Aléxandros Aetós

## History

Aléxandros Themistocles of the house of Aetós was born as the eldest son of a wealthy trade conglomerate in the heart of Silverdawn, the shining capital city of Auroria. Aléxandros enjoyed the best education and endured the most unforgiving training to one day carry on the legacy of his family. Yet ever since he was but a small child he knew where his true purpose lay. He would spend his nights looking up at the shining spire of the Argent Eyrie, convinced that he would one day look down from its highest peak as the ruler of all Auroria. He believed that, as the talented and fortunate son of the great Aetós family, he alone was suited for this great role. He alone had access to every advantage one could think of to prepare him for the trials of ascension. He desired the power to change the world around him and the freedom of a Space Marine, so that none may stand in the way of his vision.

That vision was a world in which his proud family was dragged out of their perfect banquet halls and burned to ashes in the fires of judgement. There was perhaps not a single person in the entire Auroria system who hated the Aetós family as intensely as Aléxandros himself did. During his upbringing he often witnessed the true face of his twisted relatives. Relatives who were willing to do anything if it meant preserving their power. Perversions of inafthomable decadence were a matter of course in the Aetós household, as were crimes so terrible and sadistic that no paper should ever be cursed with recording them. His family home was nothing more than a filthy pit of snakes wherein none held a shred of empathy for anyone but themselves. A corrupted tree that had spread its fraternal roots all across the planet. And Aléxandros played his part. When he saw exotic animals tortured to death for amusement, he smiled as his gut wrenched with hatred. When his tutors taught him the vile traditions of his family, he nodded in agreement as his body supressed the urge to gag from disgust. Never did his mask slip, and never did his dear relatives see him as anything other than the ruthless patriarch he was groomed to become. The fact that he planned to have them all flogged to death once he became the highest authority on the planet remained his little secret of course. It wouldn't just be his own family either, but all of the rotten nobles, merchants and buerocrats that polluted Auroria at its core. The mantle of an Astartes Chapter Master would enable him to tear out the cancerous growths and see to it that justice was served.

When he ran off to attend the trials of the Argent Eagles, his family was more than a little shocked. Most expected him to die in the attempt, albeit some held out hope that his education and training would carry him into the ranks of the Angels of Death. One can imagine how enthusiastic the Aetós family was at the prospect of having one of their own become an Astartes. The prestige alone would open more doors to them than any key ever could. One more tool they hoped to use in their schemes.

When he faced the trials, Aléxandros was as focussed as never before. His studies and his training had prepared him well and his determination carried him far through the perilous tests that the Argent Eagles had prepared. Riddles were solved by his wits and fights overcome by his strength. More than once did he manipulate his fellow aspirants to progress more easily. If he had to trick them into uncovering hidden traps for him, he had no qualms to do so. If he had to act the coward to motivate his comrades into charging headfirst into danger to his benefit, he would. Every skill he had aquired over the course of his short life came in handy one way or another until he found himself standing before the Master of Recruits. Aléxandros was asked a rather simple question. Why he wanted to become a Space Marine. It was the first time during the trials that he feared failure. He knew there was no point in lying, yet surely the Astartes would not look kindly upon someone who sought power for the sake of murdering his own family. But to his surprise the Master of Recruits merely nodded, and welcomed him into the Brotherhood.

During Aléxandros' time as a Neophyte the young warrior worked hard to be an exemplary student in all regards. He was restrained and calm as he carefully listened to every word his instructors spoke. Every movement taught in combat training he memorized, every criticism he heeded. Where he lacked, he resolved to do better. If there was something he did not know, he endeavored to find the answer. Aléxandros obeyed every order he was given while also showing initiative whenever he deemed it neccessary. In learning the Chapter's traditions and customs he too excelled through his dedication to be the best he could possibly be, for in his mind there was simply no other way to attain that highest office of Chapter Master, which the Angels named *Pantokrátōr*. He didn't just have to appear as the perfect warrior, he had to be the perfect warrior. Yet the more he sharpened his mind the more he realized the reality of being an Astartes. Even these greatest of soldiers were still subject to the chance of war and the whims of a chaotic Galaxy. It was very possible that Aléxandros would simply die before he could ever hope to achieve his goal. To prioritize his own survival was hardly an option however, for what kind of Space Marine would shy away from danger for the sake of his own safety? In order for him to survive, he would have to use unconventional methods.

In many of the battles the Chapter fought, Aléxandros did his best to try and be deployed in positions that would put him at the lowest risk, without making it apparent that this was what he wanted. Subtle manipulations of his brothers in arms made them make mistakes he would then personally rectify. Naturally he had to make sure not to draw suspicion from his comrades or superiors, so some risks were inevitable. Sometimes he simply had to play the part of the brave volunteer who would lead his brothers into the heat of battle. Shortly after being granted his Black Carapice Aléxandros was already a promising Sergeant and steadily honed his skills to pave the way for his ambitions.

It was during a particularly bloody war on a planet known as Perseodon that the young Sergeant's outlook changed dramatically. A rebel faction on the world had risen to power and seceded from the Imperium. It was a war of subterfuge and mysteries, for the enemy was continually outmaneuvering and tricking the imperial forces at every turn. When a position was destroyed from orbit it would be revealed that the foe was actually positioned at another. Any attempts by the strategists of the Navy and Guard to predict their movements were for naught. Even the finest minds of the Astartes were baffled by the enemy's ability to elude them. High-priority targets eliminated by the Drop Assaults of the Argent Eagles were revealed to be decoys or sacrifical pawns used to lure the Space Marines away from more critical locations. Aléxandros and his squad took part in these attacks, during which he came into the posession of intel that pointed towards a surprise attack on his Chapter's base of operations on Perseodon. Yet instead of immediately sharing this information with his superiors and warning his brothers, he opted to wait until the attack was already under way to inform the rest of his Host. In this manner he sought to position himself as the heroic saviour of his Chapter and to place one more stepping stone for reaching the position of Host Captain. He knew that there would be many casualties among the mortal defenders of the Imperial Guard and the civillians of the city where the Astartes base was located, but to Aléxandros they were neccessary sacrifices.

Reality would turn out far worse than what he had planned. The enemy forces who attacked the city were not just the local militias and rebels that they had faced so far but rather a deadly strike force lead by Heretic Astartes belonging to the accursed Alpha Legion. Aléxandros and the reinforcements he brought with him came just in time to avert a catastrophe and turn the tide in the Imperium's favor, but the losses taken were horrific. Many of the Argent Eagles were dead or severely wounded while the number of killed Guardsmen and civillians numbered in the hundreds of thousands at the lowest estimates. It was here, amidst the ruins of a once beautiful city and surrounded by the corpses of the innocents he failed to protect that Aléxandros suddenly realized the horror of what he was. As he broke down weeping in the blood and rubble of his sins he finally understood that he was just like his family after all. A member of the wretched Aetós bloodline through and through, and he had never even realized it. Never before did he feel as foolish as he did then and never again would he betray his duty for the sake of his own desires. From now on he swore he would strive not to simply become the Pantokrátōr but rather someone worthy of carrying that responsibility in the first place. While he felt a great deal of guilt, he did not let his shame slow him down. Rather he channeled his emotions into cold determination to make ammends for his misdeeds. His calm mind had caused this tragedy, and it would help in preventing others from happening elsewhere.

Over the coming years Aléxandros began to accept the fact that all the problems and crimes and worries of Auroria were petty, almost meaningless specks of dust in the face of the incomprehensibly vast oceans of traitor fiends and alien horrors that he and his comrades had to combat. As time went on he began to question the reason he wanted to rule his homeworld to begin with. So what if a handfull of corrupt traders were breaking a few laws to satisfy their greed? So what if they were his own flesh and blood? The Chapter would step in if their actions ever became radical enough to endanger Auroria as a whole, and if not then the Arbites would surely become aware of them sooner or later. It simply wasn't a matter worthy of his attention when he saw worlds burn and break before the onslaught of humanity's foes. His great ambition, he realized, was nothing more than the selfish revenge fantasy of a self-righteous boy. Rising into the ranks of the Chosen Five Battle Hosts, he found himself with the brothers of the 2nd. It helped him to begin appreciating the value and importance of things like self-sacrifice, a virtue that he could never find much use for. The more the philosophies of grief and selflessnes intrigued him, the more he started developing his own theories. Memories of hatred, disgust and grief were turned into wisdom. And with each new memory made, his wisdom grew.

Eventually he was elected to the position of captain by his peers and given a real taste of the power he had once longed for. He had expected the autonomy of a Space Marine captain to feel like freedom. To his surprise it felt more like a heavy burden that now laid upon his shoulders. Aléxandros was wary of repeating the mistakes of his past despite the fact that he had faith in his own ability to lead. It was during this time that the young captain crossed paths with a boy named Artorius, though their first meeting involved Artorius trying to slit Aléxandros's throat. One thing lead to another, and eventually Artorius would stand beside him as a Space Marine himself. The friendship between Aléxandros and Artorius was perhaps the last piece still missing from the soon-to-be Chapter Master. His millitary mind or martial prowess were never in question, for he excelled at both since his days as a neophyte. But the balance of his soul had always been a changing and shifting thing of turmoil. Through the many battles and feasts Aléxandros shared with his new friend on a hundred worlds and more, a calm beset the troubled hearts of the man born to lead. And lead he would.

When Chapter Master Lysandrael was slain by the Necrons, it was time for the Grand Convocation to be held and a new ruler of the Silver Hosts to be elected. Though the decision was made by a matter of but a few votes, the warriors of the Silver City chose Aléxandros to henceforth lead the Chapter to glory. His dream had been achieved, long after the boy who had dreamed it had vanished from his soul. During what most would consider to be the most tumultuous millenium in the Imperium's history, Aléxandros ruled with the same composed demeanor that he was always known for. He acted decisively and quickly, without ever doubting himself or his duty. The wisdom of his many years and the trust he put in those below him ensured the Chapter's survival against all that stood against them. Even in the face of defeat he never once felt despair or uncertainty, only the will to learn from the errors made and to heal from the wounds inflicted. Nothing could shake the shimmering bulwark that was Aléxandros Themistocles Aetós, wisest and most beloved of all the Argent Eagles. Yet while he may be a great warrior, he is by far not the greatest fighter the Chapter has ever seen. Even after learning to control the Blinding Radiance he never managed to harness it as a weapon. In combat, Artorius and a select few of the Phaethonian Guard are his equals in many ways. Though behind closed doors Aléxandros himself has admitted that in an earnest fight, Artorius would easily triumph. This is only within the ranks of the Argent Eagles however. Many Masters of different Chapters are his superiors in battle, and the foes of humanity field creatures and weapons he may yet perish against. Thus he has always put his mind to use where his body could fail him. His wargear may be the finest in the Chapter, but it is his belief that he is a greater threat to his opponents when sitting behind a desk devising strategies and giving orders than he could ever be on the field of battle.

Even though it had only been a matter of time, the Aetós family finally crossed lines that should never be crossed. Secret dealings with Xenos and heretical rituals began to become the norm in their vile households. When it became known that one of their own was now the Master of the Argent Eagles, they must have thought that this guaranteed their safety, and so they became reckless and indifferent to even the most sacred laws of the Lex Imperialis. A naive and ridiculous notion to any who truly know the Astartes, but alas, their delusions of power had blinded them to the truth.

Before external forces such as the Inquisition could get involved, Chapter Master Aléxandros decided to handle the matter swiftly, efficiently and most importantly, discretely. Warehouses, docks, voidports, family manors and production facilities under the influence of the Aetós family were raided planetwide, leaving no survivors. Every last one of their number was hunted down and unceremoniously executed on the spot. Anyone directly or indirectly associated with them was arrested, interrogated and in most cases disposed of. Their businesses were taken over by trusted nobles or competent members of Auroria's educated working class, their wealth redistributed and any evidence of their heresy destroyed. The rituals performed to cleanse all traces of corruption from their family holds took weeks to complete. To the Pantokrátōr it was just another day of purging the enemies of the Argent Aeon, just another group of degenerates exterminated for the good of all. Seeing the charred remains of his kin perhaps he should have felt vindication or hatred. Maybe he should have felt satisfaction at his ancient promise finally being fulfilled. But the honest truth was that those he once called family were now nothing to him, and he could not care less about any bloodblonds he shared with them. Aléxandros saw only a pile of dead bodies. Men and women who had needed to die and were now dead. In the deepest reaches of his soul, the only emotion that even so much as twitched at the sight was pity. Pity at so much wealth and power having been wasted in the name of corruption and depravity. After almost 700 years of life, his hearts held no more room for such insignificant rabble.

Throughout all the crusades and hardships of his Chapter, the Renegades War and the Genestealer Uprising of Trireme, the conflicts of Armageddon, Ultramar and Cadia and the Devastation of Baal, the Lord of Silverdawn has remained steadfast. One day he too will fall against the terrors of the galaxy. But until that day comes he will guide his brothers and fight alongside them. Now more than ever is his brotherhood's unity threatened. The task of re-uniting the Imperium Nihilus under the directive of the Lord Regent Guilliman and Commander Dante of the Blood Angels presents a difficult challenge, and so Aléxandros must set about forging the new Primaris of his Chapter into true sons of the Silver City, so that those of the Firstborn may come to truly see them as their brothers.

## Personality

Aléxandros is fairly gentle by nature, for he is always calm and serene, never victim to outbursts of rage or anger. How he has managed to subdue the wrath of Sanguinius for so long is a mystery, though it no doubt requires a great deal of self-control and denial of the Red Thirst. The Chapter Master is known for being extremely decisive, leaving little room for doubts or regrets. Even in the most dire of circumstances has he remained composed and rational. The final charge of the damned upon Baal during the Devastation was the first and perhaps only time he has ever displayed unrestrained fury and abandon since his elevation to Pantokrátōr.

## Physical Appearance & Wargear

### Appearance

Like most Space Marines who trace their geneline from the Great Angel, the facial features of Aléxandros have an angelic beauty etched into them. Though he is still a man of strength and vigour, fine lines streaked across his face betray his growing age. The wisdom of seven centuries is carved into steely eyes of dark grey. A single faded scar from a distant battle runs below his left eye, serving as a constant reminder of his duty. His silky hair, which had been a pale blonde since his childhood, has aged into a shining white colour and is combed back into streaks of silver that reach down to his neck. From the gleaming strands hangs a ceremonial golden chain with two opals and a single blue diamond. His well groomed beard covers most of his lower face.

### Wargear

Aléxandros stands barely taller than the average Space Marine when outside his armour. Only when fully clad in his grand panoply of war does he tower over all others in the Chapter, for his Artificer Terminator Armour is specially designed to allow for swift and controlled aerial drops, and is therefore somewhat larger than would normally be necessary. Instead of deploying through teleportation as Terminators often do, the Pantokrátōr of the Argent Eagles prefers to take to the field in the same manner as the Chapter's Icanor Squads, by leaping into the fight from the skies above. His armour is equipped with modified shock dampeners in the lower legs and extra jet boosters in the feet to allow for extra stability when landing. Additionally, the suit is often used alongside the Stormwings of Notus. When not donning his great Terminator suit, he wears an aesthetically almost identical Mark VIII Power Armour.

Most of the Chapter Master's wargear is of a shimmering silver-white with accents and decorations of bright gold encassing several iridescent gemstones. Numerous Honours are displayed evenly across the armor's surface, accounting the bearer's many great deeds. Much of the ceramite has been shaped to resemble feathers scattered over the armor in a scale-like pattern. When not equipped with the Stormwings of Notus, a great unadorned cloak of simple white hangs from the pauldrons. On the left pauldron rests the severed head of a great, purple-feathered Icanor. The great helm is fashioned in a style that draws attention to the narrow slits for the eyes and mouth as well as the great plume of feathers running along its crest in a vertical row. The sides of the helmet are shielded by two extended wings.

Aléxandros' main weapon is the famed Astatine Spear passed down from Pantokrátōr Urikles of old. Besides this deadly artifact, Aléxandros also carries with him a powered longsword by the name of Serenity. Lastly, he always keeps a impressively decorated, though functionally unremarkable, boltpistol on his person.