Gizm0

40K: Warlords

Just curious, but I thought Astartes forces were limited to roughly company strength. Or was that just Imperials?

40K: Warlords

Welcome to the War good sir, slaughter and mayhem on the right, tea and crumpets with the Londoners on the left

Gods: A Deity Roleplay (High Casual, Low Advanced)

Ferrum

The heavy blows of his hammer against the heated metal currently in his care, the heavy striking with expert placement to shape the metal to his will, the Forge ringing with every impact, the sound almost musical to his ears, drowning out the hatred he felt for why he was making this weapon. Remaking would be a better wording, for this weapon was one he had crafted many centuries before, before the devastation of the rebellion of Kovar, a weapon he had shattered and damn near killed himself.

Vatra soared over his head, a wash of fresh, invigorating heat flowing over himd as he worked, his avatar soaring to take its perch atop the Forge itself. He smiled, his hands never stopping the work before them, he had spent nearly six months restoring this weapon, his mind running through the countless weapons forged through his hands in his life, fixed on the long spear, almost nagatina-style weapon, it was a deadly weapon, the scar on his chest was tantamount to that, and here he was remaking a weapon that could kill him, and others of his somewhat argumentative family. With a quiet sigh he pushed the cooling metal back into the forge, the blade had to be perfect again, the haft was completed, down to the engravings etched painstakingly with the same detail he had placed in it all those centuries before.

“Father,” came the soft voice of his daughter, Siani, stepping into his sanctum from the worlds of gods and mortals, none could enter without his permission, the temper of the Forge itself was not something to be taken lightly, and to trespass was a severe tempting of fate.

“What is it, daughter?” he said, pulling the metal from the Forge and placing it upon the anvil.

“The Guardian calls us, to choose a new King, all are summoned,” she said, keeping her distance from her father.

“Find your brother, I’ll meet you at the Mouth of the Forge,” he said, continuing to beat the metal into what his mind was picturing it to be.

It was a rare thing that would make Ferrum stop what he was making, and Siani knew in her heart, despite all the hate and death dealt in the war, the loss of the King, Ferrum’s own father, cut deep into him, piercing deeper than any blade could, a wound that no armor could prevent. He was focussing on something to keep the pain of it away, despite the side he choose during the Rebellion, he did love his father. The heavy blow was a little much, even she saw that bubbling of frustration in how tense his muscles became, the hissing of the metal telling her he thrust it back into the heat to correct it.

She left without another word, but Ferrum could feel the eyes of Vatra upon his back, the great fire bird was still perched above him, staring at him when he looked up at her. She stretched her wings and let him take in her full glory before settling again and looking up to the skies above. Ferrum smiled as he pulled the steel from his Forge, beating the imperfection out of it quickly and precisely, the ringing of the strikes becoming quick and almost musical as he worked, forgetting the world around him as he finished forging the metal to his will, leaning up some hours later with the finished piece in his grasp. He stepped over to the haft he had remade for it, the moment the base of the steel touched the haft he felt the almost shocking charge of the connection, of a weapon that knew it was to be whole again. He didn’t need to fix the pair together, the steel slid easily into the haft, the neck constricting suddenly to hold it in place, a wave of fire cascading over the blade and down the haft as the powers it once held were once more held into creation.

“Father! We must go!” called Siani from the great gate to the Forge, Krixis, her bearded brother standing at her side, a full two feet taller than his sibling.

“I know, was just finishing an old mistake,” said Ferrum, wrapping the weapon in a sheet of cloth bearing the sigil of his Forge and realm. He carried the weapon as though he revered it, passing it to Krixis as he reached them.

“Wyrm’s Tooth is a creature of pride, she won’t allow me to hold her completed form for long, not after the last time,” he said, seeing Krixis take the weapon carefully in his hands. The weapon was almost as tall as he was.

Ferrum turned and gripped his own weapon, God-Smiter, an immense war hammer crafted by his brother, Aesis, the weapon was perfectly balanced, a masterpiece created by one other than the God of the Forge, a fact that Ferrum readily accepted. With his weapon in hand, he lead his children to the mouth of the Valley of the Forge, an almost sullen silence between them as Siani wanted to hold the weapon as well.

“I’ll have something for you to carry in the future, daughter, but the fires within that weapon are beyond even your control, I do not wish to tempt fate with your life,” he said as he noticed the looks Siani gave her elder brother.

At the mouth to the Valley, overlooked by the fortifications of Corinth, as well as the two largest golems that Ferrum had ever crafted, was a small dais, raised from the stonework that led through the Valley, and with four large pillars set in a perfect square, the dais was Ferrum’s choice to leave his realm for another, it was an ancient design, before the Dwarfs had mastered the use of hammer and chisel, placed there by the King himself when Ferrum first began to forge his land and people from the wilds they had once been. He looked up to the sky as he placed the head of his God-Bane into the slot, twisting it and watching the fires of the Forge suddenly fill the slight gaps in the stonework, the great flames casting a swirl of sigils and ancient words. With an almost thunderclap of sound, the world around the trio changed.

No longer were they stood in Corantha, the great mountains surrounding them, the open sky above and the great golems watching over them. The stood in the King’s realm now, the beautiful architecture was something that even the God of the Forge was unable to equal on such a scale, Ferrum hefted his God-Bane to his shoulder, running his hand along the great columns as he passed them, stepping into the great hall, two people were already present, the ancient Guardian, and the enforcer of the Gods, a momentary feeling of hatred boiled within his heart, the humiliation of the punishment given to him for his part in the rebellion, and the loss of one of his closest brothers threatening his control of his fiery nature.

“Oksana, first as always I see,” he growled, a voice like granite, grounding from his chest as he stepped past his throne, the monster of shaped iron and stone, with no backrest, it was practically a large anvil, with arm rests of marble at the sides.

His children said nothing as they stepped to either side of the throne, Siani’s temper flaring almost beautifully to Ferrum’s eyes, while Krixis was as cold as metal, his expression giving nothing of the feelings he bore to the Goddess of the Storms. He stepped towards his sister, hammer still at his shoulder, inclining his head slowly before looking to the body of his father.

“Even in life he looked peaceful,” he said, sighing lightly. “You’d think he was just asleep,”

Turning away he stepped to his seat, placing his weapon across it, his silver hands untarnished by any sign he had worked a Forge at any point in time. He looked to the other empty thrones, his eyes settling on the War God's throne, Kovar would never take that throne again, it would remain empty until the sins of the father had passed from memory, but with this family, those sins would burn for a long time yet.

40K: Warlords

Okie dokie, gonna get my warband sheet up today, and @Gizm0 may I just say how excellentyour own post was...especially because I hate Word Bearers.

@Jbcool

Do appreciate that : ) Been a while since I made a World Eaters idea, and I tend to get annoyed at any Word Bearer that isn't Marduk lol.

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Hello there~ :3

I'm not the one who brought her I swear.... I'm completely innocent in this.

40K: Warlords

One Month Ago

The Devastation pushed forward into the crippled Word Bearers strike cruiser, the length of her hull aflame as she plunged through a firestorm of firepower from the small flotilla she had ambushed. The wrecks of two frigate escorts drifted lazily through the battle, their hulls cracked open and their innards gutted with uncharacteristically accurate fire from the World Eaters strike cruiser. Krale watched silently from the command throne as his shipmaster, a mortal who had once been a Cadian fleet officer, now his world was forgotten, the only sign of it was the violet eyes that were filled with satisfaction as the crew he had drilled from the scum and slaves that filled her halls performed with more skill that even the World Eater Krale was impressed.

The Ursus Claws, a weapon that had been almost exclusive to the World Eaters fired into the rotating flank of the Word Bearer ship, the immense cables pulling taut and dragging the ship towards the Devastation, Krale grinned beneath his helmet as he could almost feel the slaughter that was to come, worthy skulls aplenty with the Word Bearers aboard that ship. He stood without a word, and stalked his way through the halls of the strike cruiser that had been his home even before the Heresy, with him stomped seven of the deadliest fighters of his warband, including himself and he had the holy number of Khorne himself, a good omen if one was to believe in such things.

The crew were busy with damage control or with other tasks that kept them from standing idle, but as the party of World Eaters approached they cleared the way instantly, almost crushing one another in a press so thick it was surprising this many people could breath on the ancient strike cruiser. Krale thumbed the activation rune of his immense, two-handed chainaxe, the daemon bound within sensing the bloodshed to come, revving itself hungrily as he felt its presence merging with his own mind. The Butcher’s Nails sensed the intrusion, and reacted as he knew they would, coursing pain and rage into his mind, he could feel the bloodlust coming, the red haze creeping into his eyes.

“Enough!” he snapped, swinging the axe sharply to his right, the unfortunate slaughterscum who stood within reach screaming in pain as his chest was ripped open by the teeth of the still weapon.

Kor’agrash, the daemon bound within the axe hissed in his mind, trying to forge itself into control again, feeding the Nails and the rage they controlled, within his mind he could see it grinning at him, the red-skinned creature had once been a Bloodthirster, defeated in combat by Krale many millennia ago, the hatred it felt at being trapped within a weapon was almost visible in the space between them, and every day Krale felt the daemon trying to break free of the bindings. Krale took a deep breath before continuing to the hanger bay, Kor’agrash was a threat that he had countered in the Eye of Terror, and the longer he kept from Eye the more annoying the daemon became, as if the distance from its own realm angered it even more.

“My lord, the Stormbird is ready for you,” said Hanger Master Balkus, an ancient mortal, who had a mastery of the logistics required for running of a hanger that was almost preternatural.

Krale didn’t answer, he simply walked onto his personal Stormbird, his chosen squad filing in behind him, two more squads climbing in after them, the tension was visible, an almost electric charge filtering through them all as the slab-like ramp rose into place, casting them in the deep red of the interior lighting, the dirge-caster throwing the calls of the Blood God’s daemons and the screams of dying to wash over the assembled warriors. He felt the surge of the Stormbird roaring out of his strike cruiser, slamming the base of his chainaxe against the metal grate beneath him, pounding out a steady beat, watching the distance-counter on his lens ticking away rapidly, other World Eaters following suit, the interior filling with the clattering of weapons and feet on the deck, fists on chests and against the walls of the venerable Stormbird, it wasn’t for any reason other than to distract them and prevent a brawl within the tight confines of the Stormbird, but as the distance dropped, the beat increased, like a rumble of thunder announcing a storm, it built in intensity.

The Stormbird itself was flying through the scattered interceptor fire the Word Bearers still had operational, a flight of Hellbats a variant of corrupted Fury’s, favoured by the Imperium, flying close protection around it, even as the Thunderhawks and other transports filled the space between the two ships, not everything was surviving the short flight, a thunderhawk bearing renegades of the Crimson Sabres, long since calling themselves the Crimson Slaughter, sworn to his service was destroyed, casting the tattered remains of the Astartes within through the void like debris. A fat troop carrier with slaughterscum, the dregs of humanity so lost to bloodlust they could be called beasts, exploded spectacularly so violently its death caught one of the many Hellbats roaring between the transports.

“Ten seconds!” roared Krale as he pushed to the front of the gathered World Eaters.

“Maim! Kill! Burn!” chanted one of the World Eaters, the chant being echoed by the twenty-four World Eaters rapidly as the slaughter came that much closer.

They all jerked forward as the Stormbird hurled into the launch bay of the Word Bearers, its weapon systems wiping out any groups of the enemies, the ramp slamming down with a clatter on the deck, the scattered remnants of the Word Bearers deckhands backing away as the World Eaters charged out of the ancient gunship. Krale was the first into the enemy, his hungry chainaxe cleaving through mortals without pause, but it was too easy, the mortals falling like wheat to the scythe, and it was then that the real threat came into the launch bay. Two squads of Word Bearers, bearing their bolters at the ready filing out of the entrance portal. The blood-crazed slaughterscum charged straight into the Word Bearers guns, bursting apart easily as they made no headway in reaching the Astartes.

One of the Word Bearers carried a heavy bolter, and raked his weapon through the mortals, loyal to both the World Eaters and the Word Bearers, Krale picked up a dropped power sword of one of his World Eaters, the previous owner laying in a pool of his own congealing blood, armor pulped by the heavy bolter. Throwing it like a spear he didn’t expect to even wound the Word Bearer, but it did catch his attention, ducking back as the sword sailed past. The momentary reprieve in firepower allowing the Astartes of the Blood Hands warband to charge forward, half a dozen of the renegades who had joined the band falling before they reached the Word Bearers, a couple of World Eaters knocked off their feet, and then the battle was joined, ceramite clashed against ceramite, the screech of chainweapons carving into ancient armor, bolters discharged at close range, throwing bodies back. Krale dragged his weapon clear of the stomach of the Word Bearer he gutted, kicking the dying warrior to the ground and marching past, the champions were his goal, and they were skilled, working together to cut down any who closed with them.

“Blood for the Blood God!” he roared, leaping at the pair, he heavy axe driving one champion to his knees as he blocked it with both his power swords. His comrade sweeped into try and catch Krale as his weapon was engaged, swinging a power maul for the side of the World Eaters warlord.

Krale stepped back out of the blow, pulling his weapon back, the head of the immense weapon dragging the two swords with it, pulling the Word Bearer off balance. Spinning on the spot he brought his axe around on the stumbling Word Bearer, the axehead smashing into the faceplate, the revving engine suddenly roaring again as Kor’agrash tasted the blood of another Astartes, the champion falling with half his skull removed, the jagged remains spitting blood before the body toppled over. Krale didn’t stop though, stepping around the toppling body to swing his axe overhead, slamming into the raised weapon to block in, driving the Word Bearer to his knees, the teeth scraping against the pauldron of the warrior. He kicked out sharply, pushing the champion to the deck, he struggled to defend himself as the axe came down again, smashing into his chest, the power of the strike crumpling the armor and the daemon feasting on the rich blood of another champion.

His warriors had slaughtered the rest of the Word Bearers, not free of losses, a trio of World Eaters lay in the heaped warriors, as did many of the renegades that had joined the Blood Hands. Krale shrugged as he ripped his weapon free of the champion’s body, and led the charge into the bowels of the Word Bearers ship, slaughtering the crew as they went, battling the Word Bearers as they found them. The Blood Hands swarmed the Word Bearer’s ship, filling the halls with their own slaughterscum and bloody butchers as they claimed deck after deck, the gunnery deck fell silent, the few remaining weapons no longer spitting angrily at the Devastation as the slaugherscum overran the gunnery crews and slaves. The engine room fell to a freakishly coordinated attack from both entrances by World Eaters and members of the Skulltakers, the Apothecarium was taken from three squads of Word Bearers by a swarm of slaughterscum and fifty Astartes owing allegiance to Zathos Krale, the Bloody Hand.

All that was left, was the bridge, the blast door sealed, the bodies of a squad of Word Bearers and their cultist followers, mixed with the odd body of one of Krale’s warriors and mounds of slaughterscum, and Krale licked his lips as the largest World Eater, and most ancient of their number stalked forward, his immense armored form dripping with gore, the World Eaters bowing their heads in respect to this most ancient of their former Legion. Varkas the Immortal, sealed within the corrupted form of a Contemptor-pattern Dreadnought, his sanity still in check, for he never suffered the bite of the Butcher’s Nails, although the blood lust of Khorne could overwhelm even his ancient mind at times.

“Brother Slaughterer,” growled Varkas as he stamped past, drawing his form back and lunging forth to slam his powerfists against the blast door.

Again and again he struck, the doors designed to protect the most critical section of the bridge could not withstand the power arrayed against them, over and over he struck the metal bending at first, and then the breach appeared, enough for one of the thick fingers of the powerfist to grip, hauling the breach wider as a hail of bolter fire rained uselessly against the Immortal’s skin, detonating against the massive powerfist currently ripping the blast door apart. The Immortal shattered what remained of the door, stomping into the bridge and flooring Word Bearer after Word Bearer, crushing some beneath his tread, smashing others with blows of his fists, keeping his weapons clear of the World Eaters that swarmed in after him. The slaughter was complete, the Word Bearers Dark Acolyte fighting to the last, but his skills were found wanting as Krale cut down his personal champion, only for Varkas to lunge forward and tear the posturing fool in two with an almost casual gesture.

The slaughter was complete, and the World Eaters and their renegade cousins began the grisly task to claiming the skulls of the fallen for Khorne, the holds of two fat transports filled to the brim as Krale reached the launch bay again, stepping over discarded bodies, the armor stripped from the fallen being piled by the slaves of one of the warpsmiths of the Blood Hands, the weapons similarly being placed for collection. He stalked past them all, reaching his target, the Warpsmith Tygarias, formerly of the Iron Warriors, his bloodlust brought common cause with the Blood Hands, serving as their chief master of the machines.

“What did we get then?” he growled, planting the head of his axe against the deck.

“Another Stormbird, and two more Thunderhawks from this bay, the other has only one serviceable Thunderhawk, but requires some repairs,” said Tygarias happily, looking at the forms of the ones to be salvaged for parts. “These however will need to be pulled apart, even I can’t get them to fly again,”

“Anything else?”

“A few empty dreadnoughts, and a mess of hell machines that seem to be waiting for daemonic insertion, they should be ready for the next war you find for us,” the warpsmith twisted the bolter in his hand slowly, the attached plasma device was spent, but the warpsmith didn’t care overly much, his gauntlet absorbing the weapon easily, the Obliterator Virus within his body aiding him in his belief that the machine would best the flesh. “We have the gene-seed of their apothecarium, enough to make perhaps fifty warriors, and the arms and armor of the dead would go a long way to arming them,”

“And the kill count?” grumbled Krale as he pictured bastard sons of Lorgar fighting alongside his warband.

“Final tally of worthy kills? One hundred and sixty-three Word Bearers, including the ones on the bridge, and we lost eighty-three of the renegades, and twenty-six World Eaters,” said Tygarias peacefully, watching his arm form into the combi-bolter he had just absorbed.

“Get it aboard the Devastation, and set the charges, the Word Bearers can have their ship back, doesn’t need to be easy for them though,” said Krale stepping aboard his Stormbird.

He had another war to reach, and he would reach it before the month was out, of that he had no doubt, the bloody dreams that plagued his moments of sleep showing a war with many worthy kills to be had. With a roar to Khorne he threw himself into one of the seats of the Stormbird, panting as the flashes of memory filled his mind of the slaughter that had just happened, the champions who fell to him, the warriors who barred his path, glimpses were all he had, the Butcher’s Nails had turned it all into a blur of movement and flashes of the blood red he enjoyed seeing. Looking at his hands, the blood coating him so thickly that the brass edging along his armor was all but gone, the planet in the great maw was still visible on his pauldron, as was the blood hand placed over it, as though even Khorne wanted people to know who was to be killing them. Soon it would happen again.

Gods: A Deity Roleplay (High Casual, Low Advanced)

Hm, issue I see is that Fire is the Minor Domain of Ferrum lol. Meh meh, I'll be working on Ferrum later today once I get my laptop repaired and such :)

Gods: A Deity Roleplay (High Casual, Low Advanced)

Ferrum, God of the Forge

Name: Ferrum

Gender: Male

Appearance:

Ferrum

(Ignore the mechanical arm on his back though) Ferrum stands at the full 14’ height. His arms are the color of silver, with which he crafts the metals within the Forge.

Personality: Where once Ferrum’s temper was as easy to ignite as a fire was to consume dry grass, his commitment to the Forge had moulded his temper with patience, allowing him to work to perfecting his creation with little effort or frustration. And while some are able to break the wall of iron-will he has cast upon himself, he never allows it to come out in large amounts.

The disaster of the rebellion has changed him from seeking to improve his creations of war and death, instead, following the punishment meted out against him for his part in the forty years of battle has reinforced his desire to create things once more, his once fiery temper now embers within his heart.

Major Domain: The Forge

Minor Domain(s): Fire, Metal

Your Avatar:

Vatra

Called Vatra, standing at 261 feet, and around 400 feet from wingtip to wingtip, Vatra burns near constantly, the flames only hurting those not being honest of their intent and deeds. Vatra is rarely away from Ferrum, and often aids him around his own forge, keeping the fires burning endlessly to provide just the right temperature to create wonders of peace, of weapons of war.

Stance: Ferrum honestly cares little for who sits on the throne as King anymore, and simply wishes to tend to his people and his forge. Because of this stance, he will provide weapons to those he feels are worth the effort, regardless of their views on the current political situation.

Loyalty During Rebellion: Ferrum unexpectedly sided with Kovar the War during the rebellion, won over by the praise given for his work on Kovar's God Bane. It was not unexpected that the two were friends of sorts, for Wars always needed weapons to fight them, the two domains overlapping and a kind of symbiotic relationship kept the two on more even terms than Ferrum ever felt towards their father.

Center of Power: Ferrum’s center of power is an simple iron ingot, one of the first he made with the Forge in his youth, it is always moved throughout the Forge, but regardless of where he puts it, or even if he places it in the largest pile of exact ingots, he knows where it is for the power of the Forge is within that unadorned ingot, the sigil of the Forge stamped into the bottom of it, as with any other ingot.

Relations:

Ki’ivara: Becoming something of a friend to the Goddess of Lust, Ferrum gifted her a palace unlike anything he had constructed in the past as an apology for deeds created in the midst of the rebellion, keeping the details and secrets of it between himself and the Goddess of Lust herself.

Aesis: Ferrum considers Aesis the closest thing to a brother he can with his sibling gods, finding a similar heart in the fury of the ocean’s master. The pair challenged one another to forge a weapon, and the greater shall be the victor. This challenge lasted a full week in length, with Ferrum’s creation of the Riptide trident, and Aesis’ forging of the God-Smiter.

Ahru: Ferrum finds Ahru’s constant meddling an enjoyable way to change the more methodical aspects of his life and work, although there are times when her antics draw his ire, and he knows she actively tries to pull this moments from him..

Di’Myria: During the rebellion, Ferrum had several engagements with Di’Myria, which leveled the lands of their battles, but neither could get that decisive victory over the other. With the rebellion dragging out, War redirected Ferrum to another front, leaving Di’Myria to the Murder God, Loshtar. At the rebellions end, and seeing just what he had allowed his fiery temper to blind him to, Ferrum apologised to the Time Goddess, and now the two regularly meet to discuss various things, with Ferrum learning patience most of all from their meetings.

Kilgarrah: Ferrum and Kilgarrah fought hard during the rebellion, with a somewhat pyrrhic victory landing in Ferrum’s hands after the destruction of one of Ferrum’s many vaults dotted throughout the mountains of Corantha, this battle saw to the breaking of Wyrm Tooth, and the entrapment of Kilgarrah towards the end of the rebellion. Ferrum has held onto the broken remains of Wyrm Tooth, wondering if the weapon would help fix the hatred born from the rebellion.

Powers: Temperature Control, Metal. While not capable of creating fire out of thin air, Ferrum can bring the temperature around him up to intense level, and also back down to near freezing levels, he uses this to aid in his forging, while crafting things with his hands has given him a deep affinity for whenever a metal touches his skin, capable of bending it to his will the longer he has touched it. With this affinity his skin naturally hardens against strikes, making him extremely durable, especially with weapons he created.

Godly Equipment:
Fate’s Anvil: The primary anvil in which Ferrum forges the God Banes, combined with the Destined Hammer it allows Ferrum to transfer the power of the God in question into their weapon or item of choice.
Destined Hammer: The Hammer is the key part to forging God Banes and their items. The Hammer must be held by the God in question to allow a transfer of power into their item, before Ferrum physically beats the item with the God’s power. This is not a long process, the Hammer required to be carried for maybe a full day before Ferrum retrieves it for his Forge.
God-Smiter: This immense Warhammer is Ferrum’s God-Bane, favouring the power of destruction it holds of the speed of smaller and more elegant weapons, it captures Ferrum’s strength easily, each blow capable of cracking open mountains. This is a God Bane.

Demi Gods:

Krixis

Krixis was born to one of the few mortals to actually enter the Forge itself, his mother a lady of royalty and eager enough to bed the God of the Forge. Krixis rose to station as his affinity of metal became clear, moulding it in many ways and showing an ever increasing need to know more about how to craft and mould ever more complex patterns. He came to his father simply to learn of metalcraft, but after seeing the truth of the Forge, has stayed with his father, crafting his own smaller forge next to the Forge itself. His proudest creation were his Forgekin, at the moment they are lifeless suits of armor in marshalled ranks across his domain of his father’s mountain fortress.

Siani

Siani was the second child born to Ferrum, the mother an acolyte of his temple and during one of his few times walking with his people, Ferrum found himself attracted to this woman, while not exactly love, he felt deeply for her, and mourned her loss some years after the birth of Siani. Siani is the more unpredictable of his children, living to her affinity of fire, she can manifest flames from the thin air, and often her tempar is shown by this ability, she bears no weapon other than those she makes from her own flames. It was Siani who went to war with Ferrum during the rebellion, leaving Krixis to protect and govern the people of Corantha.

Name of Land: Corantha

Lands: The lands of Corantha are mostly mountains with forests surrounding the outer edges, and great rivers of fresh water pour down the mountains in large numbers. The lands teem with game and predators, few of which approach the larger mountains.
People: Corantha is mostly filled with settlements of Dwarfs, with the odd human settlement nestled somewhere in the forests along the main routes into and out of Corantha.

Culture: Corantha’s culture is one that is not its own, for their God does not impose his will on them, and instead teaches them the art of forge-work and metalcraft, allowing them to grow as they wish. This in turn has led many of the dwarf communities to focus on metalcraft and mining for the materials required to forge. The scattered human settlements primarily focus on food production, trading with the dwarfs for their metalcraft in exchange for their produce. The homes of the dwarfs, built into the mountains themselves are strong and built to last, while the human settlements are dotted around the foothills and forests, with only a couple of large, developed coastal towns.

Corantha’s armed forces are a mixed breed, with the dwarfs preferring to stay on the defensive, constructing fortifications and defences, while the humans provide the bulk and strength of the army with powerful, well-armored cores of heavy infantry, supported by wings of cavalry and lines of skirmishers.

Technology: Roman Era

Capital: Corinth, largest Dwarf city built before the Valley of the Forge, which leads directly to Ferrum’s forge. The city is built into the mountain, going deep and far, with masterfully crafted halls and walkways mapping the length of their work. The entrance to the city is lined with statues of dwarf warriors watching the road, and the entrance to the Valley has two large guardians crafted into the rockface.

Beings: The Mountains are home to many creatures, the largest of which are the cyclopean giants, which mainly stick to their caves, but on occasion venture close to the towns and cities in search of fresh food in the form of meat. While he does not interfere directly against them in roaming from their caves, Ferrum has made it clear they are not to enter the boundaries of the cities and towns, those foolish enough to remain outside the boundaries when a cyclopean giant nears are not his concern.

While not a being in a sense, the golems now dotting the length and breadth of Corantha have become a strong part of the everyday occurrences, with people giving praise to Ferrum and creating altars of a sort at their feet. These Golems were originally a pass time for Ferrum, during his century long punishment for his part in the rebellion, but became one of his more favoured creations.

Golems

40K: Warlords

Blood Hands

Command Details:

80 World Eater Berserkers of Khorne
8 Khorne Berserker Champions Included
20 Chaos Havocs with 3 Autocannons and 1 Lascannon per Squad
2 Champions Included
10 Possessed Marines
6 Obilterators

2 Chaos Hellbrutes [Close Combat Weapons Only]
4 Defilers
2 Predators Annihilators
2 Predators Destructors
8 Rhinos
1 Land Raider Redeemer (Captured from Salamanders Six Centuries Ago)
4 Heldrakes

Zathos

Name: Zathos Krale AKA The Bloody Hand
Age: 10,000+
Description:
Faction: Chaos
Rank and Force Type: Warlord of World Eaters Warband “Blood Hands”
Primary Skills: Close Combat, Raw Savagery
Planet of Origin: Not Applicable

Varkas

Name: Varkas the Immortal, Contemptor-Pattern Dreadnought
Age: 10,000+
Description:
Rank: Ancient Slaughterman, World Eater of the Blood Hands
Primary Skills: Close Combat, Sanity
Planet of Origin: Not Applicable

Borias

Name: Borias Arvent
Age: 10,000+
Description:
Description:
Rank: Possessed Centurion
Primary Skills: Close Combat, Regeneration, Fast Attack
Planet of Origin: Not Applicable

Xander

Name: Xander Coris’drakmoral
Age: 10,000+
Description:
Rank: Possessed Centurion
Primary Skills: Close Combat, Regeneration, Fast Attack
Planet of Origin: Not Applicable

Personal Note: Centurions are the ranks given to those the rank of Sergeant in Loyalist Chapters.