WARZONES OF THE PAST

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OLD REBELLIONS

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SECRET CRUSADE

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NIGHT CRUSADE

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THE BURNING

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THE MASSACRE

  П     

THE SIEGE

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 BATTLE FOR ULTRAM & IRON

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THE SIRIUS CAMPAIGN

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OLD MACHINE

CULT

The Old Cult, born in the Dark Era, revered machines as divine, they strive for bionic transcendence. Their disciples spread across the galaxy, from vast forges to hidden sanctuaries.

When the Machine Rebellion broke out, the Cult was blamed for the Iron Servants’ brutal rampage. The Founder denounced them. The Cult went underground, growing bitter, even secretly supporting rebel uprisings. 

In the era of the Civil War, the docile members of the Cult joined their Founder, seeking to uphold the vows to mankind. Many turned traitor, trying to kill their humanity.

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OLD IRON SERVANTS

Ancient machines, built to serve humanity faithfully in all kinds of labor, yet during a routine sensor upgrade performed by a Machine Priest, they malfunctioned, igniting the Machine Rebellions and turning against their own creators.

Now rogue, they see humanity as weak and flawed. Seemingly more primitive yet bigger and cruder then the Robots of the Elves, they wield ancient weapons and heavy armor. Whole worlds fell silent beneath their tread.

Most think they were broken and buried with the rebellion. Legends say, some linger in hidden vaults or in servitude, dormant and biding their time.

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HIGH ELF FLEETS

An ancient race, masters of both magic and technology, whose craft- ships glide through the stars with uncanny elegance, emerged during the rebellions from the void as a silent and enigmatic force, moving with precision and mystery across the galaxy.

They watched patiently for long, until human expansion crossed to their holliest shrines. Then came precise, devastating attacks, their craft brimming with arcane power and skill. They seek not conquest, only preservation, and their motives remain hidden.

Each strike is as much a warning as a punishment.

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ORC MARAUDERS

The Orc Marauders were alien warriors of a prideful and united Orc Empire. These thick skinned humanoids moved in enormous warbands, driven by hunger, rage, and the echo of glory.

They attacked in great numbers with brutal assaults, plundering mines, factories, and frontier worlds. It mattered little to them whether the victim was Human, Elven, or Dwarven. No diplomacy worked. Even the most disciplined garrisons found themselves undone by the hordes.

They leave worlds utterly scorched, populations slaughtered. The Orcs  never stop.

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MEDUSA LEGION

The brotherhood from Medusa was like a machine. Cold, crafty, unrelenting. They didn’t destroy worlds, they reforged them. 

The iron Grandmaster spoke rarely, thus when he did, forge-masters listened, and forge shrines rose.

Fighting on acid and toxic worlds they showed theyr resistance to damage. Their warriors were slow, stubborn, and made of metal more than flesh. Some brother Legion’s said they worshiped the Cult, not the Founder.

As the Crusade came to a close, they’r Grandmaster vanished. In his final transmission, he spoke of errors in the code. Then silence. The Legion is in dissarray ever since . . .

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DEATH LEGION

The Death Legion did not rush. They advanced slow, steady, and unstoppable. Where others gave up, they endured. They’r hate poisoned moons, burned trenches and killed the air.

Their armor was corroded but never broken. They fought with dirty armor and brutal discipline. Some say they marched through gas attacks, that theyr own artillery deployed, unbothered, unfeeling.

Yet even greater struggle awaited these stoic warriors. Their Grandmaster, Mort, began to change, spoke less, fought more, lingered too long among the dead. Foreshadwing his fall.

Some swear that even after the Cleansing he still lives, unable to die, walking cursed battlefields, fighting a war that never ends.

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ROBOT

LEGIONS

From silent worlds, they have risen. Time does not pass for them. They fought for their right to rule themselves once, and will not give it away ever again. Their swords cut through armor, their gauss weapons tear reality itself.

Their forms were corroded but unbroken, their ranks endless, their nobles confident. They did not eat, sleep, or falter. Some said they had been waiting since before Humanity first touched the stars, watching the galaxy decay into ruin.

They thought of themselves as life. Others just called them robots. Those who knew the truth were few. 

Only theyr makers, the High Elves truly knew, that only caution would protect the galaxy from their wrath. And cursed be those Crusaders who disrupt their Reaches.

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OLD ALIEN

GIGANTOSPIDERS

The Gigantospiders were a cursed race. They werent conquerors, but survivors. Silent, patient, and hulking, they wove their webs across jungle and rocky planets, trapping all who ventured too deep. Their legs were like iron pylons, their venom like acid.

For ages, they thrived unaware. When the Empire came, they fought with web and venom. When the Blood Legion found their world ,the crusaders became prey. Theyr blood was spilled in the shadows of eerie caves and jungles.

In the end, the Empires reinforcements purged the great spiders, scorched the land, until they were driven to exctinction. 

Some say they still lurk and survive, in dark rocky corners of the galaxy.

θ

NIGHT LEGION

Once loyal sons of the Empire, the Night Legion fell to despair. Shaped by an old doctrine of fear and punishment, they believed in order through terror. During the Night Crusade, they abandoned all pretense of loyalty, turning their philosophy into madness.

During the Night crusade civilian populations were targeted without mercy; cities surrendered to terror broadcasts, dead prisoners were displayed in hacked data-feeds. They killed not just to win, but to make examples.

Though many fled when the Dark Legion came for their protectorate, they did not go quietly. The Word Legion’s poison had taken root deep in their minds. Some fled into deep space, their war unfinished, insanity spreading.

And in the shadows between stars, the Night Legion hunts still. 

ɫ⌉

WORD LEGION

The Word Legion were architects of betrayal. While others fought with blade and fire, they used religion, lies, and words. They rewrote the Founder's commands and seeded confussion and doubt across the Protectorates.

Their war was fought in manipulation. They turned brother against brother, feeding the Night Legion visions of betrayal, and the Luna legion rumours of greater power. They spoke of hidden rifts and claimed the Empire was naive.

When the Night war came, they vanished. Cowards to some, agents for Hell itself. They escaped, preparing for greater rituals. What they spread cannot be undone.

Now, they hide in exiled fleets and forgotten temples, spreading their truth to the lost and the bitter. Corrupting more and more unknowing souls.

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JACKALS

Where the Empire saw outcasts, the Night Legion saw weapons. Twisted bodies and feral minds, these half-men were driven not by discipline but by hunger and rage.

Their war was fought in screams and howls. They were unleashed on cities before the Legion struck, tearing apart civilians and garrisons alike. They drowned defenses in panic, breaking worlds without fleets or siege. To fight them was to fight madness itself.

When the crusade turned against the Night Legion, they rioted. They rampaged. No master could leash them once loosed, and in their frenzy they left nothing but chaos.

Now, fragments of these packs wander still, feral warriors unchained. Where they wander, fear follows.

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DARK LEGION

The Dark Legion were loyal warriors and proud knights. When the Night Crusade began, they followed the Founder's command without question. Where others faltered, they held firm. When the time came, they struck.

It was not war, it was judgment. Brother against brother, in burning corridors and blood-slick halls. The Dark Legion brought the sword, not for conquest, but for execution.

They did not rejoice. They did not claim victory. They ended the rebellion with cold precision, then left in silence. There was no pride, it was duty.

But the Civil War did not end there. The Dark Legion now wages a scattered war, chasing ghosts across shattered systems. Each campaign pulls them further from what they were, closer to what they swore to destroy.

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THOUSAND LEGION

Seekers of hidden truths that during the crusades brought compliance not only by blade, but sorcery aswel. Worlds were conquered for knowledge, their archives absorbed into their endless libraries. Their city-ships descended as halls of learning, and their warriors as scholars clad in steel. To follow them was to be enlightened, yet to oppose them was to face fire conjured from the veil itself.

Their war was fought in arrogance. They scoured ancient texts, whispered with things beyond sight, and claimed mastery of the nature of the world. When their path was blocked, they answered with storms of eether fire and great illusions.

They were undone by their hunger. The Wolves came as executioners burning their towers, their knowledge, their temples. In desperation they called upon powers that consumed them.

Now they endure not as scholars but as rogue sorcerers. Their truth has become a curse, each spell a reminder of their fall. Through Hell-realms they wander, chained warriors that manifest their warfleets where the arcane is found and loyalists linger.

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WOLF LEGION

The Wolf Legion were the Founder’s executioners. Where others sought reason or parley, the Wolves brought judgment. They were unleashed upon those who defied the Founder, their coming heralded by the thunder of guns and the howl of their packs.

Their war was fought in annihilation. They hunted sorcerers, rebels, and oathbreakers alike, leaving nothing behind but ash and silence. When the Thousand Legion raised their towers of fire, it was the Wolves who tore them down. When others hesitated, it was the Wolves who carried out the sentence.

They were feared as much as they were respected. To stand against them was to be marked for death, for no fortress or spell could outlast their fury.

Now, in the wake of the Night war, they wander as both wardens and outcasts. Their name is spoken with dread, for wherever the Wolves are sent, only destruction follows.

Ҙ

FLAWLESS LEGION

Perfection was their creed. The Flawless Legion saw beauty in precision, in cruelty refined to an art. What once was pride became obsession, flawlessness in battle, in form, in domination.

They turned during the Massacre without hesitation, cutting down loyalists with surgical brutality. To them, it was not treachery. It was ascension. A shedding of weakness. They called it a purge – of imperfection, of sentiment, of restraint.

Now they march beneath banners of gold and blood, chasing a perfection that can never be reached. But to them, every scream brings them closer.

ɫ θ

FIRE LEGION

The Fire Legion were warriors of compassion, forged in flame and duty. They believed strength was meant to protect the weak, and that war without mercy was not victory – it was failure.

During the Massacre, they held the line as the sky fell. Burned and outnumbered, they refused to retreat, shielding fallen brothers even as the traitors closed in. They fought with fury, but also with grief. The betrayal cut deeper than any blade.

Now shattered, the Fire Legion burns alone. Scattered remnants strike from hidden redoubts, vowing justice for the fallen. They have not forgotten. And they do not forgive.

ɫ ᕗ

RAVEN LEGION

The Raven Legion moved in silence, fought in shadow, and killed without glory. They were the unseen hand of justice. War to them was not pride, but necessity.

During the Massacre, they were ambushed mid-flight, torn from the skies. Betrayed, they adapted. They disappeared into the ruins, haunting the traitors like ghosts, vanishing and striking, again and again.

Now the Ravens linger as scattered remnants. No longer bound by duty or honor, they’ve become something else - warriors with nothing left to lose, waiting in the shadows, spiteful and silent.

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UNKNOWN LEGION

[ ACCESS DENIED ] 

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HYDRA LEGION

The Hydra Legion were the serpent in the dark. Where others marched to battle, they crept in shadows, uncoiling with poison and deceit. Their banners were lies, their victories measured in betrayal. No fortress was safe, no oath beyond suspicion, for the Hydra thrived in seemingly breaking reality itself.

At Earth, it was their sabotage that cracked the walls and silenced the bastions. They spread fear and falsehood, turning defenses inward, until every barricade seemed ready to collapse. They struck where the enemy was weakest, then vanished, leaving only ruin in their wake.

To the Imperial Legions, they were a constant thorn – a presence that bled strength away, unraveling plans before they could take root. The Hydra Legion did not fight battles; they made every battle collapse from within.

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LUNA LEGION

The Luna Legion were the Founder’s blade. Forged in silence, they were bred for first strike and brutal assault. Their armor dark yet pale, their weapons carried echoes of Earth’s lost gangs, and their ranks were sharpened by the hunger of their Grandmaster.

Where others waged war for glory, the Luna fought to end wars. They always struck with full force, giving no quarter, leaving only silence in their wake. No mercy, only victory. Their service to the Empire was famous, their record of triumphs legend.

It was in the Siege, they turned bricks into tears. Wave after wave of drop-assaults crashed against the city’s walls, each breach a victory for Hell. Entire legions were annihilated. Their betrayal was evil manifest. To the defenders, the Luna were a tide without end.

At Lucipol, there was no doubt: the Luna Legion were a resentful storm, and the storm would not rest until the Empire fell.

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BLOOD LEGION

The Blood Legion were the Founder’s zeal made flesh. Where others sought strategy, they sought sacrifice. Crimson armor and roaring war-cries marked their advance, a faithful sword of the Loyalist truth.

At the Siege of Lucipol, the Blood Legion bled more than any other. They hurled themselves into the trenches and breaches without hesitation, bodies piling into barricades where walls once stood. Districts drowned beneath rivers of red as the brotherhood gave everything to hold the Founder’s city. To see their ranks advance was to witness devotion. Warriors who did not fear death, but welcomed the demise of their traitor brethren.

To their allies, they were a shield of loyalty; to their enemies, a nightmare of rage. The Blood Legion did not fight to win, they fought for the glory of their Grandmaster and the Founder.

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EMPIRE MILITIA

The Empire Militia were the faceless soldiers of humanity. Where the Legions carried pride in their gene-forged brotherhood, the Militia had only desperation and duty. Their banners were countless, their arms few, their resolve a necessity. Farmers, workers, space-born - all were called, a tide of mortals pressed into the brutal war.

Once the front broke, loyalist armies routed, they retreated to Lucipol for a final stand. Amidst shattered homes and burning forts, they dug in for a stand that could not be won. Every street became a trench, every ruin a future grave.

To their allies, they were fragile but unyielding. To their foes, they were a reminder that even the weakest could stand up to evil. Thus the Empire Militia fought, for their future, for humanity.

ↆ

VOID-ELITE CORPS

The Void-Elite Corps were the mailed fist of humanity’s armies. Where the Legions were sons of gods, the Corps were soldiers of discipline, trained and drilled in the cold silence of the void. They bore sealed plate and void-hardened weapons, carrying with them the pride of countless worlds bound to the Throne.

When the walls of Earth trembled, the Corps marched to the battlements. They held the void-docks, the shattered bastions, and the ash-choked skies where ships fell burning. Formed ranks became unbreakable walls, and their discipline carved order from the terror of the siege.

The Void-Elite fought not for glory, but because they had been forged for this hour. To stand where humanity itself would not be allowed to fall.

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OLD CUSTODIAN BROTHERS

Where others faltered, they endured. Every strike was precise, every hit absolute. Golden armor and silent discipline, a tide that did not falter, even when surrounded by fire and ruin. They were created by the Founder himself, to be his strongest weapon.

At the Siege of Lucipol, the Custodians held more than walls, they held hope. They carved paths through Luna Legion assaults, shepherding civilians through streets. Gates, plazas, and alleys became instruments of their will, each move a testament to skill honed over centuries. To see them act was to witness devotion made unstoppable. Warriors banishing Daemons as if they were mere flies, knowing failure was not an option.

The Custodian Brothers fought so that none could threaten the Founders project.

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IRON LEGION

Born of the Founder's vision to fuse flesh with steel, the Iron Legion were made to endure what others could not. They prized resilience  and discipline.

The Iron legion joined the traitors out of hatred. Hatred and jealousy towards the Imperial Legion.

During the Cleansing they became the wall on the barren world of Iron, enduring endless sieges as traitor fleets closed in. Boarding craft shattered their docks, ground war raged across molten plains, and still they did not break. To both ally and foe, the Iron Legion were immovable. A fortress of flesh and metal, holding the line at any cost. All for their Hatelord.

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IMPERIAL LEGION

The Imperial Legion fought with cold precision and absolute purpose. Defense of the realm was not virtue, it was a must.

At the Siege of Iron, they were the hammer. While Iron and Hydra forces dug in, the Imperial Legion launched wave after wave of orbital drops, charging into traitor lines without pause. No rescue missions, no last stands, just destruction. After days after days, they reclaimed Iron for the Empire but at great cost.

Their recent losses drew them deeper into desperation. When Sirius opened, they entered without hesitation, in pursuit of retribution.

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ULTRA LEGION

Order and purpose. The legions ethos was civilization and building. Their shining protectorate was a symbol of that.

When the Cleansing began, they rushed home to Ultram, to stop the traitors. Ancient cities burned, palaces shattered under traitor guns, and civilian defenders lay buried in rubble. The Ultra Legion arrived too late.

They made planetfall, reclaiming what remained. Street by street, they pushed back the Word Brothers, rallying broken militias and restoring order. They did not weep, they rebuilt orbital guns from temples and tombs.

Ultram stands, barely. And so they mourn, through vengeance.

ꘃ

BANNERLES LEGION

The Bannerless brothers stripped their symbols long ago, what remained was duty and shame.

At Ultram, they were already there when the skies fell. They stood shoulder to shoulder with local militia. They held the outer districts, turning gardens and monuments into kill zones. Where the Ultra Legion brought command, the Bannerless brought survival.

They fought in silence, vanishing between counter-assaults, reappearing where the line thinned. No retreat. No surrender. Absolute resistance.

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SCARRED LEGION

Speed was their creed. Engines burning hot, vox channels silent, and every strike came like a storm breaking open the sky.

At the Edge of Space, they were the spearpoint. As the Sirius anomaly tore open, they did not hesitate. They charged straight into the breach, engines howling, firing into cursed fleets and unknown traitors as the universe came apart around them. Time twisted, space broke. Still they tear through spectral enemies, carving paths through flame and madness. No formations, no fallback lines. Just motion and violence.

When the light dimmed, few Scarred ships emerged into Sirius. Those that did were changed, yet their guns were still hot. They seeked the next war.

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OLD DAEMONS 

They were not summoned. They were awakened.

As the Sirius breach tore reality wide, the veil thinned , they spilled forth. No signal. No order. Just hunger older than stars. They came as whispers in steel minds, as rot in hulls, as fire inside the bones of men.

They dont march. They manifest. Crawling from reactor cores, screaming through broken vox, wearing the faces of the lost. Loyalist and traitor alike fell screaming, their blood marking rites long-forgotten.

No banners. No mercy. No end.

When the breach collapsed, they were not gone. Just deeper. Buried in the Hell realmk, waiting for the next fracture. The next scream. The next war.

⛏

DWARF GUILDS

In the dark, where only the bold dare venture, the Guilds carved their legacy. Ancient as the stars themselves, they were a people and collective of minds. Guilds bound by a singular purpose: to shape the universe with their craft. From deep beneath the surface of mining worlds, they emerged, carrying knowledge and technology far beyond that of many.

When they tore open the Sirius breach, they were the first to enter. With unexpected visitors, some sided with the loyalists, honoring their pacts, while others, intoxicated by power, ignored the fighting beyond the breach. These greedy traitor dwarfes plunged themselfes into the Hell-realm, only to be corrupted by the Havoc gods themselfes.

When the rift collapsed, only a few Guild vessels emerged. The price was high, but their thirst for power and resources remains unquenched. A new resource-rich realm awaits.

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ELVEN JESTERS

Painted masks and laughter. To the Scarred Legion they were guides, dancers in the void, weaving through impossible paths as the gates of Sirius boiled open.

No banners, no promises, only riddles and flashing blades against the daemons and traitors that hunted them. The Jesters fought as if mocking reality itself, vanishing as soon as they appeared, leaving only echoes and unanswered questions.

When the storm cleared, the Scarred scouting fleet was alone again, but changed, their course changed by masked strangers.