wingwong113
New member
Figured since I have an almost obscene amount of free time on my hands during the night shift, I\'d hop on and knock out the fluff for my army, and folks like yourselves could give out constructive criticism, questions, or comments on it so I can improve it all the more.
Brotherhood of the Red Rain - \'Siegebreakers\'
Primach : Rogal Dorn
Current Chapter Master : Reverant-Master Casio MkVellar, Venerable Dreadnaught
After the incident at Iron Cage, an attempts for the self-scorned Dorn to redeem himself and his legion through combat, Rogal agreed (begrudgingly) to splinter his forces into manageable, Second Founding Chapters. The Fists were still seen as great warriors of seigecraft; as such, they were dispatched throughout the Imperium to bolster the defenses of many fortresses, only further gaining the respect of other Chapters in the process.
Their great enemy, the Iron Warriors, had long since retreated into the Eye of Terror, with their Primach-turned-Daemon Prince, Perturabo, but splinter fleets still existed, roaming the dark corners of space to wreak what havoc they could against the war-torn Imperial worlds. One such fleet managed to catch a small force of Imperial Fists emerging from the warp, battering them into a rout almost as soon as they appeared, forcing them back into the warp, unguided, with the enemy on their heels. Taking routes through the Empyrean to avoid near-defenseless settlements, the rear-most ship lagged behind in a brave, but vain effort to hold the enemy at bay whilst the rest dropped from warp space and evade the enemy in the remains of a shattered moon. The detonation of that vessal\'s warp drive, right at the moment the remaining forces were pushing into the Materium, caused near-catastrophic engine failure in all but a handful of the ships, most being pulped by the hive-sized rocks whirling through space while others made a crash-course for the planet below. Unable to track the smaller ships through the rubble of the broken moon, the Chaos forces returned to their maligned corner of space, leaving the Loyalist marines to die on the planet\'s surface.
Vedelex V, the planet upon which they landed, was a cold, barren world; already embattled with the tribal wars of lesser humans, unsaved by the benevolent God-Emperor. The men paused in their melee to glance to the skies, seeing thousands of crimson streaks marring the gray-blue skies, enemy clutched enemy as those streaks drove into the earth amidst them, babbling chants of protection to their false gods, as the bloodied, battered survivors climbed from the wreckage to take in the view around them. The natives, already superstitious in nature, dropped to their faces to worship the men from the sky, looking so advanced, so much more powerful than they. For the most part, the Fists ignored them in the coming weeks, even though the natives provided them with food, and supplies in which to help shelter them from the coming winter, tending to their own and trying feverishly to re-establish contact with the Imperium, but to little avail.
With only a few hundred brothers, they erected a modest bastion of their own, both to shelter themselves, to honour the fallen in the fight in space above so long ago, and to teach the humans which looked to them as gods the doctrines of Imperial rule. Even as ever-busy as they were, training themselves, or the natives of the planet; building and teaching; they started to grow disheartened that they would ever make it off the world to rejoin their brothers. After much deliberation, they formed their own brotherhood, much like the old warrior lodges, where one could voice opinions, complaints, ideas, thoughts, and feelings without fear of reprisal or judgement. At first, many were against it, as that was how the original Traitor Legioins fell from grace, but even a stalwart Space Marine suffered the mental rigors of being stranded. This was the start down the road to the forming of their own Chapter.
Years later, it became known to the Chapter Master that the natives, once per cycle, held a massive festival in their rocky caves, where much cheer and merriment took place. Never having heard it discussed amongst the students they took in to their Monastery, nor the elders upon their monthly meetings, he took a contingent of marines with him to investigate. Watching silently from the mouth of the cave, he saw one such elder standing behind a roaring fire, facing a crowd of wide-eyed youths and teens, depicting a story from ages past. He described how the people of the planet came together in one frightful moment at the coming of the Men of the Stars, \'like a bloody, red rain, staining the sky,\' that seeing these giant\'s plight, it reminded them of their own humanity. He smiled, and turned from the ceremony, sending his men ahead to gather their brothers in the chapel. The Master walked into the chapel hours later, Tactical Dreadnaught armour gleaming in colours alien to the fists, contrasting greatly with their long honoured scheme; black, green, and crimson. He announced the time for mourning and scraping a living for just themselves was at an end; having been reminded of his own humanity by the humans they helped lead, he reformed them into their own Chapter, \'The Brotherhood of the Red Rain\'.
Many took it as an ill-omen, but more took it with faith, knowing that their master had a plan to bring them salvation from the cold rock they were stranded upon, and so he did. Building machines were converted into drilling and refining devices, pulling promethium from beneath the planet\'s crust to fuel the ship they had patched together from spare parts and salvaged wreckage. Sending twenty men into the stars with hopes of redemption, Master MkVeller had faith that they would return bearing news of the worlds around them. But news didn\'t come, not for years, and the brotherhood again began to lose hope. It was only the screamed jeering of the natives that brought them from their bastion, looking skyward yet again: bright, crimson streaks.
Landers came, and once more, brother embraced brother; the Imperium had come at last. With warm smiles, they boarded the transport to return to Holy Terra, telling of their tale, while others opted to stay behind; this was their home, after all, newly forged, with people still needing their guidance. In the coming years, more transports came, delivering building supplies, machines, medicine, technology, and most notably, new recruits to the cold planet. With fiery hearts, they taught the raw trainees their particular art of siegecraft, and were given ample opportunities to test thier mettle in the thousands of years to come. Masters of the art of defense, they opted for a more frontal role; training to drop in behind the front lines of an enemy siege upon a loyalist city, and crush the opposition between themselves, and the cities defenses before disappearing back to the skies to strike at the line again.
Though small, the Brotherhood still exists to this day, aiding in the campaign at the Eye of Terror; forever waiting their chance to strike back at the Arch Enemy for stealing the life of their beloved Primarch.
Brotherhood of the Red Rain - \'Siegebreakers\'
Primach : Rogal Dorn
Current Chapter Master : Reverant-Master Casio MkVellar, Venerable Dreadnaught
After the incident at Iron Cage, an attempts for the self-scorned Dorn to redeem himself and his legion through combat, Rogal agreed (begrudgingly) to splinter his forces into manageable, Second Founding Chapters. The Fists were still seen as great warriors of seigecraft; as such, they were dispatched throughout the Imperium to bolster the defenses of many fortresses, only further gaining the respect of other Chapters in the process.
Their great enemy, the Iron Warriors, had long since retreated into the Eye of Terror, with their Primach-turned-Daemon Prince, Perturabo, but splinter fleets still existed, roaming the dark corners of space to wreak what havoc they could against the war-torn Imperial worlds. One such fleet managed to catch a small force of Imperial Fists emerging from the warp, battering them into a rout almost as soon as they appeared, forcing them back into the warp, unguided, with the enemy on their heels. Taking routes through the Empyrean to avoid near-defenseless settlements, the rear-most ship lagged behind in a brave, but vain effort to hold the enemy at bay whilst the rest dropped from warp space and evade the enemy in the remains of a shattered moon. The detonation of that vessal\'s warp drive, right at the moment the remaining forces were pushing into the Materium, caused near-catastrophic engine failure in all but a handful of the ships, most being pulped by the hive-sized rocks whirling through space while others made a crash-course for the planet below. Unable to track the smaller ships through the rubble of the broken moon, the Chaos forces returned to their maligned corner of space, leaving the Loyalist marines to die on the planet\'s surface.
Vedelex V, the planet upon which they landed, was a cold, barren world; already embattled with the tribal wars of lesser humans, unsaved by the benevolent God-Emperor. The men paused in their melee to glance to the skies, seeing thousands of crimson streaks marring the gray-blue skies, enemy clutched enemy as those streaks drove into the earth amidst them, babbling chants of protection to their false gods, as the bloodied, battered survivors climbed from the wreckage to take in the view around them. The natives, already superstitious in nature, dropped to their faces to worship the men from the sky, looking so advanced, so much more powerful than they. For the most part, the Fists ignored them in the coming weeks, even though the natives provided them with food, and supplies in which to help shelter them from the coming winter, tending to their own and trying feverishly to re-establish contact with the Imperium, but to little avail.
With only a few hundred brothers, they erected a modest bastion of their own, both to shelter themselves, to honour the fallen in the fight in space above so long ago, and to teach the humans which looked to them as gods the doctrines of Imperial rule. Even as ever-busy as they were, training themselves, or the natives of the planet; building and teaching; they started to grow disheartened that they would ever make it off the world to rejoin their brothers. After much deliberation, they formed their own brotherhood, much like the old warrior lodges, where one could voice opinions, complaints, ideas, thoughts, and feelings without fear of reprisal or judgement. At first, many were against it, as that was how the original Traitor Legioins fell from grace, but even a stalwart Space Marine suffered the mental rigors of being stranded. This was the start down the road to the forming of their own Chapter.
Years later, it became known to the Chapter Master that the natives, once per cycle, held a massive festival in their rocky caves, where much cheer and merriment took place. Never having heard it discussed amongst the students they took in to their Monastery, nor the elders upon their monthly meetings, he took a contingent of marines with him to investigate. Watching silently from the mouth of the cave, he saw one such elder standing behind a roaring fire, facing a crowd of wide-eyed youths and teens, depicting a story from ages past. He described how the people of the planet came together in one frightful moment at the coming of the Men of the Stars, \'like a bloody, red rain, staining the sky,\' that seeing these giant\'s plight, it reminded them of their own humanity. He smiled, and turned from the ceremony, sending his men ahead to gather their brothers in the chapel. The Master walked into the chapel hours later, Tactical Dreadnaught armour gleaming in colours alien to the fists, contrasting greatly with their long honoured scheme; black, green, and crimson. He announced the time for mourning and scraping a living for just themselves was at an end; having been reminded of his own humanity by the humans they helped lead, he reformed them into their own Chapter, \'The Brotherhood of the Red Rain\'.
Many took it as an ill-omen, but more took it with faith, knowing that their master had a plan to bring them salvation from the cold rock they were stranded upon, and so he did. Building machines were converted into drilling and refining devices, pulling promethium from beneath the planet\'s crust to fuel the ship they had patched together from spare parts and salvaged wreckage. Sending twenty men into the stars with hopes of redemption, Master MkVeller had faith that they would return bearing news of the worlds around them. But news didn\'t come, not for years, and the brotherhood again began to lose hope. It was only the screamed jeering of the natives that brought them from their bastion, looking skyward yet again: bright, crimson streaks.
Landers came, and once more, brother embraced brother; the Imperium had come at last. With warm smiles, they boarded the transport to return to Holy Terra, telling of their tale, while others opted to stay behind; this was their home, after all, newly forged, with people still needing their guidance. In the coming years, more transports came, delivering building supplies, machines, medicine, technology, and most notably, new recruits to the cold planet. With fiery hearts, they taught the raw trainees their particular art of siegecraft, and were given ample opportunities to test thier mettle in the thousands of years to come. Masters of the art of defense, they opted for a more frontal role; training to drop in behind the front lines of an enemy siege upon a loyalist city, and crush the opposition between themselves, and the cities defenses before disappearing back to the skies to strike at the line again.
Though small, the Brotherhood still exists to this day, aiding in the campaign at the Eye of Terror; forever waiting their chance to strike back at the Arch Enemy for stealing the life of their beloved Primarch.
