With the members of the Third legion and their allies spread through out swathes of books it can at times be quite a task to hunt down the descriptions of them, be it for art, conversions/kitbashes, lore discussions or any number of things. As such my hope with this thread is to make things a bit easier for fellow fans of the legion looking for such details.
This thread shall cover the the legion prior to the recovery of Fulgrim and the struggling members of the 200
The Antaritic Clearance- 'We are the Emperor's Children, Abdemon. We can't be intimidated.' Fulgrim looked up at the mosaics decorating the internal facings. His expression softened and Abdemon followed his gaze. 'The Antarctic Clearance,' he said. Mostly, he remembered the white. Everything had been white, even his armour. And cold. He remembered the sound of the wind, and the whine of bolter rounds streaking into the emptiness.
Crusade fabius- ‘Personal log. Fabius, III Legion, Apothecarion Cadre. I cleansed the blade of my gladius on the scrap of cloak still hanging from my shoulder guards. Another battle, another compliance. A society lies smashed beneath the booted heel of the Crusade. For Terra, for the Emperor and the promulgation of the Imperial Truth. The bloodshed, the killing, faded slowly. Stalking through dust-choked ruins, ears ringing with the percussive bellow of bolters… Some of my kinsmen wanted nothing more than to relive this day over and over. I longed for something more. I was standing on a ridge where a city once was, the shattered remains of a great statue of its potentate under my booted feet and serving as little more than a vantage point now. From it, I saw tanks and the numerous geno-cohorts of the Imperial Army. I saw discipline masters shouting orders, but their words were swallowed up by the death throes of a city breaking apart. ‘My demeanour would improve if our numbers could be swelled. Ever since Proxima–’ ‘You need more sun, brother,’ he said, smiling in that way of his that suggested he was politely mocking you. ‘Sallow-faced, gaunt…. Doesn’t suit you, Fabius.’
The Blight- ‘Addendum to cursory visual examination: ossified growths infect ribplate, suggesting entire skeletal structure is at risk from bone deformation. Potential ossmodula corruption.’ The mutations are small but visible without the need of microscopic examination. I am reminded of hooks or tiny claws jutting from the ribs. ‘Degenerative. Some strain of the viral contagion has found its way into III Legion gene-stocks. There is no telling how pervasive it is.’ ‘Several lesions and tumors are present throughout all major organs. Primary heart, secondary heart, multi-lung, oolitic kidney are all affected to varying degrees. Extracting samples for biopsy from each…’ A curette abrades a small matter sample from each organ, harvesting enough for later analysis, and, triggered by the continuing audio, I descend back into memory.
Lycaeon- Lycaeon, jovial as he rapped my arm with a gauntleted fist. He saved my life today. Again. Few wielded a sword as well as my vassal brother. I sheathed my gladius, as Lycaeon raised his, trying to catch a ray of sun against its gilded blade. He turned to face me, slipping sword back into scabbard, and I met his gaze. Lycaeon was a seventh generation Loculus, descended from the old houses of Terra before they were forced into supplication. Like me, his eyes were violet and his hair was a golden yellow like the sun he had strived so hard to capture upon the plasteel of his sword. As warriors of the III Legion, known by some as His heralds, we wore power armour emblazoned with the thunderbolt and rayed sun. ‘It entirely suits me, as I know you agree.
Months later-Though, perhaps you should be the Apothecary,’ I muttered, returning to my research. ‘Brother…’ he said. My eyes remained on my work. ‘Fabius!’ I looked up then, and saw the hurt in his eyes. He had one hand on the pommel of his gladius, whilst he held his helmet in the crook of the opposite arm. My old comrade frowned. It would be the last time I ever felt regret. Standing next to him, I saw how battered his armour was. I already knew how wearing the ongoing campaign had been for our Legion. Fewer and fewer warriors of the III were taking to the field in each subsequent engagement. As a result, the impact of every casualty sustained was magnified.
At judgement- Lycaeon sat before me. He was stripped of his armour, his glare murderous. I was trying to ignore the bond I was about to break, my hand upon the lexicon where his name was already written.
Heresy era- A shuffling form responds, slow, yet still animate and dutiful. A purple greave is proffered that matches the colour of the automaton’s eyes. My retainer is another secret from the Legion. His armour is older by comparison, the thunder bolt iconography worn and faded. A blade slit around the heart still lingers in the battleplate, a wound that cannot heal. The stitching around his neck and face is the mirror of my own. So too is his physiognomy. His salutes, right fist striking left pectoral. It is awkward, but still dutiful.
Legion Master Thrallas- Legion master of the Emperors Children
Gaius- Executed for bearing the blight.
Etiad- Executed for bearing the blight.
Vortexese- Executed for bearing the blight.
Crusade era chirurgeon- Cutters, saws, drills, I had an extensive array of tools at my disposal but it was a device of my own design that caught my eye. An armature, it had four mechanical, multi-jointed limbs that extended from its power battery. I wore it like a carapace shell upon my back, the arms extended over my shoulders and slaved to auto-mnemonic responses much like my armour. It was heavy, but tolerable against my transhuman frame. The burden was worth the effort, for my efficacy as a surgeon increased exponentially with its usage.
Lord Commander Abdemon, The Hero of Proxima-
Lieutenant Commander Abdemon- Abdemon, armoured in Tyrian-lacquered battle plate, walked to meet Hamaya. The sword in his hand was called Illumination and had been a gift from the Terran armourers of the Ionic Plateau. As the Katara champion faltered, Abdemon lunged and drove the tip of his sabre through Hamaya's throat. The body, weapons and armour of Hamaya were set in a stasis coffer, and a token taken from each of the Kataran warriors slain by the Emperor's Children. It is said that Abdemon and members of his cohort trained and fought with the weapons of the Katara, and bore their relics throughout the rest of the Great Crusade.
Palatine Phoenix- He turned to face the seventh of those he'd summoned. Clad in Tyrian lacquered battle-plate, Lord Commander Abdemon was a walking example of all that the warriors of the Legion should aspire to be. His hand rested on the pommel-stone of the artificer-wrought power sword sheathed at his waisL The delicate looking sabre had been a gift from the armourers of the Ionic Plateau on Terra. Abdemon was reportedly a swordsman of some skill, though Fulgrim had, as yet, not witnessed it for himself. At the moment, it wasn't his ability with a blade that Fulgrim required of him. The lord commander was one of his senior officers, and a respected voice in his councils. Abdemon was respectful, without succumbing to sycophancy. Of the ten commanders of the first ten Millennials of the Legion, he was perhaps the most thoughtful. It was that inclination to consideration that Fulgrim needed now. Abdemon was Terran. He had been among those who made that first, fateful journey to Chemos with the Emperor, and knell at Fulgrim's feet. He had fought at the forefront of every battle the Third Legion had participated in, including Proxima. He had earned rank and respect in equal measure, and Fulgrim had swiftly deduced that winning him over was the key to winning the Legion.
White hair, bound in short, thick braids, was pulled back from his dark face in a tight bundle, giving him a hawk-like aspect. Fulgrim fancied there was something of him in Abdemon's aspect, though the officer would never be handsome. He doubted Abdemon cared. Fulgrim heard the smile in the words, though Abdemon's face was as still as the onyx it seemed to have been carved from. Abdemon led the way, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other holding his helmet. His dark face was set and serious. While the others wore armour as ornate as it was sturdy, and moved with the lethal grace of stalking predators, Fabius' war gear was unadorned and plain, and he stumped along with resigned determination. Abdemon and the warriors of the Third were the first to disembark. The Space Marines, led by Abdemon, tromped down the ramp, bolters held across their chests, moving in perfect synchronisation. His sword swept out, removing a hand at the wrist. The wounded man sagged back, screaming. The others scrambled back, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the nightmare in amethyst and gold before them.
This thread shall cover the the legion prior to the recovery of Fulgrim and the struggling members of the 200
The Antaritic Clearance- 'We are the Emperor's Children, Abdemon. We can't be intimidated.' Fulgrim looked up at the mosaics decorating the internal facings. His expression softened and Abdemon followed his gaze. 'The Antarctic Clearance,' he said. Mostly, he remembered the white. Everything had been white, even his armour. And cold. He remembered the sound of the wind, and the whine of bolter rounds streaking into the emptiness.
Crusade fabius- ‘Personal log. Fabius, III Legion, Apothecarion Cadre. I cleansed the blade of my gladius on the scrap of cloak still hanging from my shoulder guards. Another battle, another compliance. A society lies smashed beneath the booted heel of the Crusade. For Terra, for the Emperor and the promulgation of the Imperial Truth. The bloodshed, the killing, faded slowly. Stalking through dust-choked ruins, ears ringing with the percussive bellow of bolters… Some of my kinsmen wanted nothing more than to relive this day over and over. I longed for something more. I was standing on a ridge where a city once was, the shattered remains of a great statue of its potentate under my booted feet and serving as little more than a vantage point now. From it, I saw tanks and the numerous geno-cohorts of the Imperial Army. I saw discipline masters shouting orders, but their words were swallowed up by the death throes of a city breaking apart. ‘My demeanour would improve if our numbers could be swelled. Ever since Proxima–’ ‘You need more sun, brother,’ he said, smiling in that way of his that suggested he was politely mocking you. ‘Sallow-faced, gaunt…. Doesn’t suit you, Fabius.’
The Blight- ‘Addendum to cursory visual examination: ossified growths infect ribplate, suggesting entire skeletal structure is at risk from bone deformation. Potential ossmodula corruption.’ The mutations are small but visible without the need of microscopic examination. I am reminded of hooks or tiny claws jutting from the ribs. ‘Degenerative. Some strain of the viral contagion has found its way into III Legion gene-stocks. There is no telling how pervasive it is.’ ‘Several lesions and tumors are present throughout all major organs. Primary heart, secondary heart, multi-lung, oolitic kidney are all affected to varying degrees. Extracting samples for biopsy from each…’ A curette abrades a small matter sample from each organ, harvesting enough for later analysis, and, triggered by the continuing audio, I descend back into memory.
Lycaeon- Lycaeon, jovial as he rapped my arm with a gauntleted fist. He saved my life today. Again. Few wielded a sword as well as my vassal brother. I sheathed my gladius, as Lycaeon raised his, trying to catch a ray of sun against its gilded blade. He turned to face me, slipping sword back into scabbard, and I met his gaze. Lycaeon was a seventh generation Loculus, descended from the old houses of Terra before they were forced into supplication. Like me, his eyes were violet and his hair was a golden yellow like the sun he had strived so hard to capture upon the plasteel of his sword. As warriors of the III Legion, known by some as His heralds, we wore power armour emblazoned with the thunderbolt and rayed sun. ‘It entirely suits me, as I know you agree.
Months later-Though, perhaps you should be the Apothecary,’ I muttered, returning to my research. ‘Brother…’ he said. My eyes remained on my work. ‘Fabius!’ I looked up then, and saw the hurt in his eyes. He had one hand on the pommel of his gladius, whilst he held his helmet in the crook of the opposite arm. My old comrade frowned. It would be the last time I ever felt regret. Standing next to him, I saw how battered his armour was. I already knew how wearing the ongoing campaign had been for our Legion. Fewer and fewer warriors of the III were taking to the field in each subsequent engagement. As a result, the impact of every casualty sustained was magnified.
At judgement- Lycaeon sat before me. He was stripped of his armour, his glare murderous. I was trying to ignore the bond I was about to break, my hand upon the lexicon where his name was already written.
Heresy era- A shuffling form responds, slow, yet still animate and dutiful. A purple greave is proffered that matches the colour of the automaton’s eyes. My retainer is another secret from the Legion. His armour is older by comparison, the thunder bolt iconography worn and faded. A blade slit around the heart still lingers in the battleplate, a wound that cannot heal. The stitching around his neck and face is the mirror of my own. So too is his physiognomy. His salutes, right fist striking left pectoral. It is awkward, but still dutiful.
Legion Master Thrallas- Legion master of the Emperors Children
Gaius- Executed for bearing the blight.
Etiad- Executed for bearing the blight.
Vortexese- Executed for bearing the blight.
Crusade era chirurgeon- Cutters, saws, drills, I had an extensive array of tools at my disposal but it was a device of my own design that caught my eye. An armature, it had four mechanical, multi-jointed limbs that extended from its power battery. I wore it like a carapace shell upon my back, the arms extended over my shoulders and slaved to auto-mnemonic responses much like my armour. It was heavy, but tolerable against my transhuman frame. The burden was worth the effort, for my efficacy as a surgeon increased exponentially with its usage.
Lord Commander Abdemon, The Hero of Proxima-
Lieutenant Commander Abdemon- Abdemon, armoured in Tyrian-lacquered battle plate, walked to meet Hamaya. The sword in his hand was called Illumination and had been a gift from the Terran armourers of the Ionic Plateau. As the Katara champion faltered, Abdemon lunged and drove the tip of his sabre through Hamaya's throat. The body, weapons and armour of Hamaya were set in a stasis coffer, and a token taken from each of the Kataran warriors slain by the Emperor's Children. It is said that Abdemon and members of his cohort trained and fought with the weapons of the Katara, and bore their relics throughout the rest of the Great Crusade.
Palatine Phoenix- He turned to face the seventh of those he'd summoned. Clad in Tyrian lacquered battle-plate, Lord Commander Abdemon was a walking example of all that the warriors of the Legion should aspire to be. His hand rested on the pommel-stone of the artificer-wrought power sword sheathed at his waisL The delicate looking sabre had been a gift from the armourers of the Ionic Plateau on Terra. Abdemon was reportedly a swordsman of some skill, though Fulgrim had, as yet, not witnessed it for himself. At the moment, it wasn't his ability with a blade that Fulgrim required of him. The lord commander was one of his senior officers, and a respected voice in his councils. Abdemon was respectful, without succumbing to sycophancy. Of the ten commanders of the first ten Millennials of the Legion, he was perhaps the most thoughtful. It was that inclination to consideration that Fulgrim needed now. Abdemon was Terran. He had been among those who made that first, fateful journey to Chemos with the Emperor, and knell at Fulgrim's feet. He had fought at the forefront of every battle the Third Legion had participated in, including Proxima. He had earned rank and respect in equal measure, and Fulgrim had swiftly deduced that winning him over was the key to winning the Legion.
White hair, bound in short, thick braids, was pulled back from his dark face in a tight bundle, giving him a hawk-like aspect. Fulgrim fancied there was something of him in Abdemon's aspect, though the officer would never be handsome. He doubted Abdemon cared. Fulgrim heard the smile in the words, though Abdemon's face was as still as the onyx it seemed to have been carved from. Abdemon led the way, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other holding his helmet. His dark face was set and serious. While the others wore armour as ornate as it was sturdy, and moved with the lethal grace of stalking predators, Fabius' war gear was unadorned and plain, and he stumped along with resigned determination. Abdemon and the warriors of the Third were the first to disembark. The Space Marines, led by Abdemon, tromped down the ramp, bolters held across their chests, moving in perfect synchronisation. His sword swept out, removing a hand at the wrist. The wounded man sagged back, screaming. The others scrambled back, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the nightmare in amethyst and gold before them.
Last edited: