ALWAYS ANGRY, ALL THE TIME. >:C
"And They Shall Know Fear"
The Angry Marines are a /tg/ homebrew Chapter of the Space Marines. They are angry for the Emprah. All the time. Angry Marine tactics focus on getting into melee as quickly as possible, and proceeding to open up several crates of FUCK YOU in the direction of the enemies of the Imperium. There is even a Codex: ANGRY MARINES detailing the special rules required to adequately represent their rage.
The Angry Marines employ a variety of weapons notably different to the standard Space Marine arsenal. This includes dual power fists, power feet, power bats, power wrenches, and even the Predator Angrinator, a modified version of the Predator Whirlwind artillery tank that fires the Angry Marines themselves directly into the enemy ranks. These items are detailed in Codex: ANGRY MARINES.
Even when not in combat, the Angry Marines are so enraged that their attempts to communicate sound like they are directed by Quentin Tarantino. They are sometimes disparagingly referred to as "Tourettes Marines" when FUCKING RETARDS are unable to differentiate between seething anger and lolrandom cursing. The people who do not understand this are DOING IT TERRIBLY WRONG and are the real faggots.
In summary, they're some fa/tg/uy's attempt to make Space Marines into the American cliche space soldiers of modern Sci-Fi, but eventually that fa/tg/uy had to realize that the current fluff has a few merits, and changed the Angry Marines to conform to that.
"Lo, in the histories of the many Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes, every Primarch listed that has ever come across my sage and learned eye has found root and home upon a planet, which hath shaped and set in stone the character of that warrior of the Emperor that he would become.
Therefore, one must give pause to the Primarch of our brothers, the Angry Marines, that great warrior of rage for he hath never fell upon a planet. Nay! But he was borne upon the ethers and drifts of space, alone in his capsule save for a discarded copy of Battletoads III that the Emperor had thrown out, a legendary artifact that had fueled research into vast weapons of war that it might be unmade and erased from history.
When the capsule had finally been rammed into a drifting hulk of an old Imperial battleship, it is said that the Primarch was so enraged and frustrated with the vile game that he headbutted out the Adam's apple of the first survivor that he encountered, and thereafter killed every inhabitant with the remnants of the dying initial combatant."
Histories of the Ill-favored Chapters
From the historical records of Inquisitor Jangel, non-aligned investigator of Adeptus Astartes "Incidents".
Section #511: The "Friendly" Fire Incident of Klaxus XII
The records of this dire moment in Imperial history were (until I came upon them) known only to the two Space Marine Chapters that took part in the skirmish. However, only by putting the two records together is the truth found.
The Pretty Marines tell of a conflict fraught with glory against the odds, and of dire betrayal: "Before the sortie against our enemy our glorious Chapter Master graced us with a speech, before the resplendent lines of Brother-Marines sparking under the twin suns he told of beautiful victory, of the fates of our enemies. As one we cheered, then awaited his inevitable dance number. From the skies fell a drop pod, smashing into our forward lines and engulfing the area with thick dust. It took us only a moment to clear the air with our blow-dryers, but it was a moment too late as we saw the Chapter Master fallen..."
The Angry Marines tell the other side of the story, though in far less words due to a lacking in vocabulary beyond many four letter cusses. Hastily inserted into the annals of their Chapter, glory is simply a picture with the words "OWNED" across it, and the image of the Pretty Marines' Chapter Master unconscious on the ground, a crude mustache drawn on his face with paint, and what appears to be a set of testicles on his forehead.
So began the greatest feud in Imperial history.
Thought for the Day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise.
From the personal diaries of Brother R.C. Mongler, 4th Chanian Combat Group.
My Chapter had landed on a barren little ball of rock called Vesuvius. The Inquisition had ordered us to the planet on suspicion of Chaos corruption. Surely enough, we ran into a group of Chaos Marines within a day of landing. The fools, turning their backs on the God-Emperor for whatever sick rewards they received from the deceiving Warp fiends. The battle started the second morning. Their attack was especially fierce, and my brothers and I had great trouble keeping them at bay. It seemed that for every one of them we killed, three more showed up. Our own losses were of no small concern. In a rare moment of calm, Brother Captain Morgan confided in me that if we were not killed by these berserkers, we would almost certainly be killed by the Inquisition for failure. As our numbers dwindled, I grew concerned: surely we would all be killed, and the Emperor's work would not be carried out. We prepared for a final assault, one which had been coming for near a week of the most intense fighting I had ever seen. We surrounded a small hill, atop which stood our last Dreadnought, Brother Klarr. We saw their force coming from below. We knew this was our end. But suddenly, a shadow passed over us. Some great demon come to finish us off? No. It was a drop pod. Out of it stepped a small company of our brethren. They wore bright yellow armor, a bizarre crest upon their shoulders, unlike any Chapter I had yet heard of. A circle, with two lines crossing it and two dots in the middle - almost as if to suggest an angry face. They formed a line between us and the now charging Chaos Marines.
The Chaos Marines' bright red armor shone in the late afternoon sun, the spikes upon their shoulders menacing. The new arrivals stood fast. As the distance between the two forces began to close, there arose from these yellow warriors the loudest scream I had ever heard. It shook the ground. Even through my helmet, it made my ears ring and my skull ache. And it simply kept getting louder as their Captain's fist slowly rose into the air. As it rose to a nearly supersonic volume, I finally made out the words contained in the scream:
In a chorus louder even than the Captain's scream, the soldiers returned:
"ALL THE TIME!!!"
Then it began.
Without a word, these Space Marines returned to their drop pod and were soon whisked away from the battlefield. There had been no more than a dozen of them, not a single word exchanged between our two Chapters. To this day, I have never seen any Marines fight with such rage and hatred. The mass of enemy berserkers was reduced to mere chunks, legs, arms, heads, and craters full of blood. Bits of red armor lay strew about the field. We had not even had the chance to advance by the time the screaming - both theirs and the enemy's - was through. I turned to my Captain and asked, "Who were they?"
"I had thought it was rumor, but no. Emperor bless us all, those were the Angry Marines."
Thought for the Day: The Emperor protects.
Loading excerpt from Tales of Valor: Reports from the Ork Invasion of Calamitis Prime.
The PDF sold their lives dearly to stop the greenskin advance upon our primary Hive, but on the horde came. There would be no escape but for the Planetary Governor, whose escape shuttle was prepped to leave before the attack began.
As our leader left us to die we prayed to the Emperor for deliverance while we sold our lives to protect his works. Glory be to his swift answer.
A yellow Thunderhawk descended like a falling star, the much larger transport vehicle crushing the smaller one as it landed on the same pad, and through the fire and smoke the mighty figure of a Space Marine strode forth. I will never forget the seething expression on his face as he looked upon us, upon the Hive, upon the xenos.
The Marine did not pause, he drew his chainsword and charged down the stairs with a battlecry upon his lips, screaming "FAAAAAAAAH-" or something of the sort, a cry with no end. Even as he disappeared into the Hive we heard him clearly, even as we saw the small yellow figure leap from the Hive into the throng of green below we heard him. Drop pods followed as more Marines smashed into the horde, more yellow armored Marines echoing the endless cry.
The xenos were crushed utterly, and still screaming in rage the Space Marines ran up the Hive once more, to where the Governor still stood staring at the crushed wreckage of his escape shuttle. The Marines poured into their Thunderhawk, but the Marine from before ran right up to the cowardly official, and ended his warcry at last, his finger pressing painfully against the man's forehead.
Rather unceremoniously, the Governor was then pitched off the top of the Hive, with his underwear pulled up over his head.
Thought for the Day: To question is to doubt.
From the records of Governor Tamel of Pathos Secundus.
File #34476A: Captain Asshole
A boy was born in the year 895.M38, on Pathos Secundus. Little is recorded of his parentage. His father was a Guardsman, known only to be missing and presumed dead. His mother died in childbirth. The pregnancy had no complications, and so an autopsy was conducted. Wounds throughout the mother's uterus and all along the birth canal indicated extreme trauma. Video of the birth confirmed the medical examiner's suspicions: he had come out cuntpunching.
The child spent his youth in and out of various orphanages and foster homes. Several of his caretakers attempted to name him, but whenever anyone asked him his name, he responded only by punching them in the throat. He was regarded as mad and dangerous at the very least; many believed he harbored some mutation or the mark of Chaos. At the age of ten, however, he finally found a home. An Angry Marine Quartermaster had made planetfall to procure supplies, and the young boy happened to be in the area. The Marine shouted to him, "HEY, ASSHOLE, BRING ME THAT FUCKING HANDTRUCK IN THE CORNER."
When the youth approached the hardened battle-brother and kicked him squarely in the groinplate, breaking two of his toes without making a sound or shedding a tear, the Angry Marines had found a new recruit.
At the time Asshole was inducted, the Chapter Master of the Angry Marines had decreed that new recruits should become standard Codex scouts. The issue was put to a vote, and the chapter at large declared this decision to be "COMPLETELY FUCKING FAGGOTROCIOUS," however the decree stood for a time on the basis that the Chapter Master did it "JUST TO PISS YOU OFF, YOU WORTHLESS NIGGERS."
This did not prove advantageous to young Asshole. The one thing they could never teach him to do was aim, and he spent far longer than normal languishing in the 10th Company. Finally, in 176.M39, during the Scouring of Erhlinger Prime, he proved himself. After emptying an entire magazine into an Ork horde with no effect, Asshole abandoned his cover, howled madly into the sky, and broke his sniper rifle neatly in half across his knee. He charged the band, tearing limbs from any greenskin that stood in his way, until he was standing face-to-face with the Boss Mek. Asshole took the two halves of his ruined rifle and spitted the Ork from both ends of his digestive track, right through his flash kustom 'ardpantz. The rest of the mob turned tail and ran. For his heroism, Asshole was immediately inducted to the 5th Company and promoted to the rank of Sergeant. Shortly afterward, the Chapter Master judged that the newbies were pissed off enough, and reinstated the Angry Gangs.
Asshole rose quickly through the ranks, finally becoming Brother-Captain of the Battle Barge Killfuck Soulshitter in 722.M39. During his career, he developed a special hatred of Eldar, and would often be heard to claim that "THEY MAY AS WELL BE GODDAMN PRETTY MARINES FOR ALL THEIR FAIRYASSED PANTSHITTERY." In 756.M39, the Killfuck Soulshitter was called to push back an incursion on the Coluphid Sector by Eldar. The campaign was a terrifying success, and in its last moments, Captain Asshole confronted the Farseer Turiel and her daughter Sorith, one of the Seer Council, personally. Breaking Sorith and casting her blithely aside in one swift blow, the Captain approached the Farseer, shaking with rage. Before she could react, he slammed her to the ground, removed his groinplate, and raped her brutally. As he finished, he rose, readjusted his armor, and looked Sorith in the eyes, saying "I FUCKED YOUR MOM." He turned and left as the two witches stole into the Webway. A Marine in Asshole's retinue, puzzled, asked "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LET THOSE DYKES GET AWAY, YOU STUPID CUNT?" In an astonishing display of restraint, Asshole said simply "THOSE SPACE QUEERS AREN'T THE ONLY ONES WHO CAN PLAN AHEAD, YOU DICKSUCK."
In 989.M39, Captain Asshole received a pizza with mushrooms instead of pineapple, and suffered an aneurysm while killing those responsible. He was entombed in one of the Chapter's Belligerent Engines. Thirty years later, the Chapter met the same Eldar again on the field of battle. The carnage played out much the same as before, leaving only Captain Asshole, Farseer Turiel, and Sorith. Once again Sorith was cast aside. Once again, Turiel was restrained. A terrible din was heard, and after some time, it could be seen that Captain Asshole's turgid member had punched right through the armor plating of the Dreadnought, and lodged itself just between the buttocks of the Farseer. He turned to Sorith and spoke his last words to her before slaughtering them both.
"EVEN IN DEATH, I STILL FUCK YOUR MOM."
Thought for the Day: Hatred is the purest expression of love for the Emperor.
From the Flames of Furfaggotry
A synopsis of the events preceding the destruction of all heretic forces on Tertius Gamma follows.
And so it was that the planet of Tertius Gamma was besieged by furry abominations committing the hideous blasphemy of wearing sacred power armor as if in service to the God-Emperor; leveling city after city, they advanced on the last bastion of humanity...the capitol city.
Little did anyone know that the incursion had been noticed by one of the greatest Chapters of all Space Marines, whose mighty Battle Barge was even now entering orbit around the planet...the Angry Marines.
Unknown at the time to their "brothers", another Company had set their sights on the grim scene below. "GODDAMMIT, WHY AREN'T WE ON THE GROUND YET?" screamed an armored visage, what little there was left of his face was twisted in unspeakable rage.
"Sir, we can't enter the atmosphere that quickly, we'd burn u-" The voice of the Servitor was cut short as he was crushed beneath the sheer weight of the Marine's armor as he jumped into the pilot terminal.
And soon it was that the Battle Barge, the Litany of Litany's Litany, screamed towards the besieged planet. You could almost hear the sickly sound permeating from the murky planet below.
It was maddening, a lesser man would of taken his life but it had no affect on the stalwart Marines of rage. Always angry, especially now.
High above Tertius Gamma the Battle Barge Maximum FUCK sat in a ready position over the city's capital, a terrible quiet hanging over the bridge as the payload of Adeptus Astartes Angry Marines prepared to make planetfall.
Captain Temperus of the 3rd Company watched and waited, his eyes fixed firmly on the screens showing a wave of mutants overrunning the planetary defense force positions. He felt his blood boil as he looked upon the livery adorning their armor, their mockery of everything they stood for. Their faces an abomination. The fact they thought themselves so fucking smart well fuck them.
The comms-servant gave a silent nod, and although it seemed as though he hadn't seen it, Temperus was well aware. It was time...but no deep strike would do this time.
"COCK KNUCKLES!" He bellowed with rage. With the full force of his forehead, Captain Temperus struck the large red button on the console in front of him, destroying it in the process. Great shields on the side of the Battle Barge turned into place over the front of the craft, forming a giant battering ram shaped like a middle finger.
The Maximum FUCK began its nose-first descent into the atmosphere.
The fighting around the capitol city was growing more and more fierce as the furred invaders continued to send more of their number to die beneath the walls of the city; each one attempting to use their bladed weapon to try and chip away at the hardened rockrete. At first the defenders jeered at the pathetic attempt; but as more corpses piled up against the wall, the more cracks began appearing.
"KEEP UP THAT HEAVY BOLTER FIRE!" the Commissar screamed over the din of the gun placements. "BRING UP THE FLAMERS! WE'LL SHOW THESE ABOMINATIONS THE CLEANSING POWER OF THE EMPEROR!" Just then a Servitor scuttled up to the Commissar's side.
"Milord, crafts from offworld are making planetfall. It appears to be the Adeptus Astartes."
"Ah, at last. Now we shall TRULY turn the tide against this filth!" beamed the Commissar.
In revelry and decadence the mutants fought and slaughtered, in their vile mockery of mankind's saviors. The city was almost in range to be taken, there was none alive on Tertius Gamma who could stop them now.
However, all heads were turned skywards with the sounds of a terrible noise, as two Space Marine Battle Barges collided sides-first against one another as they plummeted towards a single target. The mutants realized that target was them.
The Commissar turned his eyes skywards as the enemy fell silent and a great shadow fell across the lands.
"What the f-"
"FUCK YOU, I WAS HERE FIRST!!!" screamed the commander aboard the Litany of Litany's Litany as he attempted to pilot his barge directly into the large army of deviants below.
"NO FUCK YOU, I DEPLOYED THE FINGER!!" Captain Temperus cursed back.
Traitors fled, mutants hid, deviants cried out for their dark gods to save them. As one the two Battle Barges slammed into the enemy lines, and with a terrifying roar the earth itself was torn asunder, and Tertius Gamma was no more.
Thought for the Day: Suffer not the Furry to live.
The aspiring Champion of Khorne called out to the Angry Marines before him just as they prepared to charge his host of daemons and World Eaters. "Can you not see the similarities between your battle prowess and ours? Khorne fills you with his wrath in battle, but you do not take time even to notice. Join us, and together we can destroy all within our path! Sink deeper into your anger with the full blessings of the Blood God!"
The assembled Angry Marines took pause, and considered the words of the World Eater Champion. It wasn't until Chaplain Brusiarch stepped from the front ranks of the Angry Marines' line, turned, and backhanded the closest Angry Marine that the yellow-clad battle-brothers turned their gaze towards him. Brusiarch turned towards the aspiring Champion and pointed to the bolt pistol in his left hand. The Chaplain then shouted to his brother Marines, "YOU DON'T LISTEN TO FAGGOTS, YOU COCKSICKLES, YOU FUCKING KILL THEM!!!"
The previously backhanded Space Marine then stood up, his faceplate shattered from the force of the blow, and shouted the battle cry of the Angry Marines, "ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!!" The Angry Marines then realized their folly at listening to a faggot who dared consider himself as angry as they, yet arm himself not with a second chainsword or power fist, but a pussified bolt pistol. The next few seconds witnessed the roar of the Cocknocker's jump packs, the whoosh of battle-brothers being launched at the daemonic host from the Predator Angrinator's, and Brother Chaplain Brusiarch's battle cry of "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-," as he charged the World Eaters' line.
Thought for the Day: Zeal is its own excuse.
A day in the life of an Angry Marine.
0400 - Morning INSULTS - Led by the Company Chaplain the Space Marines BETTER GET THEIR PUSSY ASSES IN ORDER BEFORE I STICK A POWER FOOT SO FAR UP SAID ANUS THEY WISH THEY WERE A SQUAT.
0500 - Morning Firing Rites - The Space Marines engage in target practice with their personal and squad weaponry, awards and punishments are dispensed FOR BULLSHIT OR A LACK THEREOF AND IF ANY FUCKING SHIT FUCKER THINKS OTHERWISE TOMORROWS PRACTICE WILL BE A ROUSING GAME OF LICK THE CATACHAN BARKING TOAD.
0700 - Battle Practice - BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF SHIT WITH YOUR POWER BAT, OR, BARRING THAT, JUST BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF SHIT WITH WHATEVER'S AVAILABLE. AND IF YOU'RE TOO PANTS ON HEAD RETARDED TO FIND SOMETHING TO HIT THEN YOU BETTER FUCKING START BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF THE GROUND BECAUSE LAST TIME I CHECKED THIS PLANET HASN'T CONFESSED ITS SINS AGAINST THE EMPEROR.
1200 - Midday Prayer - ANY ONE NOT TOO STUPID TO HIT THEMSELVES PRACTICES SCREAMING AT SHIT. EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO SUCK THE APOTHECARIES DICK BECAUSE YOU DON'T NEED ANY MEDICINE FOR THAT TINY LITTLE BOLTER WOUND YOU FUCKTARD.
1300 - Midday Meal - Normally local wildlife killed during the morning activities. AND BELIEVE ME WE KILL A LOT OF FUCKING BUNNY RABBITS AND PEPPERS AND SHIT AND EAT ALL OF IT AND LEAVE NONE FOR YOU. BOO-HOO, BITCH.
1315 - Tactical Indoctrination - THIS USUALLY DOESN'T TAKE THIS LONG. I'LL JUST PUT UP A BIG PICTURE OF THE NEXT THING WE'RE GONNA SHOOT AND SAY "SHOOT THIS YOU FUCKERS" SERIOUSLY, WHO THE FUCK NEEDS AN HOUR AND FORTY FIVE MINUTES TO DO THAT. PUSSIES, THAT'S WHO.
1500 - Battle Practice - SEE ABOVE IF YOUR NOT WEARING A NECKBRACE YOU INCOMPETENT LITTLE NIPPLE LICKER. WE HIT MORE SHIT WITH LARGER OBJECTS.
2000 - Evening Prayer - I THINK YOU GET THE IDEA. I'M NOT GOING OVER THIS AGAIN. FUCK YOU.
2100 - Evening Meal - A feast (by normal human standards) is provided by the Chapter serfs, and some Chapter Masters may allow alcohol to be consumed. FUCK YEAH IT IS. WE'LL ORDER LIKE A THOUSAND PIZZA'S TO THE PRETTY MARINES HOME WORLD AND THEN WE'LL STICK IN THE DVD'S OF BLOSSOM OR 7TH HEAVEN OR...REALLY HARDCORE PORN. FUCK YOU, LITTLE FAGGOT SHOW WATCHING SHOW WATCHERS. GO WRITE IN YOUR LIVE JOURNAL.
2130 - Night Firing Exercises - WE SPEND MORE TIME. HITTING MORE THINGS. WITH LARGER OBJECTS.IN THE DARK, FUKKEN DUH.
2315 - Maintenance Rituals - FIX YOUR SHIT OR I'LL GRAB A TECH-PRIEST AND MAKE HIM FIX YOUR SHIT. ONE OF THOSE CLAUSES IS LITERAL.
2345 - Free Time - Space Marines are permitted this time to reflect upon their duty to The Emperor, however many Chapter Masters regard free time as a frivolous waste, and a dangerous distraction in the extreme. EXCEPT WATCHING BLOSSOM. FUCK YOU.
0000 - Rest Period - BUT YOU BETTER NOT SPEND FOUR WHOLE HOURS SLEEPING. IF YOU DO YOU ARE NOT ANGRY ENOUGH AND TOMORROW YOU GET THE FIRST CHANCE TO PLAY PIN THE TAU ON THE CARNIFEX.
Thought for the Day: Ruthlessness is the kindness of the wise.
Excerpt from the diaries of Lieutenant Pretentiousness, beautiful servant of the Emperor and amazingly good looking soldier
The beautiful sun rose high above the glorious desert planet and I looked in wonder at the beauty the Emperor had graced us with. I turned to Brother Starr, his microphone held high as he prepared to give a beautifully arousing speech to all the brothers gathered there. I turned quickly to brush a speck of dust off that had landed on my armor, and breathed a sigh of relief that no one had seen that. As Brother Starr gave his address I looked into the sky and beheld a yellow thunderhawk streaming toward the planet. It landed a few meters away kicking dust in all directions.
"Brothers, evasive action!" Each member of the chapter pulled out his industrial strength hair dryer, the flashes of purple lighting up the terrain below as the brothers tried in vain to keep the dust from dirtying their armor. It was of no avail, I heard wails of despair... there would be much washing tonight. I looked out over the landscape to see several yellow glints rushing toward the lines of our chapter. I looked closer and saw the figures of 5 yellow clad marines rushing toward us. 3 of them held what looked like glorified wrenches, and the fourth carried a horrible looking banner. The fifth marine was hidden behind a mass of cardboard he carried with him. I heard their scream as they drew closer, drowning out all other sound, a horribly insensitive scream that rose above all other noise. "SUCK ON THIS YOU PANSYFIED FAGGOTS" The one carrying the cardboard dropped all of it and the five stood for a second.
"ALL THE TIME!"
The five turned and ran back the way they had come, and as their ship lifted off I saw several middle fingers on the side of the ship, still wet with new paint. I turned away in disgust, gracefully raising my chin.
I stepped down toward the mass of cardboard, helping brothers remove dust from their hair on the way.
I approached the mass of cardboard that had marred our beautiful desert landscape. Lying next to it was a small piece of paper. I knelt down and gingerly picked up the paper and turned it over.
Printed on the paper was a receipt for 1001 pizzas with anchovies and pineapple. On the bottom one word was written in red ink, barely legible.
The following is an extract from Hidden Imperial Histories by Adept Voliusnius Brouyt
Of the many Space Marine Chapters that protect the good citizens of the Imperium none are as well respected, nor as admired the warriors of the Ultramarines. Such is the greatness of their deeds their stories are told on innumerable worlds, their reputation as the saviours of the Imperium of Man is both well deserved and proven, time and time again. Indeed such is their martial prowess that even other Astartes can only but compare themselves forlornly inferior to those that hold Guilliman's geneseed.
This however occasionally leads to friction amongst some of the more bellicose chapters of Astartes that still stubbornly refuse to yeild to the wisdom of the blessed Codex Astartes. Such antagonism is best summed up with an anecdote from when the Ultramarines encounter with an obscure and ill-recorded chapter whom records merely identify as the [Angry??] Marines.
This chapter had apparently chased a tyranid splinter fleet into Ultramarine space. Impressed by their sheer ferocity the blessed Calgar offered an invitation to their Chapter Master, a man known to history only as Kratos. However the invitation to meet their spiritual liege was responded to only with the head of hive tyrant on which was crudely scrawled an insulting cartoon of the Ultramarines 1st Company's defence of Macragge and images of male genitalia.
Infuriated by such a blatant and insulting Snub, Calgar personaly took it to on himself to demand an apology from the arrogant Kratos, travelling to the offender's battlebarge's throneroom in person. Unfortunately he little expected the animalistic rage that would greet his justified demand for obeisance from the vile lesser chapter's Master and the argument between the two soon came to blows.
Sadly the clash between the two occurred behind closed doors, with no clue exactly what words were exchanged. Yet when the doors opened again it was Calgar that was bloodied and bruised, with the sacred Gauntlets of Ultramar torn from his shoulders. Only the wise counsel of the Inquisition prevented him declaring immediate war against his unruly brethren, a war that would no doubt have cost the Imperium greatly before the Ultramarines inevitable victory. The story stands as a clear example of how refusal to follow the Codex only promotes discord and strife between erstwhile brothers.
As to what occurred in the Angry Marine chambers, few can know, the only clue perhaps the jeering cry raised by the Angry Marines whenever they meet Ultramarines during campaigns. A nonsensical mantra of "STOP HITTING YOURSELF STOP HITTING YOURSELF", repeated ad infinitum. What such an idiotic phrase could mean a scholar can only guess at, perhaps it is merely an indication of the less than exemplary mental nature of non-codex Astartes.