Everfree Forest, Some Distance From The Unquestionable Perfection

Applejack dropped down onto her side, her body skidding along the slick, wet mud as it slid into a small hollow at the base of a toppled tree. A cry of pain slipped from her throat as her injured back leg collided painfully with the wood, but she wasn’t exactly in a position to complain; just seconds after she slipped inside, a snout composed of magically fused branches and leaves jammed itself into the opening, roaring viciously at the Earth Pony.

Applejack scurried backward, pressing herself into the small crawlspace she’d slipped into, trying to put as much distance between herself and the crazed Timberwolf’s scrabbling claws and snapping teeth. It wasn’t much distance, on account of how small said crawlspace was, but that was okay; that distance was more than enough to keep her out of the Timberwolf’s reach, and that was what mattered.

A distorted, warped howl reached Applejack’s ears, making her flinch involuntarily. Her Timberwolf pursuer gave her one last red-eyed glare, snarled menacingly, and then darted off. For a long, long second, she remained still and silent, scarcely even daring to breathe.

Finally, when she was absolutely sure it wouldn’t be coming back, she let loose a sigh of relief, flopping down in the pool of muddy water that covered the hollow’s bottom. “Sweet Harmony, that was close.” She muttered to herself, taking a few moments to assess her current condition.

Needless to say, she wasn't exactly in tip-top shape.

Her appearance alone would have given Rarity a heart attack. Her mane was a tangled mess, her coat was utterly caked in mud, and she could feel the sting of dozens of scrapes and cuts all over herself. Thank Harmony she’d gotten the bright idea to leave her hat behind at the Castle of Friendship; if she’d had it, she’d definitely have lost it by now.

And there was the matter of her injured leg. Maybe it was just the light, but it looked a little like her fur was starting to go pale around the deep cut that axe-wielding minotaur thing had given her, the way her entire coat had looked when Starlight Glimmer had briefly stripped away her Cutie Mark. But then again, maybe she was imagining the faint orange glow that was just barely visible through the oozing, half-clotted blood leaking from the injury.

At least, ah hope ah’m imagining it… Applejack repressed a shudder, shoving aside memories of moaning, twitching ponies, the faint-but-noticeable smell of burning flesh, and the unearthly glows their wounds had been emitting. She could worry all she wanted to about the same fate befalling her once her friend was safe.

As she climbed out of the bolthole she’d dived into, she glanced up at her destination. Even from this distance, the silhouette of that huge, church-like steel monolith loomed over her, easily as tall as the mountains Canterlot was affixed to, like the skeletal corpse of some unfathomably huge beast. Even days later, the sight of the thing plunging down from the heavens and crashing right smack dab in the center of the Everfree forest was still burned into her memory; she had no idea how it hadn’t split the planet in two when it finally touched down, let alone how it managed to do so while leaving most of the Everfree relatively intact. And she could understand why nobody had wanted to go poking around it. There was just something about that unnatural, eerie-looking hunk of metal that set off all her primal terror alarms, and that was before all those minotaur-sized monstrosities just-so-happened to descend from the heavens and turn Equestria into a war-torn hellscape just two days after the crash. It didn’t take a genius to guess that that place would almost certainly be chock-full of those psychotic armor-plated creatures.

And yet, Twilight Sparkle had ended up somewhere inside that massive wreck, at least according to the flickering, barely functional Cutie Mark Map back at the Castle of Friendship.

Applejack took a few moments to ponder how that happened as she set off toward it once again, mostly to keep her mind off of the stabbing pain that shot through her injured leg with every step. Maybe… maybe Twily’s just let her curiosity get tha better o’ her again. Maybe she’s hiding out in there, perfectly fine fer now, too busy geekin’ out over Celestia-knows-what ta even feel freaked out. After all, why let the end of tha world as ya know it get in the way o’ science, or somethin’...

Applejack sighed, shaking her head. Or maybe ah’m just deludin’ myself. She’s probably chained up in some kinda prison cell in there, prayin’ tah sweet harmony above that somepony’ll swoop in tah rescue her before she’s strapped tah one o’ their altars an’ gutted alive…

Unquestionable Perfection, Unspecified Corridor

“Holy. Frak.” The Space Marine declared, his whole body trembling from excitement. “How. Is she. So. CUUUTE?!”

Casimiria chuckled softly as Felix’s voice reached an almost ear-piercingly high pitch. No normal space marine would have ever let himself squeal in such an undignified manner over anything, let alone an unfamiliar xeno, but then again, nobody in the Scions could truly be considered a normal Space Marine. And Felix was less normal than most.

“Umm… what’s he saying?” Casimiria looked down at Twilight, huddling next to Casimiria’s boots. He’d honestly forgotten that the four-foot tall xeno couldn’t speak Low Gothic yet, however briefly.

“Right now? He’s gushing about how adorable you look.”

Twilight looked up at him, an expression somewhere between surprise and bemusement forming on her face. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“C-can I pet her?” Felix suddenly asked, dropping to one knee and extending one of his armored hands.

“Now he’s asking if he can pet you.”

“...I don’t see why not…” Twilight started to say, taking a few slow, tentative steps forward as the beginnings of a squeal of joy began to build up in Felix’s throat…

An armored, jet-black hand shot out from behind Felix and landed on his pauldron-covered shoulder, producing an audible CLANG. A helmet fashioned into the likeness of a pale, bone-white skull with burning red eyes emerged from the darkness behind Felix, prompting Twilight to leap backward with a yelp of terror. She landed squarely in Casimiria’s outstretched arms, quickly curling up and wrapping her tail tight around her front hooves, ears flat against her eyes and wide eyes locked on the black-armored space marine who’d just emerged from the shadows behind Felix.

“Felix…” Chief Chaplain Lucius growled, and Casimiria let loose a sigh. Right when Twilight was starting to open up a bit…

“Aww, c’mon!” Felix whined, spinning around and fixing Lucius with a pleading look. “Can you please just gimme a minute!”

“Maybe after you’re done with the job you’re SUPPOSED to be doing.” Lucius snapped. “Namely, helping Incomitus get a couple Stormravens operational so we can get some mining equipment out without attracting the attention of those motherfucking heretics and get the fuck off this stupid rock!”

“And you!” Lucius added, looking up at Casimiria and prompting Twilight to flinch. “While I may tolerate that xeno freak’s presence, I won’t tolerate it distracting my battle-brothers and fucking up the work they’re doing! Understood?”

“...yes. I understand.” Casimiria grumbled. “Now can you please leave? You’re scaring her.”

“Newsflash; I don’t give a fuck!” Lucius snapped, grabbing the still-begging Felix by the shoulder and dragging him off toward the hangar.

A long, drawn-out silence descended over Casimiria and Twilight.

“You okay?” Casimiria offered at length. Twilight just shook her head, pulling herself up onto one of the Chief Apothecary’s pauldrons and nestling herself in the gap between the back of his neck and the backpack he wore, her tail curling around the base of one of Casimiria’s Mechadendrites as the Chief Apothecary set off toward their original destination; the Scion’s Librarium.

For quite some time, Casimiria and the alien riding upon his shoulders were both silent, the former making his way through the labyrinth of clipped corners, square-hewn buttresses and vast archways that made up the Unquestionable Perfection’s interior with practiced ease. Quite a feat, considering how difficult the vessel could be to navigate at times.

The Unquestionable Perfection was 10 millennia old, and those millennia had not been kind to it. It had been blown apart and put back together more times than anyone on the vessel could be bothered to count, so much of its decaying, rusting hull replaced over the years that it was up for debate whether it was still the same ship or not. Needless to say, after countless jury-rigs, partial refits, and ‘temporary’ patch ups that turned out to be anything but temporary, the vessel’s interior had become far, far less intuitive to navigate than it used to be… and ease of navigation of the ship’s interior hadn’t even been high on the designer’s priority list to begin with. Even the crewmen who grew up on the thing sometimes got lost in its twisting corridors, and even with his didactic memory Casimiria doubted he could keep every single nook and cranny of the ship in his head.

He was stirred from his musings on the current condition of the Perfection by Twilight’s voice. “That… was that…?”

“No, that battle-brother has never been part of the Black Legion, despite what the color of his power armor might’ve led you to believe.” Casimira responded, guessing what Twilight was asking about. “His name is Lucius, and he’s the Head Chaplain. He rarely lowers his voice, and can come off as insensitive at a glance, but don’t be fooled; he can be surprisingly sensitive and thoughtful when he has to. And when the bolts start flying and one of those bolts is about to blow your head off, he won’t hesitate to take it for you.”

“...bolts?”

“They’re what my pistol fires; .75 caliber self-propelled explosive rounds with armor-piercing properties.” Casimiria explained, pulling out the pistol in question, releasing the magazine and extracting a single bolt from it. “It uses a cartridge loaded with a small quantity of explosive to launch the projectile out of the weapon. After this, the rocket on its end kicks in, accelerating the round and increasing the chances that it will impact upon and bury itself within the intended target. The explosive within the round then detonates, blasting the target apart from within.”

Twilight shuddered slightly. “That’s what your pistol shoots?”

“Yes.” Casimiria answered. “Among the Scions, such weapons are fairly rare; bolts, while relatively cheap when compared to some other forms of ammunition we utilize, still cost precious adamantium and diamite to produce, and thus are reserved only for those skilled enough to make the absolute most of the investment. But among other, less resource-conscious Astartes Chapters, bolt pistols like mine are the standard issue sidearm.”

“...why not use a less brutal weapon?”

Casimiria hesitated for a moment, struggling a little to formulate a response that the xeno would understand. “Because that brutality also makes it more effective against our foes than less… excessive weapons.” He finally said. “And against the sort of foes the Astartes typically face, that extra bit of effectiveness can mean the difference between survival and death… or worse.”

“...why do you have to fight at all? Can’t you just live and let live?”

Casimiria sighed. “Sometimes, I wish we could.” He paused again, thinking. “Have you ever encountered foes you couldn’t reason with? Beings who seemed to take personal offense at your happiness or existence, and couldn’t be convinced to leave you alone no matter how hard you try?”

Twilight looked down, shuddering again. “...yes. They’re rare… but they exist.”

“You may not realize it, but your species was privileged to develop in an environment where such foes are rare. That was a privilege we did not have; the Imperium we serve has been beset on all sides by ruthless, uncompromising foes since the day it was founded. Every alien race we’ve encountered, with the possible exception of your own, has been apathetic to our struggles at absolute best, or sought to wipe us off the face of the galaxy for no other reason than the fact that we refuse to lay down and die at absolute worst. Yes, the weapons we wield are vicious and brutal in nature, as are we. But to survive in the face of all that, we cannot afford to be anything less.

”…that’s why some of your kind keep glaring at me, isn’t it?”

Casimiria nodded, thinking darkly of the many Battle-Brothers and Chapter serfs they’d passed and the withering glares some of them had thrown Twilight’s way as they passed. “…yes. After all we’ve been through, we tend to be… suspicious of nonhumans.” To put it mildly... He added silently. “While dealings with xenos are not unfamiliar to us, dealings with xenos that don’t want to wipe us off the face of the galaxy are. And dealings with xenos who desire our company and companionship as an end unto itself rather than a means to an end are outright unheard of. As you can probably imagine, we tend to be… slow to trust unfamiliar xenos.”

“…doesn’t that mean that at least some aliens are going to be hostile to you because you’re so militaristic and violent towards other aliens? That some alien races want to wipe you out specifically because your first instinct when faced with an alien race that’s threatening you is to kill it?”

“I’m sure it does. But like I said, many other alien races want to wipe us out for no other reason besides the fact that we’re different from them. And we’ve learned the hard way that taking the time to discern the difference between those who fight back in self-defense and those who simply desire our extinction can be a fatal mistake if it turns out that the latter is the case—and it almost always is.”

“So you don’t even try?”

Casimiria shook his head. “We can’t, if we want to survive.”

Unquestionable Perfection,Librarium

Magnus’s eyes snapped open as the chaotic, indistinct vision came to an end. He sucked in a breath, the smell of incense flooding all three of his lungs as serpentine motes of smoke curled around him, as suffocating as they were comforting. He brushed the scented wisps away with a dismissive wave of his hand, his head tilting down toward the table in front of him as he turned his attention to the vision’s source.

Arranged on the table before him, organized in a Haloed Rosette spread, was an Emperor’s Tarot reading. It was a common tool the Scion’s Chief Librarian used in divining the future; the cards were intertwined with the warp, and thus the readings they gave had actual predictive power, and were often accompanied by prophetic visions.

The one he just experienced, much like the circumstances the Scions now found themselves in, was chaotic, vague, and made even less sense than it usually did… which was saying a fair bit, considering how difficult the predictions of the Tarot could be to interpret. Magnus took a few moments to study the spread, hoping that it would help him make sense of the vision he just saw.

The first card was the Three of Discordia, the Heretic. Its face bore the image of a Heretic Astartes of the Black Legion, resting a bloodstained sword on its shoulder. This spot in the spread defined the current situation. Evidently, the Scions would be coming into conflict with the Black Legion presence on this planet.

The second card, sideways and on top of the first, was a familiar sight, though not in a reassuring way; it was the eleventh Major Arcanum, the Titan, and the card was inverted. The card’s image was of a lone Space Marine in Scions Heraldry, standing before a Chaos Titan, sword raised in defiance. He’d seen this exact card and image many times before; The Titan was usually symbolic of inner and outer strength, and this particular variant indicated that the enemies they’d face would have an overwhelming excess of the latter and that the Scions would need sizable amounts of the former to prevail. It was a common card he’d seen many times over the years; the Scions were no stranger to impossible odds.

The third card, below the first, was the Ace of Discordia; the Harlequin. Its image was that of an Eldar Harlequin’s mask, bearing a symbol of a six-pointed starburst surrounded by five smaller stars, its shape oddly reminiscent of a horse. This position in the spread referenced the foundation of the current situation, its root cause. Evidently, this card was referring to the ponylike natives of the planet they’d been stranded on, but the context of the reference was unclear. This card in particular had a reputation for being hard to interpret, and for subtly altering the meanings of other cards that shared a spread with it.

The fourth card, to the left of the first, also represented the past, but it referred to more recent events, the catalyst of the current circumstances rather than their distant beginnings. The card that occupied this position was the Eighth of Discordia, the Lord of Blood; its image was of a man, drenched in blood, standing upon a heap of bodies and skulls. Among that pile was the mask featured in the third card, now broken, and most of the skulls were equine ones, like those featured in the Scions’ heraldry. In comparison to the third card, this one’s meaning was refreshingly clear; evidently, the man was symbolic of the black legion.

Next was the fifth card, to the right of the first. This one sent a chill up Magnus’ spine; this position in the spread referenced events that would come soon, and its card was the thirteenth Major Arcanum; the Reaper. Its image, naturally, was of a cloaked figure swinging a scythe, cutting down a second figure in black robes, a Crozius Arcanum in the latter’s hand. This card wasn’t necessarily a bad sign; it usually indicated change, and not every change was accompanied by deaths. But the image of this card was like the image of the second, as foreboding in its meaning as it was blunt. The change the card was referring to was the sort of change brought about by the cessation of an Astartes’ heartbeats, and the image had made it clear that the death would be a violent one.

Above the first card was the sixth, completing a cross. This position in the spread referred to the near future and coming events. This card was also one of the Major Arcana, the twelfth, to be precise; the Martyr. Its image was of a humanoid, bleeding from numerous cuts yet still standing, its face covered by the damaged mask featured in the fourth card. Like the first, this card was clear in what it was referring to but lacking in context. The mask obviously referenced one of the xeno natives, and the card as a whole usually represented sacrifice, acceptance, and duty; evidently, the xeno the card was referring to would have to sacrifice something, but the image offered no hints as to what it would have to sacrifice, or why.

Above this cross were the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth cards, arranged in a row. The seventh was the first in line, and referenced thoughts or inner feelings that contributed to the events referenced in the cross. This card was the twentieth Major Arcanum, the Astronomicon, and it was inverted. Its image was of the same figure shown in the sixth card, kneeling, a shredded and burnt book to its left and the broken pieces of its mask to its right. This one was, again, hard to interpret; the inverted Judge usually meant fear of death or some kind of failure. Perhaps the xeno that the spread seemed so focused on felt guilt about something?

Following the seventh card was the eighth, which represented external influences beyond control. This card was the thirteenth of Adeptio, the Regent. Its image was of a cloaked figure holding a staff; one of its ears was poking out from underneath the hood, and that ear, oddly enough, was pointed. Another hard-to-nail-down card; it had many meanings, but the most common were of ceaseless service in the shadow of someone greater, great sacrifice, and noble goals, though not necessarily through noble means.

Next in line was the ninth card, another one from the Discordia suit. This position indicated hopes and fears associated with the current situation, and its card was the ninth in the suit, the Great Deceiver. Its image was of a man, nearly naked save for a loincloth and headdress of colored feathers. Evidently, the coming conflicts would be tainted by trickery, scheming, and deception; whether such discord would be amongst the Scions or their foes remained to be seen.

And finally, there was the tenth card. This card hinted at the final conclusion to the current ordeal, and was the most bewildering of all. The card was yet another Major Arcanum, the third to be precise; Holy Terra. Its image was of a darkening orb, lit from one side by its sun and the other by a million lights. But there was something… off about it. The smaller lights were in an unfamiliar arrangement, and the landmasses didn’t match up right. The card’s meaning itself was equally befuddling, a non-sequitur relative to the rest of the spread. Holy Terra was normally associated with fertility, home, and motherhood; Magnus had not the faintest clue how any of those things related to how this particular ordeal would end for the Scions.

A servo-skull drifted toward him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You have [TWO] visitors.” It blurted out in flat, stilted low gothic. Magnus nodded, sweeping up the cards and returning them to the carrying case of his Tarot deck, committing the spread to memory. With that, he stood up, hooking the case to his belt as he set off toward the Librarium’s entrance.

The Librarium, as its name implied, was a library of truly staggering size, so much so that it took up a good third of one of the Perfection’s uncountable decks. While it only contained the tiniest fraction of a fraction of all the most notable works humankind had penned during its 42 millennia of existence, it was still decently comprehensive, considering what little resources the Scions had on hand and the truly ridiculous number of times all the library’s contents had been melted into slag, disintegrated, vented into space, or just plain transformed into nonsensical sculptures of warp-touched matter. Some of the more notable elements of said contents included four entire shelves dedicated to the Codex Astartes—one shelf for each volume, with each volume split into approximately 400 shorter sub-volumes, the smallest of which still managed to be the longest book in the library (excluding all the other sub-volumes of the Codex of course) by an undeniably ludicrous margin, a complete collection of every other major work ever penned by the 9 loyalist Primarchs, and even complete copies of the Book of (Primarch) Magnus, the Book of Lorgar, and the Grimoire Nostramo (all three of which were kept under strict lock and key, just like every other work in the Librarium that delved too deeply into the nature and specifics of Chaos).

Needless to say, the sheer volume of its contents necessitated a truly labyrinthine shelving system. It could be a challenge for an unaugmented human to navigate, but Magnus had no trouble making his way through the towering book-laden walls. He wished that he could say the same for the rest of the Unquestionable Perfection; fortunately, the Librarium was kept in marginally better shape than the rest of the vessel, and thus easier for him to navigate. In a matter of minutes, he was in front of one of the Librarium’s many entrances. The door said entrance consisted of opened a moment later… and his second heart began to beat.

Casimiria was standing right outside the door, posture relaxed, in what would have been a perfectly ordinary sight if not for the garishly colored, quadruped xeno perched on his shoulders, gazing through the doorway into the library beyond with an oddly human-looking expression of surprise and wonder on its face.

And on the xeno’s flank, there was a symbol. A symbol that Magnus had seen before. A symbol of a six-pointed starburst, surrounded by five smaller stars.

“Must everyone stare at Twilight Sparkle like she is an ork that has decided to put on some power armor and declare its eternal fealty to mankind as the Adeptus Astartes’ first xeno battle brother?” Casimiria asked, the rhetorical question pulling Magnus out of his thoughts.

“A-apologies. I just got a little lost in my head, that’s all.” Magnus said, trying to split his attention between the xeno's words and all the puzzle pieces that had suddenly started to click together in his mind.

“It’s okay.” The xeno responded, its voice uncannily similar to that of a teenage human girl in tone as it dismounted from the Chief Apothecary’s shoulders. “It happens to me, too.” As the xeno hopped down to the floor, her mane shifted slightly, briefly exposing two bumps, one protruding from each shoulder, both covered in sparse, slightly discolored fur. The way they twitched rhythmically as she fell betrayed the purpose they once served; at one point, they’d been wings. Magnus didn’t know how they’d ended up as stumps, but he could guess.

“Really?” Magnus asked, doing his level best not to pay attention to the ghostly silhouettes of a burnt book and shattered mask to the xeno’s left and right, respectively. The conversation he was maintaining with the quadruped creature rapidly faded into the background, a small portion of his mind processing the xeno’s words just enough to give appropriate responses while the rest focused on his revelation.

The mark couldn’t be a coincidence. A conflict was coming, and the Emperor’s Tarot had made it very, very clear that this crippled xeno would be a key participant in it.

Author's Note

Turns out there's an in-depth guide to the cards of the Emperor's Tarot and their various meanings in the form of a Dark Heresy RPG supplement, which I drew heavily upon when writing the last third of the chapter. You can read it here. Magnus is using the Haloed Rosette here; the 'rosette' (the cross) is referring to the first big fight between the Scions and the Black Legion, while the 'halo' (the row above it) is referring to the entire course of the conflict.

Here's stats for the Scion's tactical squads. They differ quite a bit from regular space marines. Also note that they have las weaponry; the Scions frequently suffer from supply chain issues, and thus Bolt Weapons are reserved for those skilled enough to make every single bullet count.

Scions Tactical Squad (⌀32mm)

Tactical Squads have formed the backbone of Space Marine Chapters for ten thousand years, and the Scions are no exception. What they lack in numbers and high-end equipment, they more than make up for in ruthless flexibility and pure, unquenchable willpower.
| M: 6” | T: 4 | Sv: 3+ | W: 2 | Ld: 6+ | OC: 2 |

Abilities

Core: Deep Strike
Faction: Friendship Range
Detachment: Friendship Is Strategic
Don’t Tell Me The Odds: Each time a model in this unit is targeted by an attack, re-roll a Wound roll of 6. While this unit is within range of an objective marker you control, you can re-roll any successful Wound roll an enemy makes, regardless of the result.
Tactical Flexibility: This unit gains an additional ability depending on which Tactical Paradigm is active;

• If Fire At Will is active, all ranged weapons in this Unit gain the [Assault] ability.
• If Hold the Line is active, this Unit gains the [Feel No Pain 6+] ability.
• If Seize the Day is active, this Unit gains the [Scouts 6”] ability.

Unit Composition

• 6 Tactical Marines

Every model is equipped with: Astartes laspistol; astartes lasblaster; close combat weapon.
6 models: 105 points

Ranged Weapon

Astartes laspistol [Pistol] | Range: 12” | A: 1 | BS: 2+ | S: 3 | AP: -1 | D: 1
Astartes lasblaster | Range: 24” | A: 1 | BS: 2+ | S: 3 | AP: -1 | D: 1
Hand flamer [Pistol, Ignores Cover, Torrent] | Range: 12” | A: D6 | BS: N/A | S: 3 | AP: 0 | D: 1
Flamer [Ignores Cover, Torrent] | Range: 12” | A: D6 | BS: N/A | S: 4 | AP: 0 | D: 1
Rotary lascannon [Heavy, Sustained Hits 1] | Range: 36” | A: 5 | BS: 4+ | S: 5 | AP: -1 | D: 1
Precision lascannon [Heavy, Precision, Devastating Wounds] | Range: 48” | A: 1 | BS: 4+ | S: 12 | AP: -3 | D: D3+4
Inferno Pistol [Melta 2, Pistol] | Range: 6” | A: 1 | BS: 3+ | S: 8 | AP: -4 | D: D3
Meltagun [Melta 2] | Range: 12” | A: 1 | BS: 3+ | S: 9 | AP: -4 | D: D6
Multi-melta [Heavy, Melta 2] | Range: 18” | A: 2 | BS: 4+ | S: 9 | AP: -4 | D: D6
Plasma cannon - standard [Blast, Heavy] | Range: 36” | A: D3 | BS: 4+ | S: 7 | AP: -2 | D: 1
Plasma cannon - supercharged [Blast, Heavy, Hazardous] | Range: 36” | A: D3 | BS: 4+ | S: 8 | AP: -3 | D: 2
Plasma gun - standard [Rapid fire 1] | Range: 24” | A: 1 | BS: 3+ | S: 7 | AP: -2 | D: 1
Plasma gun - supercharged [Rapid fire 1, Hazardous] | Range: 24” | A: 1 | BS: 3+ | S: 8 | AP: -3 | D: 2
Plasma pistol - standard [Pistol] | Range: 12” | A: 1 | BS: 3+ | S: 7 | AP: -2 | D: 1
Plasma pistol - supercharged [Pistol, Hazardous] | Range: 12” | A: 1 | BS: 3+ | S: 8 | AP: -3 | D: 2

Melee Weapon

Astartes chainsword | Range: Melee | A: 4 | WS: 3+ | S: 4 | AP: -1 | D: 1
Close combat weapon | Range: Melee | A: 2 | WS: 3+ | S: 4 | AP: 0 | D: 1
Power fist | Range: Melee | A: 2 | WS: 3+ | S: 8 | AP: -2 | D: 2
Power weapon | Range: Melee | A: 3 | WS: 3+ | S: 5 | AP: -2 | D: 1
Thunder hammer [Devastating Wounds] | Range: Melee | A: 2 | WS: 4+ | S: 8 | AP: -2 | D: 2

Wargear Options

• 1 model can have their astartes lasblaster replaced with one of the following weapons:

  • 1 flamer
  • 1 rotary lascannon
  • 1 precision lascannon
  • 1 meltagun
  • 1 multi-melta
  • 1 plasma cannon
  • 1 plasma gun

• All models in this unit can each have their astartes lasblaster replaced with 1 astartes chainsword.

• 2 model can have their astartes laspistol and astartes lasblaster replaced with two different weapons from the following list. This model can only be equipped with two ranged weapons if one of them is a Pistol (and it can only have one Pistol):

  • 1 astartes laspistol
  • 1 astartes lasblaster
  • 1 hand flamer
  • 1 flamer
  • 1 inferno pistol
  • 1 meltagun
  • 1 plasma pistol
  • 1 plasma gun
  • 1 astartes chainsword
  • 1 power fist
  • 1 power weapon
  • 1 thunder hammer

Keywords

Infantry, Battleline, Imperium, Grenades, Scions Tactical Squad

Faction Keywords

Scions of the Konic, Adeptus Astartes