “unite under a single banner” as they would say, in an effort to build a greater tomorrow for themselves, and though the tone held a hostile, feral nature to it, the officials could do nothing but acknowledge that its offer was what they sought. As they murmured amongst themselves, something slipped from the rafters above; silently landing at the head of the meeting table, a giant of ivory skin and eyes like bleeding alabaster regarded the assembly with a mixture of bemusement and pity. It took several moments for the officials to disentangle themselves from their squabbles before they realized the threat in their midst, though contrary to what it expected, none cried out for their guards’ assistance. The assembly sat quietly as the giant corpse regarded each member with total but brief scrutiny, the menace radiating from it was palpable to all in the room; it could end any of their lives before they had left their chairs. As it padded around the perimeter of the room, it finally stopped in front of the great window that looked out over the mire beneath, musing on the nature of the world it now called home. Finally it addressed the various state officials it had cornered.

“Each of you has that which you are called by, yet here I stand bereft of such privilege. Tell me, what is it that you refer to me by?” A grin etched across it mirthless lips, fangs clearly showing in a serrated smile that reflected upon the glass barrier.

“So….” the official at the head of the table attempted before choking on his words.

 “Now now, I’ve kept you alive this long, the least you can do is illuminate me on what you call me” it chortled in its caustic resonance.

“Those of Tapiona refer to you as the Maw of the Woods,” a woman in her mid years responded, her voice tight but defiant.

 “Ahhh, but that is not a name, that is a title, and while those too, are important, they yet lack power. Come, what is it you call me? What.Is.My.Name?” it punctated each word with venomous potency.

“Surmah.” replied an old, weathered woman. Easily the oldest being in the room, she sat there looking down at her hands as she massaged them, like a nervous tick. “It is the name of the great beast that guards the barrier to the Lands of the Dead.”

“Soor-maaah. Yes, I like how that feels.” It moved the words around its palate like a fine liqueur. “Tell me, from where do you hail, madame?” an odd sense of nobility suddenly affecting its voice.

“Nyyrik, the lands east of here.” she said.

“I’m familiar, exceedingly so” the godling replied. “You’ll find my birthing pod there, buried seventy three meters below the surface of the bog; Naakki’s Sorrow I believe is the colloquial name for it?” Though posed as a question, no doubt ever entered its voice.

“Yes. As you gave me my name, shall I take that of your city’s, as was once custom in civilizations long since dead.” it said, still gazing out the crystalline portal.

“But what are you?” inquired an elderly gentleman, his attire clearly indicating a life that had not seen hardship in decades.

“I am your Illumination,” Surmah replied, “I am your Truth.”

### Reunion

And so it was on the fifth of Ukkosa, that the tumultuous skies of Verivaltas seethed with auric luminance, bathing the nocturnal world in a brilliance it had never before experienced. The inhabitants shielded their eyes as the churning maelstrom of storm clouds tore apart, revealing a shining fleet hovering in orbit above their home, lead by a vessel that eclipsed their view. Such a wondrous sight had never before been seen on their world; that such a work of incandescent beauty could exist was nearly too much for them to bear, many falling to their knees in abject bewilderment.

While the inhabitants ran the gamut of emotions in response to this marvel in the heavens, the Council was busy attempting to identify the intruders and how a fleet of such size could have appeared so suddenly in their midst. Satellite and relay stations should have picked up something on their long-range augurs, and yet it was as though the ships had just materialized out of nothing. While the members sifted through information brought to them by aids or on cogitator screens, one stood apart from the rest of the assembly.

A cadaverous giant gazed out the cyclopean window into the firmament, his pearlescent eyes dancing with the gold aurori from the lambent glow cast by the leviathan vessel that hung in orbit above his home. Though he had never laid eyes upon it before, he knew his creator dwelled within, and that at long last he would have the answers he sought. A being as singular as he was no accident; he had been created with a purpose in mind, one he knew with something beyond conviction, was to bring enlightenment to the mortals of his own species. Fastening the front of his ebony military coat and running a hand through his black hair, he addressed his council members.

“Open a broad-width vox broadcast to our guests,” he said, “send them the coordinates to Naakki’s Sorrow and inform them I shall be awaiting their arrival… alone.”

“But Chancellor, is that wise?! Your safety could be….” one of the councilmen started.

“My creator wouldn’t travel all this way, just to murder me in the swamp I crawled to life from.” he interrupted.

**“Yo… your creator? How can you know it is they who are in orbit above us? No scrap of the scant information we have been able to retrie… “ another member attempted before they too were silenced.**

“See that the message is relayed on as many frequencies as possible.” he said hollowly.

Taking a step toward the armorglass portal, Surmah’s frame grew nebulous as he shifted out of phase with reality, before plunging hundreds of meters down towards the sodden earth below, leaving his council members in their usual state of befuddlement when he did such things. The rush it brought; plummeting through the sky, air ripping at his onyx mane, never ceased to cause his hearts to pound. Just before he slammed into the ground, he phased out of reality once more, arresting his fall and preventing any kind of injury he might have taken.

Striding over to the bank of the swamp, he gazed about himself as though seeing his world for the very first time. Despite senses greater than anyone could even begin to fathom, the luminance that now bathed Verivaltas dredged up details so acutely it enthralled him. The world had never known such healthy light, not even when the first colonist ships had settled here did their lights drown the world in such radiance. To his peripheri he could see the denizens of the woods slinking further into their sylvan bastions to escape.

**“Such a sight, is it not?” said a voice, shattering the solitude that had only moments ago been pure.**

Whirling around, Surmah beheld an old man in a weather-worn cloak, it’s brown fabric the color of the mud surrounding them. How had he not heard, let alone smelled or simply “felt” this strangers presence? Nothing on Verivaltas had ever achieved such a feat, and yet here was this innocuous old man that had passed unhindered entirely.

**“And who might you be, elder? I have not had the pleasure of ever having laid eyes upon you before, and with what you have just accomplished, I am quite curious to know from where you hail.” Surmah said, though despite his polite nature, his body was reflexively tensing for confrontation.**

“Just a wanderer, come to gaze at the majesty that has revealed itself in the heavens.” the old man replied.

**“You must forgive me, but that is a lie and we are both aware of that,” Surmah said, “you do not smell of Verivaltas. You’re an offworlder, but that you speak our tongue with such fluidity, if with an improper accent, is a testament to your skills. However, I will not stand for someone lying to my face, within my own domain. So, I ask you again, who are you?”**

“Hah, it would seem I have misjudged my approach. Amusing that it would happen on so similar a planet as the last time, though you show a great deal more decorum than your brother did.” the stranger said, a hint of mirth affecting his speech

“My… brother? The words stumbled from Surmah’s mouth. Though it only lasted a heartbeat’s breath, his eyes went wide with such a revelation.

“Brothers,” the old man corrected, “you are but one of twenty such beings, each crafted to be a paragon of humanity. To conquer the stars and render it safe for the species to claim its rightful inheritance of the cosmic tapestry. The darkness between worlds is rife with terrors beyond imagining, xenos threats lurk on every world seeking to maintain their dominion of our subjugated cousins. Some of you were created to be shepards, while others were meant as enforcers. And yet still there was a small handful who were created to erase all opposition to our burgeoning empire. You, like your brother found on so analogus a world, are one of those.”

“And who are you to make such a claim, that galactic conquest is yours by right?” Surmah said, conviction returning to his words once more. Though despite these claims, he could feel something grander stood before him; he couldn’t explain how or why, he just knew this stranger was hiding his true nature from him.

As the stranger tore the tawny cloak from his shoulders, a golden luminance erupted in front of Surmah, blinding him momentarily in its overwhelming radiance. Before him stood a pillar of flaming gold; where once there had been a haggard old man, now stood a titan from the myths of old. Auric armor like nothing he’d ever seen encased the being, so intricately stylized and wrought, it was majesty made manifest. Elegant vines wove about his greaves while eagle heads and thunderbolts stared imperiously outwards from a myriad of locations, as death masks covered his knee guards and knuckle braces. One hand ended in an immense talon, the curving blades of each finger the length of a grown man’s arm, hooked viciously inwards so as to thwart any potential escape once within his grasp; the other was outstretched toward Surmah, the fingers themselves intricately engraved, beckoning him forward. His face was sculpted to aesthetic perfection; without blemish and noble in its countenance, his cheekbones and jawline could carve stone. Golden eyes stared out of a face that would have made even the gods weep in envy at its beauty. Resting about his temple was a golden laurel and above his head, a golden fire raged, captive in a state of coronic grandeur as it seethed with untold power. Truly, there had never been a being of such transcendent might that the idea of galactic empire seemed not only plausible, but justly his.

“I am the Emperor of Mankind. From Terra have I traveled the breadth of the galaxy to reclaim all that was taken from me, and I have come to give you your birthright, my son.” the Emperor intoned.

**A titan wrought in gold. Twenty other beings like himself. A galaxy spanning empire conquered to the ascendency of Humanity. And he wasn’t alone in his existence. At long last, after so many years believing himself so singular a being, he now knew he had a family. The scope of it all was staggering and yet it registered within him as the only possible answer to it all, as though he was genetically crafted to accept this on a cellular level.**

“And there is yet more to show you, my son.” the Emperor said, his melodious voice drifting over his him with mellifluous authority. At some unseen command, the sky split and a roar unlike any beast he had ever heard reverberated throughout the heavens, as great crimson ships tore through the sky. Hundreds. No, thousands of them streaked down from the firmament; huge, slab faced behemoths bearing a stylized cross plummeted towards the sodden earth. As the myriad of ships landed, descent ramps slammed down and from within strode beings unlike anything Surmah had ever seen. Giants in crimson armor etched with iron marched from hangar bays, the tread of tens of thousands shaking the earth itself with their power. Mighty weapons were held to their breast or were strapped to hips and power packs, weapons that could have only been created for galactic conquest. As the last warrior stepped into formation, over one hundred thousand warriors stood before Surmah on the banks of Naakki’s Sorrow, cyan eye-lenses gazing at him in rapt attention. Though their faces were hidden behind their helms, he could smell their anticipation, the musk of rapture hung heavy about them, as though finally meeting their long lost kin.

“As I created twenty others like you, so from each of you did I create beings cast in your images. A legion made from your genetic lineage and fashioned into the greatest warriors the galaxy has ever seen, and weapons in their own right. With each of you at their head, the legions will help me retake the galaxy and solidify our claim over all creation. You were my final son, and so I give unto you the final legion. My Absolvers, the XX Legiones Astartes, the final judgement to be wrought upon our enemies.” the Emperor said, his voice cascading forth.

Surmah’s white eyes darted over the assembled might of the Emperor’s legion. No. His legion. Just as he was the son of the Emperor, so too were these Astartes his own sons. From his genetic legacy were they lifted up beyond the base state of humanity, to better serve their master in His conquest of the galaxy.

“Remove your helms.” Surmah intoned, his voice carrying over the vast mire before him, sifting back to the furthest reaches of his sons.

As one his Astartes obeyed, and as they did, over one hundred thousand faces as pallid, with eyes as alabaster as his own, stared back. Some looked about their brothers, quizzical looks exchanged between them. Others wore grins of elation, and to his amused surprise, they too bore fangs such as his. Yet the majority continued to gaze forward in rapt attention of their genesire, ignoring any and all distractions. However, many bore the telltale signs of radiation burns and scarring, their skin blistered and raw. This final detailed perturbed Surmah greatly and he would endeavor to figure out why this was the case and if it was within his newfound power, to rectify it.

“Look about you, warriors of ancient Terra,” Surmah bellowed, “far have you journeyed and at long last have you found your new home. Though I may have brought peace to my people, made safe their homes, it is this, Land of Blood, from which we draw our strength. We preserve its natural lethality by coexistence, we do not seek to claim what we do not need and in return are we so strengthened. Through overcoming such adversity is our willpower tempered, our bodies honed to a vicious edge. Galactic conquest calls, but just as the denizens of my home are tested, so shall you be. To learn the ways of the predator, to bleed your prey and ensure that though it may yet live, it has not the strength to harm you in turn, will be my gift unto each of you."

There were nods of acknowledgement and approval as he gazed at the throng of his sons, fires stoked in their hearts as they heard their father speak for the first time. These were warriors without peer, cutting their way through a hostile galaxy to find the lost pockets of mankind with hopes of finding their genesire; he would not squander such fervent valor, but he would temper them further. He would hone them into a vicious blade through the same discipline he had learned stalking the moors and forests of his home, making of them killers beyond reproach. Let the other legions be the stalwart crusaders and defenders of the Imperium basking in the adulation of the untold imperial masses; for him and his sons, they would spend their time stalking their prey through dead worlds, reveling in the thrill of the hunt.

**“From me has my Father elevated you to preeminence, and in my image have you so clearly been cast. As I am to believe and can clearly see, you have inherited the blessings Verivaltas have given me, but to the wider Imperium, it is likely seen more as a curse, and for that I am truly sorry. However, we were not created for the laurels of commendation, to be the shining beacons of my Father’s empire. No, we are extinction made manifest, the predators who will stalk the stars until every last threat has been run to ground and our fangs are buried in their throats. Like me, you have been given a gift! Revel in your more ferocious aspect, for even without a gun or blade in hand, you are lethal beyond measure.” he continued.**

“Your time as crusaders absolving foes of their sins has come to an end! From this moment on, you shall be my hounds! Together shall we bring illumination to the masses and hunt the enemies of the Imperium unto extinction!” Surmah roared, “Pain begets clarity! Clarity begets truth!”

“VAE VICTIS!” his hounds howled in response.

“Woe to the conquered,” Surmah murmured to himself, a sadistic grin creeping across his lips, “how very apt.”

## Personality

Contrary to his frightening appearance, Surmah is an amicable soul, if prone to bouts of melancholy, a product of the solitude he experienced during his formative years. For days at a time, he was known to just disappear into the wilds, leaving his Council to manage his empire in his absence, and this behavior journeyed with him to the stars, leaving his sons to manage the Fleet while he wandered the bowels of his Flagship. Despite this, Surmah is ever fond of the company of his sons; in them, he sees noble souls willing to do whatever asked of them, a desire towards diplomatic dealings, but a readiness to be the monsters that are needed, so that others might shine brighter. When amongst his brothers, there is a surety he feels, a reassurance that there are those from whom he can learn and grow. Though predatory at his core, a predator adapts to his prey, it learns and evolves so as to ensure its place at the top of the food chain, and this is something Surmah is always keen to continue doing. While he cares for all his brothers, there are several he feels a deeper bond with, a connection that goes beyond simple brotherhood. In Necalli and Kodiak, he sees fellow hunters, beasts who appreciate the thrill of running their foes to ground and satiating their predatory needs, a primal nature that the others among their brotherhood seem to lack. However, it is his closeness to Shaaa and Artellion that tends to bring about raised eyebrows from more inquisitive minds. Shaaa possesses a cold and calculating mind, one that relies on numbers and the sum total amount of forced needed to pound any adversity into the ground. He is ruthless where many of his brothers are more idealistic or willing to sit and deliberate, a trait Surmah feels that is sorely needed in such a time of galactic conquest. He is his dauntless brother, a wall of shields and guns, capable of shaking the foundations of Creation. It is with Artellion however that he has perhaps the strangest of connections, as by all reasoning, the savage beast and gleaming knight shouldn’t have gotten on. But it is Artellion’s devotion to his people; his endless need not to rule, but to better the lives of his subjects, that Surmah finds truly inspiring. His brother is a beacon of capability and prosperity in a galaxy all too keen to stifle all hope of progress; and so Surmah views his brother’s laurels of utopian conquest as something every Legion should strive for, for it follows closest to the Emperor’s dream for Humanity.

Surmah has a very disparate personality, one that can easily become jarring for those dealing with him when he is forced to slide between his two extremes. His noble side wishes to see Mankind elevated to highest peak, to proclaim and secure its dominion over the stars, as Humanity’s ascendance ushers in a new golden age for the species. Fostering rational thinking and peace has ever been his goal while working with the mortals of worlds he seeks to bring to compliance, as only though clear thinking and accepting of the Truth can Mankind free itself from the ravages of the past. But when such honorable attempts are refuted time and again, the Truth discarded in favor of ignorant belief and faith, it is then that he lets his predatory nature manifest itself. Once a planetary population is forfeit, Surmah and his sons will unload phosphex on hab blocks and decimate population centers with radiation weapons or even resort to unleashing the Life Eater should they feel particularly ruthless; and all of this merely acts as a precursor to their true desire; to stalk their prey through the charred husks of their former homes. They’ll corral their prey into herds and run them to ground before taking their time picking them apart with blades, claws and teeth, savoring each nuance of agony as though it feeds their very souls. They keep their targets wounded but alive so they can continue to play with their food before it finally gives out and they are forced to find a new plaything to torment. And while these scenes of apocalyptic torment are unfolding, the leadership of the planet is kept alive and unharmed, so that they may watch what their stubbornness and arrogance has wrought, as every butchered citizen’s blood stains their hands. They are forced to feel each and every death as their own and to know this fate could have been avoided had they simply put their egos aside and accepted the Truth of superior minds. And as the Hounds return to their ships and depart the irradiated and scorched wasteland they have left in their wake, the governors are taken aboard as well, so that at the next compliance, Surmah might put them to use. Their fate ever after to be used as a cautionary tale; as they regale new planetary leaders with the horrors they were forced to bear witness to, in the hopes of quelling any dissent early on and sparing another planet the hunger of the Hounds.

It is for this reason that alone amongst his brothers, Lorgar is the only one he ever expressed abject hatred towards, for the Bearer of the Word embodied everything their Father was trying to do away with. His perpetual need for a “Higher Power” to be their guiding force flew in the way of the Imperial Truth and the truth of the universe, and so Surmah’s loathing of his brother only festered, growing into a malignant mass until he was unleashed to drag his wayward brother before their Father in chains. Though such a thing never came to pass… an event that would be stricken from Imperial records, a shame so grave only one other could match its abhorrent nature.

After his fall to Chaos, Surmah spiraled further and further into a nihilistic pit, seeing the futility of everything he and his brothers had bled for, that their sons had died for. The Emperor had used him and his brothers, abused their devotion to Him and so he would use those very same tools to break their Father’s vision for Humanity. Mankind and the other myriad races left in the galaxy would be the nourishment for the ever-hungry Gods of the Warp; no force, not even that of the Emperor, could ever hope to stand against such a tide of madness and not be drowned. And as the galaxy burns around them, he and his brothers would stand triumphant, having ascended to the highest echelons of the Immaterium’s hierarchy and removed themselves from the ravages that would soon devour all of creation.

While the Twins or Artellion relish the rush of a concentrated duel, flourishing their blades as they put on a spectacle for all those present, Surmah takes a more direct approach. In combat, Surmah strikes a perfect balance between apex predator and martial expert; blending blinding speed and terrible strength, he tears into his prey with sadistic savagery, always seeking to break his foe with his brutal elegance. Surmah may enjoy playing with his food, but he makes a point of picking them apart, preventing any threat they might actually pose, as he satiates his thirst for the pain of others.

## Quirk

All Primarchs possess gifts unique to them, quirks that were bestowed upon them, though whether by their Father’s genius or the kiss of the Warp, is up for debate. Surmah has an uncanny ability to get into places most would think inaccessible, past detectors and through sealed doors, he can be found lurking, observing his prey and waiting for the perfect time to strike. While part of this is due to his nature as a Primarch, he alone has the unique ability to phase-shift; he can dematerialize himself and pass through solid objects, allowing him to enter locations barred from all access or simply ignore conventional means of travel through confined spaces. His application of this ability doesn’t end there though, putting such a skill to use while in the thick of combat, briefly shifting out of phase to allow sword blows or gunshots to pass through him, before materializing again and carving into his opponents. It’s duration is not long however, and so his timing of this ability is everything, as one misstep could see him take a wound he initially thought he would avoid.

## Wargear

### The Kthonic Pallium

Upon being reunited with his Father, the Master of Mankind, Surmah was led into the depths of the Impeator Somnium, there not just to be brought up to speed on the events that were unfolding on a galactic scale, but to begin his inheritance of his birthright. As he soon learned, each of his brothers before him had accompanied the Emperor to his personal artificing chambers, though “cathedral” would have been accurate term to describe the scale and splendor of it, in order to receive a gift personally made for him. Gazing about the labyrinthian series of forges and machining stations, Surmah beheld countless wonders that defied comprehension, so he was told that would soon their way into the hands of brothers yet to be discovered. As they continued their journey, Surmah was lead deeper into the bowels of artificing chamber, the light growing dimmer and the contents darkening in equal measure. Here he spied weapons and machines who nature was singularly monstrous in nature, guns and all manner of melee weapons whose appearance was an outward reflection of their intended purpose. The Emperor came to a halt before a smokey armorglass case, its faceted face obscuring its contents. A shallow hiss could be heard as the hermetic seal was broken and the doors swung out, revealing a titanic suit of alabaster artificer armor; while the Emperor’s own armor was grand and opulent, quelling any thoughts that He could be anything other than the apex of the species, this suit, thought finely wrought was done so with a cruel hand. While the Emperor’s was bulky in its protection, this one was leaner and more sculpted to the body’s shape, its segmented layers sharp and intricately honed, with each band chased in brass and minor filigree work. A protruding, spiked gorget of polished brass immediately caught his eye, one that wouldn’t be ill-fitting on a guard hound wound about the neck and up into the power pack that was affixed to its back. Vicious hooked talons tipped each finger, curiously of the same size of those he bore naturally, a coincidence he couldn’t overlook, while spiked studs clustered on various parts of the regalia, as wide and long as a mortal man’s hand. He was then told that this was his gift; wrought from Auramite, it was a suit so singularly crafted there were no others like it in existence, one that would see him fulfill the role to which he had been created, that of galactic extermination. Another, much smaller chest lay beside the hulking casket, and within the Emperor retrieved one final piece. A snarling rebreather mask, sculpted with exacting precision was placed in Surmah’s hands, a mask that would let all know who bore witness to him that he was the Emperor’s final sanction; that the time for words had long since passed and that death was all that await them.

### Vihan Haukkaus (Hatred’s Bite)

Several years after the last few domains on Verivaltas had conceded to Surmah’s administration power, prosperity had finally been ushered in for the first time in remembered history. While the planet itself still held its limitless perils, there wasn’t the ever present threat of military action; squabbles and animosities had been quashed under Surmah’s regime, as he tolerated no dissent amongst his officials. However, there was one event that brought back those old fears, a night of such wanton destruction that the Hunting Houses were all gathered and accompanied Surmah to the charnel remains of the city Telervotar. A sentinel-city that stood vigil over Synkawood, a forest that stretched for hundreds of kilometers in every direction, lay in ruins, its garrison of soldiers smeared over the barracks and watch towers, what was left of them that is. As the forced entered the city, heavy rains and the twilight of descending night worked to shroud the city, casting it in a nightmarish view. Entire hab-blocks crackled with fires that had gutted their shattered remains threw violent lighting upon all around, savage shadows bathing the force in nightmare manifest. Las and solid-shot impact craters could be found littering the city, streaks of black ichor lead in a myriad of directions, following great furrows carved into the rockcrete streets. Realizing the trouble they were in, Surmah ordered his Hunters to evacuate the city, though it came to late. A ululating shriek erupted from behind the formation as a leviathan of weeping black scales pulled itself from the ruins of a collapsed tower, its gleaming white fangs dripping with crimson. Ajattara were notorious for being gargantuan in size, that they were devilishly fast despite their great bulk is what made them so dangerous. However, one of this size had never been recorded outside myths from the earliest days of settlement, it’s sinuous body stretching back at least twenty-five meters and with a maw that could swallow ore-transport. Groups of hunters were wolfed down with each sweep of its mouth, it’s articulated limbs snatching up regrouping men and women as they tried to remove themselves from it’s path, dragging them into its slavering jaws. As it feasted on his hunting party Surmah darted into action, slinking beneath its notice and once he had closed with it, drove his taloned fist into one of its eye-clusters, pulping the jellied mass entirely. Such a beast wasn’t accustomed to being attacked and lurched back to regain its surroundings, but its time of hunger-slaking was over. Surmah tore great furrows through its exposed belly, spilling hissing oily ichor over the street, shrieks of agony lifting from a throat not designed for such noises. Half blinded and in anguish, it finally saw its aggressor and launched its head him, and as the jaws snapped shut around him, the hunters let out a horrified gasp as one; their leader, a being with no equal had been devoured whole, what chance did they have? As it coiled itself to strike anew, an explosion of meat and bone erupted from its mouth, one of its jaws blowing out in a shower of blood as Surmah stepped from within. Grabbing part of its toothed jaw, he tore the beast apart from within, striking where its diamond-hard scales couldn’t protect it, drenching him in an atramentous arterial fountain. As the creature twitched in its death throes, Surmah stalked to the remaining eye and gazed into it, his head tilting to one side as though he was trying to understand the bestial thoughts swimming within. He saw not the mindless thoughts of an animal within, but a cunning, alien intelligence, that of a creature that was no mere beast. As it shivered to move once more, Surmah drove the chunk of its jaw through its eye and into its brain, the remainder of the beasts life pooling around his feet.
As the hunters hauled the carcass into one of the transport vehicles, Surmah stared at the devastation before him; a city meant to guard the inner sectors, reduced to blood smeared ruins by a single creature. Life on Verivaltas was savage, he knew this, but it didn’t help bury the pain of so many souls lost, so many lives left unfulfilled. They would rebuild here, but the memory would never fade, their loss would be remembered.
Weeks passed since the incident, and while Surmah was directing a board meeting over fortifying the outlying sentinel-cities, his chief artificer begged entry, claiming he had a gift for their lord. Walking up to his master, Ilmarin bowed and laid a bundle upon the table. Wrapped in the grey hide of the Beast of Telervotar, Surmah found a fiendish weapon nestled within; a savage warpick had been crafted by Ilmarin from a portion of the monster’s jaw.
It’s haft had been laser-sculpted from the bone, intricately carved and inlaid with iconography of mortality; its head the largest of the fangs torn from the creature’s mouth, honed to an edge that looked like it could cut reality itself. Despite the Verivaltans’ lack of artistic flair, Ilmarin and the council had felt such an occasion deserved something a bit more austere, something to function as both a symbol and a weapon of war. Despite himself, Surmah could do nothing but grin, his gleaming fangs showing with pride at the gift his people had given him.

A warpick of elegant brutality, Vihan Haukkaus is capable of carving through power armor and vehicles with equal efficiency; an archaic disruption-field generator was fitted within the head, wreathing it in an arcing corona of magentan fury, ensuring that nothing but the protective aura of a conversion field might stand a chance against its wrath.

### Mercy’s Eclipse

A gift from his brother Shaaa, Mercy’s Eclipse was forged for him with the intent to not hinder his mobility while still giving him a potent weapon with which to dispatch the enemies of the Imperium. A gauntlet barely larger than what he would normally wear, it sports a horrific disruption field that coats the bladed talons that extend from each fingertip, allowing for it to be use both to inflict wounds as well as prevent them. Shaaa knew a shield would never suit Surmah’s combat style, but a gauntlet that would allow him to deflect or parry while still proving lethal would, and so he went to task creating such a gift for his ferocious brother.
Surmah would cherish this gift for decades, baptizing it in the blood of xenos and heretics with savage glee, until his brother refused his pleas to join their cause against the lies and tyranny of their Father. Rejected by one of his most cherished brothers, Surmah would finally cast aside his claw, as the memories and its meaning would prove to be too potent for him, a constant reminder that he had failed Shaaa.
However, its days of spilling blood wouldn’t end there, as one of his sons would later take the deific weapon for himself, altering its fit to that of his own armor and bear it into combat once more, slaughtering the deluded fools who still followed the False-Emperor’s will.

### Rancor

During the ascendency of Mankind over the course of the Dark Age of Technology, all manner of astonishing and terrifying weapons were created to secure dominion of the stars themselves. Weapons of unfathomable lethality were turned upon vile xenos and fellow human alike, as Mankind sought to carve their name upon the celestial firmament, little knowing the impending calamity for such hubris was just over the horizon.

Midst his subjugation of Verivaltas, Surmah spent a great deal of time exploring his homeworld, seeking to unlock the mysteries of how it had weathered Old Night in relative safety. During an expedition into the bowels of subterranean science facility, Surmah came across a hermetically sealed door; a proto form of Suokieli was engraved around its perimeter, warning that the contents of the chamber beyond were of a magnitude no mortal should ever have access to. With a delicacy belying his predatory aura, he meticulously disengaged the locking mechanisms sealing the door before using a disruption-cutter to carve through the welded seams, gingerly tearing it from its hinges. With the yawning, black portal now laid bare, he bade his expedition team to return to Otsotar and await his return, he, and he alone would be privy to the secrets held within.
A fortnight passed, and still there had been no sign or word from Surmah. Believing something calamitous had befallen their lord, the Council convened to discuss what should be done in his absence, as his disappearance was an event none had ever planned for.
 While they deliberated on a course of action, Surmah burst through the chamber doors, his steps heavy and bearing a haunted look upon his emaciated features. Laying a gigantic bundle on the conference table, Surmah wandered to the armorglass portal overlooking the swamplands beneath him, a habit he had formed whenever he had a dire message to deliver. He did not tell them of what he found locked beneath the surface of the world, only that all records of the location were to be erased from all data-logs and that any who were present were to report to him directly for debriefing, as were any other who had been told of the expedition.
When asked about the nature of the bundle that had left on the table, he simply stated it would serve as a reminder of what had been found, a reminder of the terrors of Humanity’s ingenuity.

What had likely been crafted for an automaton roughly the size of a dreadnaught, Rancor is a rifle of prodigious size and potency, it’s design lost to the terrible genius of the Dark Age of Technology. It is a mystery to the Mechanicum, though not entirely due to their own failings, as Surmah has refused them every petition to study it; the rifle functions similarly to that of the Iliastus Accelerator Culverin, a cannon used by the Telemon Dreadnaughts of the Adeptus Custodes. Though smaller in size, it sports nearly zero recoil as a result, allowing for pinpoint accuracy when in the hands of Surmah. The rounds fired by it are of a design known only to Surmah and one other, his personal artificer Ilmarin, the knowledge too dangerous to be allowed to spread. However, from what has been observed while in the field, any targets hit are penetrated with ease before being ripped apart from within, the carnage total. A heliothermic detonation is the working theory the Mechanicum has presented, as the excessive amounts of heat scarring and radioactive saturation imply temperatures reaching into the tens of thousands degrees centigrade. Regardless of its nature, the effects the rifle has on its victims is abhorrent; organic creatures are annihilated in a spray of viscera and shrapnel, while vehicles have savage craters punched through their hulls, the insides blasted into incandescent ruin, as fuel reserves and munitions are cooked-off, triggering secondary explosions.