Astartes Wargear: Common Weapons

 

If the armor is the shield of the Legiones Astartes, then their weapons are the hammer. The panoply of the Legions is broad — plasma, volkite, melta, and esoteric devices too rare to be common issue. Yet wherever the Great Crusade marched, one weapon above all others became the defining symbol of the Astartes: the bolter. What follows is an overview of the most common arms carried by the warriors of the 813th and their brother Legions, blending the cold mathematics of battlefield efficiency with the mystique of weapons forged for demigods.

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Firearms

Bolter

Stats: 6d6+6, SA/BF/AF15, Range: Medium, Ammo 30

The primary firearm of the Legions and perhaps the most infamous weapon of the Great Crusade. Brutal in effect yet simple in function, it is carried into battle by millions of warriors across hundreds of worlds. 

Capable of semi-automatic, burst, and full-automatic fire, the bolter integrates seamlessly with a suit’s autosenses for perfect aim and recoil management. Power armored Astartes can fire the bolter using only one hand, but suffer Disadvantage when doing so.

An Astartes typically carries 8–10 spare magazines, with specialist rounds available as needed.

Bolt Pistol

Stats: 5d6+5, SA/BF, Range: Short, Ammo 12

Sharing ammunition with the bolter but relying on a less powerful accelerator, the bolt pistol sacrifices range and penetration for compactness. 

Though lacking full auto, most designs can burst fire. Every Astartes carries one as a sidearm, with 2 spare clips being standard. In melee assaults, the classic combination of pistol and chainsword is a terror to behold.

Heavy Bolter

Stats: 8d6+8, BF5/AF20, Range: Long, Ammo 60 (box) / 200 (drum)

A scaled-up bolter firing heavier shells. Ammunition is not interchangeable with the standard bolter. Typically placed on bipods/tripods or pintle mounts, or fired from the hip by Astartes, it lays down sustained fire against infantry, light vehicles, and entrenched foes.

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Ammunition Types

• Standard: Armor-piercing high-explosive. Effective against almost anything short of heavy armor. On overpenetration ≥10, reduce DR by 20 as the round detonates inside the target.

• Example: Bolter vs traitor Auxilia (entirely hypothetical), aimed single action, solid hit, 6d6+6+2d6 = 35 total damage. The Auxilia has PT 20/DR30, meaning effective DR is only 10. The round overpenetrates, detonating deep inside flesh. Damage is reduced by 3 to 32, but only 20 points of damage is enough to instantly kill the target, so 32 results in a spray of flesh, bone, and blood.

• Kraken Penetrators (PT -5): Improved penetration, reduced explosive payload. Overpenetration only reduces DR by 10.

• Fenris-Pattern Penetrators: Rare, fashioned from the diamond-hard teeth of the Fenrisian Kraken. PT -7, otherwise identical to standard Krakens.

• Metal Storm: Proximity-fused frag rounds. Burst = frag grenade, autofire = two grenades’ worth. Range is the only real advantage over simply throwing grenades.

• Inferno: Incendiary warheads. Single shots ignite, bursts and autofire immolate areas. Issued only when fire tactics are deliberate or against vulnerable foes.

• Other Specialist Types: Exist in limited issue, but are rare and not part of standard loadouts.

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Melee Weapons

Chainsword

Stats: 4d6+ST, Melee, DR -10

A roaring chain of adamant teeth designed to tear through flesh and armor alike. Only moderately effective against heavy plate, but once it bites, it grinds mercilessly.

• Special: Artificer Chainsword of Brother Tyndarios — tipped with adamantine shards said to come from Armageddon's shattered walls. PT -3 and DR -10.

Combat Knife

Stats: 2d6+ST, Melee – Close

Astartes combat knives are forged of ultra-hard alloys, their shapes varying by Legion and tradition. To mortals, they are short swords; to the Astartes, they are simply knives. Used in ritual, duel, and war.

Unarmed Combat

Stats: 1d6+ST, Melee – Close

The armored fist of an Astartes is a weapon in itself. By taking Disadvantage, damage increases by +1d6, representing brutal kicks, headbutts, and body slams.

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Grenades

Compact, long-ranged, and integrated with power armor systems, Astartes grenades are standard issue. Marines typically carry 4 frag, 2 krak, and 2 smoke.

• Frag: Anti-personnel, specifically designed not to penetrate power armor.

• Krak: Anti-armor, effective vs vehicles and power-armored foes. Requires a direct hit.

• Smoke: Useful against mortals, but largely ignored by auto-senses.

• Blind: Advanced smoke. Effective even against autosenses. Astartes dislike using them.

• Plasma (special issue): High-tech anti-personnel grenades.

• Melta (special issue): Compact anti-armor warheads.

Grenade launchers exist, sometimes as bolter attachments, but are uncommon. The throwing arm of an Astartes is often more accurate and tactically flexible. A launcher has a somewhat longer range, but Astartes in PA can throw a grenade quite far.

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Conclusion

The weaponry of the Astartes embodies the same philosophy as their armor: overkill, reliability, and terror. Every bolt shell is a micro-missile, every chainsword a sawmill in miniature. To face an Astartes in battle is to confront not just a warrior, but an arsenal of humanity’s most efficient killing tools.

Astartes Wargear: Power Armor

Astartes Power Armour is an extraordinarily sophisticated defensive system that combines immense resistance to physical damage with a sensory array and a sealed environment, protecting its wearer from the ravages of the void and alien atmospheres. Integrated with the armor are networks of electromotivated fiber bundles that mimic and augment the muscular strength of the wearer, as well as connection cables that hook up to the Black Carapace implant of a Space Marine. The true genius of the design, however, lies in its close integration with the already superhuman physiology, senses, and reflexes of the Space Marine within. Working in concert, armour and Astartes together become a weapon without equal.

Below are the most common patterns relevant to the Great Crusade.

Mk I “Thunder”

Prototype heavy armor, never used by the Legiones Astartes.

Mk II “Crusade”

The first true Astartes power armor. Iconic silhouette, widely used in the early Great Crusade. Largely replaced by Mk IV and of late, the Mk V.

Mk III “Iron”

Optimized for boarding actions and heavy assaults. Heavily armored frontal plates. Superseded the Thunder pattern in those roles, but has in turn been replaced by Tactical Dreadnought Armor.

Mk IV “Maximus”

The pinnacle of Great Crusade engineering. Sleek, advanced, but costly. It is still being produced, but the focus is shifting towards the cheaper Mk V. 

Stats: PT 40, DR 60, ST +4, RSL +2

Key features: Each suit contains many subsystems; only those who provide a concrete game effect or in-universe capability are mentioned here.

• Hulking size: Astartes are big even without their suits, but when armored, they become hulking giants.
• You have Advantage on melee attacks vs non-Hulking opponents, and they have Disadvantage on melee attacks against you. 
• Note that, since the Combat Blade is a Close weapon, you do not gain this bonus while fighting smaller opponents (but you also don't get any penalty).
• Neural interface: The armor links directly into the wearer's nervous system through interface ports inserted into the Black Crapace, allowing the Astartes to wear the suit like a second skin (that, and endless hours of familiarization training). 

• No movement penalties for wearing heavy armor.

• Electromotivated fiber bundles: Not only does the suit offset its own weight, it actually further enhances the wearer's already considerable strength.

• ST +4 (to melee damage, Athletics checks like jumping and lifting, etc).
• Speed +2 (on top of normal Astartes speed of 14; humans are speed 12).

• Auto-senses: This is a complex suite of subsystems that provides the Astartes with a high-fidelity 360° active/passive sensory image of his surroundings. His vision extends far into the infrared and ultraviolet. Audio pickups ensure even the faintest auditory cue can be picked up. He can sense anything he touches or treads on as if he were unarmored, even the wind against his "skin." Olfactory sensors are also present; however, to actually "smell the roses," air filtering must be turned off. The only sense not accounted for is taste. If an Astartes needs to taste something (for whatever reason), he needs to put it in his mouth.
• Allows the wearer to use their senses unimpeded.
• There are protective filters built into the system, protecting the wearer's senses from being overloaded.
• Provides near-perfect low-light vision (a further enhancement to an Astartes' already good night vision) and highly accurate thermal vision, effectively allowing you to ignore darkness, smoke, and some other types of obscuration.
• The system seamlessly projects the gathered data into your optic nerve, allowing you to gain the benefits of using a Major action on your Vigilance check by only spending a Minor action, and the benefits of a Minor action when spending only a Free action. There is no additional benefit for using a Major action (use your auspex function for that instead).
• The active part of the system functions as a standard Imperial auspex system (an all-spectrum active scanner) in terms of range, data provided, and revealing your own presence. 

• Targeter sub-system: Closely tied into the sensor suite is a targeting system optimized for use with Legion wargear. The system will calculate ranges, target movement/deflection, optimum fuzing, and much more. Astartes are so well-trained on the system that they hardly need to think about using it to gain full effect.
• Game effects: While making a ranged attack using an Astartes weapon capable of interfacing with the suit's targeter, ignore 1 instance of Disadvantage.

• Vox suite: This is more than a radio set. It is a highly powerful, reliable, encrypted datalink. Yes, it allows you to communicate with your battle brothers, but also transmits key positional and sensor data, essentially enabling all friendly Astartes to share battlefield awareness. The system also automatically patches through to other subnets and uplinks, creating a robust battle net that cannot easily be disrupted or jammed.

• Backpack Unit: The suit's "backpack" contains a compact power core, waste heat management system, and a set of micro-thrusters for ultra-low/zero-G operations. The backpack also features an extended nutrient reservoir (see below) and a set of tools and spare parts for in-field suit maintenance.
• The armor has enough stored power for a few hours (at most) of operation without the backpack, but it will gradually shut down as power is directed to critical systems. Eventually, it will become nothing more than an iron tomb. 
• Without a functioning backpack, heat management, especially in a vacuum, quickly becomes problematic, and a careless Astartes can cook himself alive long before he runs out of power.
• The thrusters are only powerful enough to work in space or in airless, low-gravity environments like Luna. 

• Sealed suit: The suit is fully sealed and pressurized, capable of operating in a hard vacuum, and is highly radiation-resistant. It is also rated for operations at pressures of up to 20 atm (with special seals, this can be extended to 70 atm). This is equivalent to 200 meters of sea pressure on Earth, but while PA can operate in an aquatic environment, it is primarily designed for operations in dense atmospheres.
• Damage to the suit can compromise its integrity, but the suit features multiple redundancies, self-repairing subroutines, and tools/parts for patching it up in the field.

• Life sustainer: The suit can efficiently recycle waste products from the wearer and extract water and oxygen from the surrounding atmosphere. 
• Air supply in a hard vacuum is only 24 hours unless extra tanks are carried. If no air is available, the Astartes must enter suspended animation using the Sus-an Membrane.
• Combined with a reservoir of high-density nutrients, an Astartes can fight at full efficiency for one day without eating (or up to one week with the backpack). After that, the wearer must either resupply, scavenge (Astartes can eat almost anything thanks to the Preomnor), or accept a gradual reduction in biological operating efficiency.

• Bio-monitor & autodoc: The suit continuously monitors the wearer's health (and transmits the data to the unit). The autodoc can administer a range of painkillers, stimulants, and anti-toxins to bolster the wearer's already formidable constitution.
• Game effects: Resilience defense +2.

• Armored greaves: The mag boots are the most iconic, but the greaves also have a selection of retractable spikes for walking across icy or other treacherous surfaces.

Mk V “Compliance” (can't call it "Heresy" lol)

Cheaper and faster to produce, and easier to maintain, the Mk V is both bulkier and heavier than the Mk IV. It starts to appear by the mid-late Crusade era as a means to equip ever more Astartes being churned out.

Stats: Samke as Mk IV.

• Key features: As Mk IV, but simplified and ruggedized.

The Journal of Brother Tyndarios, 11th Legion – Part 7: Purge the unclean

 

298.947.M30 – Eremus Gate

Less than eight hours after plotting intercept, the xenos revealed their true intent. They closed upon the Ashen Promise, utterly heedless of augurs or firepower. Their vessels were fast, brutal in profile, and nothing like ork hulls save for the aggression with which they charged. Orks scavenge, yes, but even scavengers show some cunning. These ships drove forward as if guided only by the urge to kill.

We met them at range. The Ashen’s batteries crippled one outright. The frigate’s superior turn of keel brought us across their bows, our starboard guns hammering until plating gave way. Boarding pods swarmed in response, but this time the ship was ready: interceptors cut them apart, and point-defense flayed anything that crossed the defensive cordon.

One enemy raider burned. The second was gutted, its drives dead. Sergeant Tyndrel ordered a drop-pod strike. I rode down with him, with Menalkos, Halcyd, and Daecrus—his new bionic arm twitching, eager to prove itself. The Wolves took the second pod. Together, we were to find navigational data.

The hull split beneath us, and we entered the dark.

First contact: malformed things, pale, gretchin-like things, but bent with augmetics. They died quickly under bolt and blade, leaving only questions. Not ork. Not human. Something in between.

The ship itself fought us. The very air was poision. Twisting corridors flooded with radiation, a trap waiting for the unwary. I saw the pattern in the walls, the lines where the blasts would come, and led us through without a brother falling. Luck? Instinct? Perhaps both.

Further on, we met the larger brutes—twisted, hulking things of pale flesh and crude augmetics. They fought savagely, yet without the joy of greenskins. Our chainswords sang, our bolters thundered. They fell, fighting to the bitter end, but their feeble xenos weapons could not breach our vestments.

The vessel was broken, corridors torn by fire and void. We slipped through wreckage and vacuum, advancing by stealth where battle would waste our strength. My brothers looked to me to take point, and I did.

At last, the Data Maw. The Wolves were already there. And so was the beast. A dreadnought-shape, but alien: augmetic limbs like piled scrap, one fist large enough to crush ceramite like wax. It did so—one Wolf obliterated, another decapitated before he could strike back. The survivors howled their grief, but fought on.

Its guns raked us, but with little effect. It was its fists that killed. Then I found my mark. Three perfect shots, blessed by the Emperor’s hand, drove through augmetic joints and into whatever pulsed within. The monster toppled, broken, and did not rise again. Another dispatch, no doubt. But I remember the Wolves’ dead, and the weight of their gene-seed lost to the void.

We tore what data we could from the Maw, then departed through a ragged breach. Floating free, we watched as the Ashen obliterated what remained of the vessel.

The Wolves grieved. Yet even in grief, they gave me respect, for I saved what I could of their brother’s legacy, shielding a second progenoid from radiation. Wolves do not easily give praise, but they gave it to me.

Back aboard, the Magos puzzled over the recovered data. It spoke of three routes through the storms—ways to leave the Gate without passing the ork gauntlet. Theoretically, we could leave. But honor does not turn its back on an enemy. And none can accept leaving the orks at our rear.

Meanwhile, the signals from Eremus II grow louder. Human voices, or the echo of them. The xenos—whatever they are—were bound there. That alone demands our attention.

In the midst of all this, I found time for the Navigatrix. Iskandra grows more confident by the day, and with the data recovered, she may plot courses beyond this trap. But her astralabe—the device by which she charts the void—is failing. The cause is unknown. Her new staff struggles, though Warrant Officer Jocasta of Bakka subtly guides them by sheer force of will. The others look up to her for guidance, and through her flows the virtues of efficiency and obedience. Truly an exemplary mortal. Indeed, I have myself taken her counsel on occasion. On mortal matters, of course, not matters of war.

Strange, though, that I linger so long in Iskandra’s company. Stranger still that she welcomes it. The 11th teaches Honor in life, above all else. Am I being honorable? Or self-indulgent? I tell myself it is for the good of the Legion, but in truth, I do not know.

Selene Orpheos, one of the Remembrancers, now serves me as helot. She pressed the matter, I suppose, and I relented. Her twin, Cassian, joined as well. Their Death World origins make them robust, and they are most eager to serve. They will do well, I think.  And through them, I will glimpse humanity in ways no drill or duty could teach.

And then Calvien. I confronted him, for I saw what he carries: the Eye of Horus upon his chest. He told me truths I did not wish to hear. That he is banished from his Legion for the crime of loyalty—not to Fulgrim, but to the Imperium, and to Horus whom he calls exemplar and a better man than his own gene-father. That Erastes sought his death, and that others of his brethren may still seek it.

This is heresy of a kind I cannot name. To raise hand against brother. To honor another Primarch over one’s own. To murder instead of exile. It shakes me to the marrow.

But what can be done? Their Legion’s shame is their own, of course. But we are all brothers on this ship, with scant little to separate one Legion from another.

Stone endures. But even stone can crack under the hammerblows of treachery.

The Journal of Brother Tyndarios, 11th Legion – Part 6: Brother-murder

 

291.947.M30 – Eremus Gate

Eight hours of daily duties, then eight hours more of preparing for war, then four hours to contemplate the Will of the Dragon, then four hours for rest, as is the custom. Mortals think it little enough, but it is more than stone requires.

In stillness, revelation comes.

Malchior summoned me to the apothecarion during my off-duty hours. Kharros was there also, his leg now braced with ceramite and synthflesh. Malchior placed the ork blade into my hand and bade me strike Kharros as Erastes was struck.

Kharros is the better swordsman; I knew I could not best him blade to blade. So I drew my pistol instead, two rounds to the chest—enough to stagger him, not to kill. I shoved him down, pinned him, and drove the blade through his hearts. A clean strike, true to the manner of Erastes’ death.

We helped Kharros to his feet. He knew the truth as I did. Erastes was no fool with a blade. The finest swordsman among us, perhaps. No ork, no matter how frenzied, could deliver so precise a killing blow. Only another Astartes could.

Yet what Astartes would turn blade against brother? The thought is poison. Even the suggestion of an accident stretches credulity.

I took the matter to Magos Rhadamanthine, my fellow Solarian. He listened gravely, and employed his arts to recover security footage thought long since purged. Grainy, incomplete—but damning.

It showed Erastes. Advancing on his sergeant, blade poised for murder. And Calvien, ready. Pivoting, catching him off-guard, and striking the killing blow with the ork weapon. No doubt. No question.

Why? Rivalry? Madness? Or something deeper, some hidden corruption? It is not for me to say.

We brought this to Sergeant Tyndrel. His usual stoicism faltered, if only for a moment. Brother-murder is a shadow too deep to ignore. He commanded that dispatches be prepared, encrypted twice—first in our Legion’s cipher, then wrapped in House Veyra’s codes. Our Primarch’s allies among the Fists will see them delivered to the Keepers, who will divine what we cannot.

For now, we wait. And we endure.

In my spare hours, I found myself returning to the Navigator’s chambers. Perhaps I told myself it was duty, to ensure she was not isolated. Perhaps I thought I aided her in this strange hour of responsibility. But truth be told, I sought her company as much as she sought mine. She is alone now, bereft of servants, her only companions the Sol Club and the silence of the sanctum. She did not turn me away.

One night, leaving her chamber, the lift doors opened and I was met by a hulking ogryn beneath a tattered hood. With but a few words, he thrust a cylinder of ebony and silver into my hands. I was not aware of an ogryn presence aboard, but then again, I had never bothered to check. It was too fine a gift to turn away; I accepted it. Within were the missing charts.

I bore them to Iskandra. She confirmed them, yet doubted their worth. The Nestor who brought us through slew himself upon arrival. The explorator ship we found was reduced to madness. Perhaps the path is cursed. At the very least, it cannot be trusted until we know more.

Before we could decide our course, Iskandra stiffened. Her third eye gazed into a distance we could not see. Warp emergence.

The ship sounded alert. Augurs flared. Two vessels, smaller than the Ashen, exiting the Immaterium and steering for Eremus II. They did not use the ork-held gate. They must know another path.

An intercept course is plotted.

The Journal of Brother Tyndarios, 11th Legion – Part 5: Myrmidon 7-17 (aka. the Mad Ship)

 

289.947.M30 – Eremus Gate

Four days of uneventful duty. Four days of routine. We crossed the void toward the derelict that the Magos swore bore the mark of Mars. Sergeant Kallin detached half the Alpha Legion, Pheron leading them, to scout the Orks in one of the pinnaces. Fast enough to run, small enough to hide—at least in theory. The rest of us remained aboard.

Meanwhile, the hunt for the missing servants—and the warp charts they bore—continued. The Ashen Promise is vast, but not endless. If they yet live, they will be found. If they are dead, the charts will be found. The cold truth of probabilities.

Brother Daecrus has returned to duty, his new bionic arm moving with mechanical surety. Iskandra is choosing her staff from among the crew. I continue to observe them all. Mortals and Navigators, even the new serfs: I see in them valor, not fear; purpose, not panic. Halcyd laughs at me for this, telling me they are mortified to become slaves to a house full of mutants, but I know what I see. The spark of the Emperor burns in them no less than in us.

The derelict proved to be the Myrmidion 7-17, an explorator cruiser. Far larger than the Ashen, but not a true warship. The hull was strangely intact. Orks would have looted or destroyed it. Instead, it drifted in silence for ten years, whispering only a faint IFF reply to an uncaring galaxy content to ignore it.

We boarded. Two Thunderhawks. One half squad of Wolves under Sergeant Hrothgar, one half squad of the Guard. I went with Menalkos, Kharros, Akeiron, and Halcyd. The Magos joined us. We are honored by his presence.

The bay doors would not answer. We left our gunship and crossed the void. Even the airlock refused us, until I interfaced my armor with its systems. For one heartbeat I saw the Navigator’s pattern again—the serpent spiral, the radiance in darkness—but in machine code. Then the handshake completed, the system reset, and the hatch yielded.

Inside, the Magos reset local systems and the bay doors groaned open. Imperial Fist serfs remained to tend the Thunderhawk. We advanced.

Everywhere: silence. Systems caught in recursive loops, crew long dead but still jacked into their consoles. Their bionics asked the ship endless questions, and the ship answered endlessly. Ten years of meaninglessness. Ten years of madness.

At the manufactory decks, the silence ended. Dormant slaughter-servitors reawakened, eager to obey their final command: reduce all flesh to paste. Pallets of the wretched matter sat stacked, mute testimony to the crew’s fate. The Magos forbade any direct communion with the ship’s systems. He himself used a Black Device—his firewall against binaric corruption.

The Wolves reached the bridge. They reported the captain had ordered the ship shut down, non-essential crew recycled, and only essential members preserved. But soon even the essentials forgot food, forgot time. They, too, became consumed by endless computation.

There was fighting. Turrets turned against us. I destroyed them with my bolter, channeling the Dragon's wrath. Akeiron fell when a shell tore through shield and leg both—painful, but not fatal. Servitors attacked in droves as we neared the datacore, but we held them while the Magos tore what knowledge he could from the troubled machine.

Then we fell back. Static drowned our vox. The Wolves did not answer. The bay doors refused to yield, and we blasted them apart—the ship is lost to us anyway.

We launched. The other Thunderhawk launched, too. But I watched the auspex. Its course was wrong. Not toward the Ashen. Toward us.

I shouted the order. The crew hesitated—they saw allies, brothers. I saw only an attack profile. They obeyed at last. We fired every weapon. The gunship blossomed into fire before it could kill us.

For a heartbeat, I thought we had slain our own. But no—the Wolves had never boarded their craft. They had left “on foot,” void-crossing to be retrieved by us. The Emperor protects even his most foolhardy of servants.

The Myrmidion 7-17 will not be allowed to drift again. The Magos has decreed its destruction. As soon as we were clear, the Ashen opened up, batteries stripping shields from the Mechanicus vessel, now quickly coming to life, before our lances tore it to shreds.

Another mention in dispatches, perhaps. Another stone placed in the wall of my duty. We endure.

The Journal of Brother Tyndarios, 11th Legion – Part 4: Patterns and councils

 

277.947.M30 – Eremus Gate

I suggested to Iskandra that we bring the body of Nestor Althanius to the apothecarion. Perhaps an autopsy could yield answers. She hesitated—her House has its own customs, cleansing fire, and a stellar grave—but in the end she agreed. Curiosity and necessity outweighed tradition. I was pleased. Not for myself, but because she showed the same hunger for truth that all warriors must have.

I was even more pleased to discover I could read her emotions as I do those of mortals. The Navigators seem distant, but Iskandra’s joy was plain: elation at her sudden elevation, eagerness to prove herself. In this, she is much like an Astartes on his first campaign. Perhaps Navigators and Space Marines are not so different after all.

Sergeant Kallin and Captain Varenius were duly informed, the sanctum secured by Astartes. I escorted the gurney with the corpse to the medbay, where Malchior prepared his instruments.

The body was… grotesque. No legs, but eight great tentacles, barbed and suckered. Arms elongated into whipcord strands. The kraken sigil of his House is no mere heraldry—they become what they honor. Malchior pitied him, speaking of the sacrifices made by the Emperor’s servants. When he opened the body, there was nothing where it should be, and organs that should never be.

Malchior concluded poison: a nerve-toxin, strong enough to burn every neuron to ash. Likely self-administered.

I urged more... brain tissue. The omophagea may reveal what knives cannot. Malchior warned me. Eating the unclean is forbidden. Yet was the Navigator unclean? He was sanctioned and had served faithfully. We discussed the matter at some length, and in necessity we found approval. He prepared the skull, bolt pistol steady at my temple, should madness take me.

I swallowed the blackened matter, dripping with oily fluids. Not how a human's brain should look.

Darkness. Pattern. Serpent. Spiral. A radiance beyond sight, burning in the void. For one instant, I saw what the Navigator saw, and it nearly unmade me. One glimpse, and I will carry it until death.

Yet I gained something more. I saw Nestor hand a cylinder of ebony and silver to a servant. Warp charts are kept so. Iskandra later confirmed it. Two of her household members were missing. Perhaps trusted, perhaps fled.

The remaining staff yielded nothing. They kept secrets even from their new mistress. Then Iskandra revealed her third eye. Darkness wrapped them, and they died where they stood. New servants will be chosen. I did not flinch. The Navigators are as ruthless as any Legion when there is a need.

Later, I was summoned to the bridge. Strange, for one as junior as I, but I was told my name had been entered into dispatches more than once. That, and my place in the Sol Club, has secured Rhadamanthine's patronage. And of course, my part in the Navigator matter.

The council gathered:

• Captain Varenius

• Magos Rhadamanthine

• Veteran-Sergeant Kallin of the Fists

• Sergeant Calvien of the Third

• Sergeant Hrothgar of the Wolves

• Sergeant Pheron of the Alpha Legion

• Sergeant Tyndrel of the Granite Guard

They debated our course. Rhadamanthine urged us to investigate the derelict he believed to be a Mechanicus ship. Then to Eremus II for the signals. The Captain counseled caution, the ship too precious to hazard, with no possibility of repairs or resupply. Hrothgar demanded a direct assault.

When they asked my counsel, I said we should clear our back first—destroy the Orks, then explore. I suggested the vortex torpedo. Hrothgar agreed at once, but Pheron cautioned: one cannot strike without knowledge. Calvien lent his voice in agreement. Sergeant Tyndrel remained silent, unreadable.

The debate rolled on. At length, I was dismissed.

I do not begrudge it. Stone should not sit in council forever. Stone need only endure.

The Journal of Brother Tyndarios, 11th Legion – Part 3: Dead men do tell tales

 

276.947.M30 – Eremus Gate

The ship is saved. The Orks have broken off their pursuit, at least for now. The void is quiet once more.

In the aftermath, there was no time to rest. I found myself walking the decks, fetching ammunition and supplies for my brothers. A menial task, perhaps — but the mortals who crew this ship are not accustomed to serving Astartes from so many Legions. The Fists keep their own in order, of course, but the rest of us? We endure. There should be serfs to see to such things, but there are not. So I bore the crates myself. Stone does not complain.

As I walked the corridors, I looked upon the mortals. Some were cold-faced and disciplined — as warriors should be. Others… their faces betrayed much. At first, I thought it fear, but I know better now. These were not the expressions of the cowed, but of the exultant. They had lived through terror and found joy in survival. They rejoiced in the victory as we do. For all their fragility, these mortals are not so different from us.

Brother Menalkos assigned me to guard the apothecarion. Some might think this a punishment, but it was no such thing. Four Astartes dead. Two more crippled, held in stasis. Gene-seed harvested, sealed, awaiting return to their Legions. Such things must not be left unguarded. Besides, Brother Malchior of our own Legion is the only fully trained Apothecary left aboard since the death of the Imperial Fist. To keep him safe is to keep all of us safe.

I stood watch as Malchior worked. He asked my counsel on the autopsies. Three Fists, butchered by frenzied Orks. Brother Erastes of the Third Legion — two hearts pierced by a single blade. Strange, but possible. The armpit is weakly armored, and a large Ork with enough strength could strike true. Malchior and I were agreed.

I also watched him graft a new arm to Brother Daecrus, hacked off in battle. No regrowth was possible; only a machine-limb could serve. He accepted it with grim resolve. Better steel than nothing.

I rested in shifts, half my mind in slumber, half awake. Thus I remained vigilant until I was relieved.

It was then that the strange servant found me. A mortal in a burgundy gown, marked not with the cog of Mars but a kraken-like sigil. I thought him Mechanicus at first, but no. He was of the Navigator’s household. He bore a summons from Iskandra Veyra, the apprentice.

She waited outside the Navigator’s sanctum, pale with unease. No one had heard from Nestor Althanius since our emergence from the warp. The doors were sealed, and her key could not open them alone. With my aid, they yielded.

Inside: silence. The Navigator, dead in his throne, no wound upon him. The sanctum staff, absent. We searched, and found them in their quarters. All slain, each shot cleanly through the skull with laspistols. One — an officer — bore the mark of his own hand, turned upon himself.

The Navigator’s charts of the passage — gone.

I asked Iskandra for leave, and then consumed what remained of the officer’s brain. The gift of the Omophagea is not precise, but it can grant glimpses. It did. Images, flashes of thought, enough to piece together a shape of the truth.

I saw the moment. Nestor Althanius gave the order. Kill them all. Leave nothing. Then kill yourself. And the officer obeyed without hesitation.

The how is clear. The why is not. The Navigator dead without mark. The charts missing. The sanctum defiled.

There is something here that we do not yet see. Something darker than Orks in the void.

Stone will endure. But I will not forget.

Ordnance of the Ashen Promise

Hunter-class Heavy Scout Frigate, 813th Expeditionary Fleet

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Primary Battery Decks

The ship's broadside armament is heavy for an Escort-type vessel, but nowhere near heavy enough to duel with even the lightest cruiser.

• 10 macrocannon turrets per side (20 total), arranged in a 5×2 matrix across two gun decks.

• Each turret mounts triple-linked mass drivers, able to hurl multi-ton penetrator shells or plasma-sheathed ordnance at relativistic velocity.

• Turrets are powered by gravitic accelerators and magnetic rails — far beyond the crude muzzle-loading image most voidsmen imagine.

Flavors of ammunition include:

• Armor-Piercing Penetrators – adamantine-jacketed slugs for brute kinetic impact.

• Plasma-Incendiary Shells – unstable plasma cores to sear through armor.

• Submunition Cluster Shells – good against small craft or dispersed targets.

• Voidbreaker Charges – destabilize shields for a few seconds.

Crew/Servitor Balance:

• Servitors ram shells and manage breach seals.

• Humans handle fire control, targeting algorithms, and power distribution.

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Lance Batteries

The ship's main long-range anti-ship firepower is its lance batteries. Unlike smaller Escort Frigates, the Hunter-class has a full array of demilances.

• Five dual-turret lances: three dorsal (top), two ventral (bottom).

• A “lance” is a directed energy projector — think of it as a particle/laser hybrid:

  • Builds charge in a massive capacitor.

  • Fires a sustained beam of fused plasma-photon energy that scythes through armor.

• They are slower to cycle than macrocannons but terrifyingly accurate at range.

• In naval doctrine, lances are “ship-killers,” while macrocannons saturate volume.

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Torpedo Tubes

Torpedoes are heavy anti-ship missiles with extreme range and killing power. The Hunter-class has a slightly above-average-sized torpedo spread, with 8 tubes to the more standard 6 for escorts.

• Eight forward tubes, ventral prow.

• Torpedoes are more like miniature spacecraft than “missiles”: armored, shielded, with onboard augurs and cogitators.

• Standard loadout:

  • Krak-class warheads (anti-ship).

  • Plasma-class warheads (wide-area energy release).

  • Boarding torpedoes for Astartes.

  • One Vortex warhead (special issue, rarely touched).

Rate of Fire:

• Torpedoes are slow to reload, but devastating when loosed in a spread.

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Orbital/Drop Ordnance

Orbital munitions include:

• Gravitic bomb racks located ventrally, replacing what could have been a third lance emplacement.

• Can drop:

  • Grav-bombs for planetary bombardment.

  • Seismic charges against hardened bunkers.

  • Astartes drop-pods (same racks serve both roles).

• Practical: keeps the ship flexible as both warship and troop carrier.

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Small Craft

This is not a carrier, but it maintains a modest wing:

• 1 squadron of Fury Interceptors (12 craft) – void superiority, anti-bomber.

• 4 Thunderhawks – 2 gunships, 2 heavy lift variants.

• Personnel Landers (6) – troop ferries for Auxilia.

• Heavy Cargo Shuttles (4) – vehicles, supplies, heavy gear.

• Gun cutters/pinnaces (2) 

• Utility/Service Craft (20)

Primary launch bays are located aft of the gun decks, adjacent to barracks and cargo holds. This keeps troop movements and launch ops tightly integrated.

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Point Defense

• Dozens of emplacements across the hull:

  • Autocannon turrets for close-range saturation.

  • Laser clusters to intercept missiles and bombers.

  • Counter-missile pods (anti-missile missiles).

• These systems are slaved to cogitators but overseen by human officers, with servitors forming the “muscle” of the network.

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Defensive Systems

• Void Shields: multi-layered defensive envelopes. Can absorb incoming fire until they overload. Vulnerable to lance strikes and saturation bombardment.

• Armor: Plasteel and adamantium belts protect the ship, but they are thin for her size.

  • The Promise can shrug off raiders and light escorts.

  • Against true line ships, she cannot endure prolonged engagement.

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Performance Profile

• Speed: Exceptional for her displacement; one of the Hunter-class’ trademarks.

• Handling: Highly responsive, designed to cut and run or pursue fleeing targets.

• Endurance: Efficient plasma drives and advanced reclamation systems allow years of independent operation.

• Sensors: Advanced augur suites give her superior targeting and scouting ability—vital for hunting and exploration.

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Tactical Character

The Ashen Promise fights like her name:

• Strike role: She cripples escorts, overwhelms raiders, or slashes into the flanks of larger foes.

• Support role: She delivers her Astartes payload with drop-pods or boarding torpedoes.

• Weakness: If caught in a line battle, her shields will fail and her hull will not stand.

She is a predator, not a brawler.

Welcome Aboard the Ashen Promise

 

Hunter-class Heavy Scout Frigate, 813th Expeditionary Fleet

The Ashen Promise is no ordinary void-ship. At more than two kilometers in length, crewed by 11,000 mortal voidsmen with the aid of some 4,000 Mechanicum bionic robot-servitors, she is a predator among the stars: too big to be a mere escort, too lean to stand in the line of battle. She is a hunter, built to carry warriors of the Legiones Astartes wherever the Great Crusade demands.

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Command & Navigation (~800 souls)

The ship's master is Captain Varenius, dour and immovable as a fortress wall. He rarely leaves his command deck, issuing orders through ritual and formality. By his side, First Officer Ghent ensures those orders are carried out. Beneath them toils an army of officers, clerks, and midshipmen, the grease in the great machine of command. Nearby but separately reside the Navigators, and the Astropathic choir whose whispers carry messages across the stars. 

• 250 bridge crew — officers, helmsmen, vox operators, auspex readers, and other specialized staff.

• 60 staff serving the Astropaths.

• 100 staff serving the Navigators.

• Nearly 400 midshipmen and scribes, carrying orders, logging reports, and keeping the bureaucratic engine turning.

From here, the ship appears as a rational, orderly machine—though anyone who has watched Ghent translating a Mechanicum “rite” into a “calibration report” knows appearances can deceive.

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Mechanicum & Engineering (~3,000 crew + 1,700 servitors)

The beating heart of the Promise lies in her enginarium, where plasma fires roar like a chained sun. Magos Rhadamantin—an outsider, bound by the Treaty of Mars—moves among the conduits like a priest of ancient mysteries. The ship’s actual engineering cadre, depleted by ork boarding actions, now scrambles to keep pace under the unsteady hand of Acting Chief Enginseer Veyra.

• 3,000 mortal engineers — tech-priests, junior enginseers, and voidsmen laborers.

• 2,000 servitors, appearing to most as tireless robots, crawling into conduits and handling plasma flows no human could endure.

Here, the line between science and ritual grows thin. Reports speak of “calibrations” and “power flows,” but the adepts whisper binharic prayers when they think no one is listening.

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Gunnery & Ordnance (~1,200 crew + 1,200 servitors)

Each flank of the Promise bristles with macrocannon bays and lance turrets, while torpedo tubes brood in their armored cradles. Gone are the days of mortal crews hauling shells by hand; now tracked servitors slam ordnance into breeches, while human overseers monitor targeting cogitators and power flows from gantries high above.

• 1,200 humans — officers, techs, fire-control staff.

• 1,200 servitors — piston-limbed loaders and radiation-soaked “hands.”

It is a place of thunder and awe, where each salvo feels like the wrath of a god unleashed.

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Flight & Drop Bays (~800 crew + 300 servitors)

High-vaulted hangars hold the ship’s wings: Fury interceptors, gun-cutters, shuttles, and the precious Stormbirds and Thunderhawks of the Legions. Mortals swarm here like ants—pilots, mechanics, deckhands—each tending to the craft that can carry death from void to world.

• 100 pilots,

• 400 deckhands,

• 200 mechanics,

• 100 traffic officers and vox signalers,

• 300 specialized servitors.

Flight decks are both hangars and workshops, alive with the smell of promethium and the drone of engines.

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Security & Armsmen (~2,000 crew)

Two thousand voidsmen serve as armsmen, provosts, and watchmen, patrolling endless corridors and hab-decks. They keep the crew in line, suppress mutiny, and man the barricades if the ship is ever boarded. Yet when the Legions march, they step aside; their war is one of discipline, not glory.

• 1,800 armsmen guard the ship's vital systems and personnel, and serve as ground troops if there are no Auxilia available.

• 200 provosts police discipline among the crew, including settling disputes among the men.

They will fight if the ship is boarded, but their main war is against unrest among the crew. 

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Medical & Apothecarion (~500 crew)

A ship of this size births injuries and accidents daily. The mortal chirurgeons and medicae keep the crew alive, while a sealed apothecarion supports the Astartes. Here the difference between man and transhuman is made stark: one side triages wounds with saws and sutures, the other reclaims gene-seed for the future.

• 300 mortal doctors and orderlies,

• 100 assistants assigned to the Astartes Apothecarion,

• 100 support staff for morgues and sanitation.

They patch wounds and mend fractures daily; battle only multiplies their burden.

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Logistics & Habitation (~2,700 crew + 800 servitors)

This is where the ship truly breathes. Hydroponic gardens glow with artificial suns. Waste reclamation vats churn and reprocess. Workshops repair the endless scars of void life. Thousands cook, clean, weld, tally, and maintain. Here, the crew gossip, gamble, pray, and dream of landfall.

• 600 hydroponics workers,

• 500 reclaimers tending air, water, and waste,

• 700 repairmen and deck-welders,

• 400 cooks, stewards, and cleaners,

• 500 clerks and tallymen,

• plus 800 utility servitors.

Here, the Promise feels most like a city: gardens under false suns, vats that stink of reclamation, endless mess halls, barrack-blocks, and gambling corners.

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Auxilia & Astartes (~3,500 Auxilia + 50 Astartes)

• Auxilia Regiments: The ship can carry up to 5,000 Imperial Army soldiers, though 3,000 is the more comfortable fit. They keep to their own barracks and training halls, barred from fraternizing with the crew.

• Astartes Company: As an Imperial Fist vessel, the Promise is built to host up to 200 Space Marines in full panoply, though up to 300 can be crammed aboard in emergencies. Their quarters, armories, and reliquaries are sealed sanctums, apart from mortal eyes.

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She hunts, she carries, she endures. And as long as the oaths of her crew hold fast, the Ashen Promise will never drift silent among the stars.

Societas Solis

 

Charter of Fellowship

Aboard the Hunter-class scout frigate Ashen Promise, 275.947.M30

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Preamble

In the spirit of Sol, cradle of Mankind, we, the undersigned, do establish the Societas Solis.

Our purpose is simple: to gather in collegial discourse, to share learning, and to keep alive the traditions of our ancient home as the Great Crusade carries us ever further from its light.

This Society binds no man or woman beyond the oath of fellowship. Its members are equals in discourse, diverse in station yet united in heritage. Here we speak freely of philosophy, history, science, and the destiny of Man among the stars.

No record of our discussions shall be disseminated beyond the circle save by common consent. Our words are for one another alone.

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Articles of Fellowship

1. The Society shall meet when ship’s duty permits, at times agreed upon by majority.

2. Each member has equal voice. None shall hold office save the informal dignity of “Convener,” chosen afresh each meeting.

3. Matters of religion, superstition, or base factional quarrel are excluded. Our purpose is enlightenment, not division.

4. The memory of absent friends is to be honored, that Sol may know we have not forgotten her children.

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Signators to the Charter

• Magos Rhadamanthine of Mars

• Sergeant Calvien of the III Legion, Terra-born

• Brother Tyndarios of the XI Legion, Terra-born

• Nestor Althanius Veyra, Master Navigator

• Navigatrix Iskandra Veyra, apprentice of House Veyra

• Major Titus Havelock, Imperial Auxilia, veteran of the 813th

• Commander Chandrika Velas, Master of Etherics, Imperial Navy, Ceres-born

• Lieutenant Cassian Darrowe, Aerospace Pilot, Imperial Navy, Saturn-born

• Steward 1st Class Severin Klay, Former Remembrancer-Scholar, Luna-born

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Motto

“Lux Solis, Lux Omnium” — The Light of Sol is the Light of All.

Learning Through Fire

 

Astartes XP, Tiers, and What It Means on the Table

The Astartes are gene-wrought weapons who may live for centuries—perhaps far longer. In the 30k era, no one truly knows their upper limit. Yet most burn bright and die young. They are made to fight, to be tested, to learn at speed in the crucible of danger. That’s not just a game incentive—it’s hard-coded into their biology and psycho-indoctrination. In Bellum, your warrior earns real advancement only by stepping into risk, taking initiative, and surviving what should kill lesser men.

And remember: Astartes Know No Fear. Their duty is to fight and, if need be, to die. Shying from danger is anathema—for the character and for their progression.

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How XP Works

These are guidelines; exceptions might occur. GM has the final say.

• Typical session (5–6 hours): ~250–300 XP for active involvement: meaningful challenges, taking risks, creative play, strong roleplay.

• Longer sessions / more content: XP scales with what is covered, not just the hours played. A marathon session that pushes the story further will net proportionally more. The rule of thumb is 50XP/hour of actual play.

• Minimal involvement: Simply “being there” with little input nets no more than half the regular XP. Slightly more involvement will give slightly more XP. Simple.

• RP-heavy sessions: If the GM sets up a session with little or no danger, XP is awarded normally, and while there might be fewer chances of Mentions (see below), there will be more opportunities for bonus XP from actual roleplaying.

• Higher tiers: Higher-tier characters earn slightly more base XP, around 25% extra per hour (as a rule of thumb). Meaning a Tier 3 Astartes will earn about 75 XP per hour on average. Milestones (see below) scale separately.

• Milestones: Extra XP for finishing operations or hitting personal/plot beats (e.g., ~100 XP for a short, low-tier op), scaling higher at higher tiers and story climaxes.

Mentions in Dispatches

Exceptional play is not about chasing numbers, but about deeds worth remembering. To capture this, we utilize the system of Mentions in Dispatches — echoes of the age of sail, when valor was recorded and read aloud to peers and superiors.

• What qualifies?

  • A deed that stands out to your fellow Astartes in the moment.

  • It must arise from real danger or challenge.

  • Being “a good dude” won’t get you mentioned — surviving the impossible breach, dueling the xenos champion, or saving a brother under fire might.

• XP awards:

  • 50 XP for a typical mention (by sergeant, officer, or comrade).

  • 100 XP if it is extraordinary enough to reach the Primarch’s ears.

  • 25 XP if it is passed to another Legion — they acknowledge the deed, but not with the same pride.

  • 10 XP if it is passed to mortals — Administrators, auxilia, or mortal commanders. Astartes crave not the recognition of lesser men.

• Beyond XP: Mentions are logged. Over time, they form a record of your character’s most heroic deeds — a reputation that might precede you in later sessions. NPCs, allies, even rival Legions may have heard the tale. In this way, Mentions serve both as a mechanical reward and a roleplaying tool.

There is no limit to the number of mentions you can receive in a single session. It could be zero, it could be five, it all depends on your involvement and the danger.

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Story Can Trump Math

Tier changes are guided by XP but triggered by story when it makes sense. Sometimes you’ll be raised earlier for decisive deeds; sometimes a story demands more trial before promotion.

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The Five Tiers of the Astartes

Below, each Tier shows the approximate XP breakpoint, the Legion role in Bellum, and what “learning through fire” looks like at that stage.

Tier 1 – Newly Promoted Initiates (starting Tier)

• XP band: 0 → on-ramp to Tier 2 (~5,000 XP)

• Bellum role: Freshly blooded brothers; watched closely by sergeants and chaplains.

• Limits: Attributes capped to baseline legion norms; early talents are impactful but grounded. Skills rise to about “proficient.”

• How to grow: Be present, be loud, take point on breach teams, volunteer for the ugly jobs—earn those Mentions or die trying.

Tier 2 – Veterans (~5,000 XP)

• Bellum role: Trusted line veterans; begin receiving specialist weapons/assignments.

• Ceiling bump: Attribute limits rise by +1; broader, stronger skill play; more specialized talents.

• Play note: This is where many Astartes spend half their career—competent, deadly, and constantly tested.

Tier 3 – Sergeants & Terminator-Honoured Veterans (~15,000 XP)

• Bellum role: Squad leaders, champions, breachers in TDA; you shape other Marines.

• Ceiling bump: Attributes push again (+1 over Tier 2), skills can hit true mastery; talents become powerful and unique.

• Risk economy: Dispatches and story goals required to get out of eternal Tier 3.

Tier 4 – Veteran Lieutenants & Specialist Officers; Veteran Sergeants (~50,000 XP)

• Bellum role: Mission shapers; anchors of companies and task forces.

• Ceiling bump: Specific high-tier talents may push you beyond baseline limits; gear and methods become apex or exotic.

• Play note: Reaching Tier 4 usually takes years in-world; many campaigns climax here.

Tier 5 – Captains & Masters of War (≥100,000 XP)

• Bellum role: Company/fleet elements under your hand; your decisions echo through warzones.

• Ceiling bump: Legendary talents, bespoke wargear and strategies; the rare air where actions rewrite outcomes.

• Play note: Often the domain of epic arcs beyond the “main” campaign.

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Legacy in Death

“Brothers, fear not the end. You were not wrought to cower. Each of you is a flame, brief but burning bright. When you fall, another will rise. Perhaps your own gene-seed reborn, perhaps a comrade who takes up your oath, perhaps a stranger whose deeds will honor yours by surpassing them. Know this: no death is wasted. Your legacy endures.”

— Keeper Asterion, Granite Guard, 813th Expeditionary Fleet

An Astartes may live for centuries, but most will not. To die in battle is not failure; it is the natural arc of a son of the Legions. When your warrior dies, the story does not end—your legacy continues.

Story Options

The simplest path is for your new character to carry the gene-seed of the fallen brother. Even at the accelerated pace of the Great Crusade, this takes years of growth, training, and scout service—but narratively, time in the campaign may skip forward, or flashbacks may be used.

But that is only one possibility. The galaxy is vast, and the Legions endless. Consider:

• The Heir of the Blade – An NPC who fought beside your brother takes up his sword, his bolter, or his oath, and rises to PC status.

• Kindred Blood – A replacement hails from the same tribe or world as your fallen warrior, echoing their culture and values.

• Old Comrade – A long-injured or backgrounded brother returns to the fore.

• The Stranger – A completely new hero steps in, with no link save the void left behind. Very Astartes.

The key is simple: it must make sense in the story. Player and GM decide together how the torch is passed.

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Mechanical Options

Death removes your character’s connections, history, and wargear, but not your standing in the campaign. You have choices:

1. Full XP Transfer

   • Your new Astartes begins at the same XP total as the fallen.

   • You lose the narrative weight of your old Marine, but remain at equal strength in play.

2. Legacy Priority Build

   • Forgo part of the XP and instead start with enhanced creation priorities:

     • e.g., A–B–C–C–D–E, A–B–B–C–D–E, or even A–A–B–C–D–E depending on how much XP you sacrifice.

   • This offers a different type of advantage while still feeling like a fresh character.

3. Wargear Inheritance

   • Rarely, you may keep one relic, weapon, or wargear piece tied to the fallen.

   • This preserves continuity without negating the cost of death.

Other options may arise, but the principle is constant: no death is wasted. The story continues, the legacy endures, and the Legion is stronger for the sacrifice.

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Final Word

Advancement is not a paycheck for attendance. It is the measure of how ferociously you meet the foe. Take the initiative. Embrace danger. Lead from the front. That’s how an Astartes learns—fast, hard, and forever. Draco Vult.