Garren Crowe and the Alpha Legion

Castellan Crowe and the Alpha Legion

The great Castellan slammed through the metal grating of the propped storm grate, collapsing against cold stone and wrought steel while a torrent of snow and pellets collapsed through the opening after the Champion of the Purifiers. Garren rolled to his back, clutching his pearlescent white helmet while his cape draped over the damp moss of the underground cave. "Ugh...this...this must be another of those Chaos Marine's blasted underground networks. A good thing I found this. The Emperor, no, Malcador, will be pleased to learn of this discovery."

Garren removed scrapes and bits of gravel from his pristine, shimmering suit of gold and silver armor, lights powering on from wires behind and connecting all over his suit.The Champion strode across the cavernous floor, inspecting the walls and ceiling when, at last, his eyes rested on a glowing blade sword, stuck between the crags of a fallen stalactite. The blade had pierced, and surged through. Garren let a sigh of relief waft from the ventilators under his helmet. "Ah. There you are." The words Redemptor and Guardian flashed in gold against the dark steel of his armor as Garren extended a gauntlet to retrieve the sword.

However, as his fingers locked tight around the handle, a voice rocked the chasm, booming against the empty walls. "And to think that those pathetic dogs of insolent thirst and hunger wouldn't be so bold to charge my fortress. For once, I have erred." Garren ripped the sword from its stone so fast, the rocks tumbled away in a fine dust while the pristine coat of deep obsidian flashed in the light from the entrance above. A path connected the tunnel from above down through the internal facility of the abandoned mines, and at the end of the tunnel, sparkling like a diamond in the dark, granite rough, was the very man Crowe had been hunting.

For the longest time, ever since the Horus Heresy had ended, the galaxy had slowly found itself in a state of renewed vigor, rebuilding itself. Those who remained Loyal either remained in service to the Emperor, leading their armies to the borders of evil and malice without question. Take Guilliman, the proud Primarch of the Ultramarines, forming a tight barrier against the growing onslaught of the wiggling, fleshy leviathans called Tyranids, appearing from every available surface, pocket and crevice in the universe to threaten the safety of Terra.

Likewise, after the fated return of the Emperor's more favored son, Lion El' Jonson, Primarch of the Dark Angels, who had returned from the Warp to resume his position beside the throne, the universe's warriors were slowly finding their ways back to the very place they had begun their journeys. However, those who turned away from the throne, raised their blades to meet their father in disgust or in hatred, never returned, and became distorted, shells of their former, glorious beings. Withered husks of those who once guarded the throne with spiteful, but Loyal intent.

Among these traitors remained the nefarious Alpha Legion, the last of the Twenty Armies formed beneath the coattails of the God Emperor of Mankind. With their serpentine scales and vibrant teal plating, the Legion vanished at the closing of the Horus Heresy, taking flight to the outer rim of the galaxy, never to be seen again. After all of their deceit and veiled agendas, the last Legion of the Emperor took its leave of service and extracted itself from the battling in the close galaxy. It seemed as if they would never be found again, never seen by a living soul.

However, in light of recent battles and skirmishes connected to outbreaks of violent assaults by Slaanesh and Khorne, the Chaotic Gods of Lust and Blood, the Gray Knights, the galaxy's elite demon hunters, sought vengeance and explanations in the stars, venturing to the ancient planet of Eyecorath, a frosted tundra of harsh winds and harsher demonic kin. The only inhabitants, whether current or former, who had ever dared enter the planet remained the shorter, but stoic and iron-wrought Leagues of Votann, who had claimed the great mountains of the icy wasteland for their mines and expeditions, or the now inhabiting Space Wolves, who roamed the desolate winter on backs of feather, fur and matted hide, axes brandished and shields battered against the storms.