Spawn of Chaos
|
I bought a Necron army from a friend who was getting out of the game (at a very good deal) but it's not quite enough to make a full 2000pt army, which is what we usually play around here. I had a couple ideas on how I would like to expand my army, but since I have very little experience with Necrons, in the newer editions at least, I thought I would ask for some advice. I wrote up some background fluff for three different ideas and would built my army around one of those themes. I was going to design this army for a more thematic feel then a purely tournament level competitive standpoint, but let me know what you think! (Plus it was a good excuse to write up some fun fiction for 40k)
The Enslaved (Dahvek Dynasty)
It's difficult to pinpoint the true antagonist to the Necrons, the one whose fault it is they are entombed in metal shells. Was it the fault of the Old Ones for not sharing their secret of immortality which led to the war? Was it the fault of the Necrontyr themselves for engaging in such a foolish war in the first place? Was it the fault of the royalty for manipulating their own subjects into fighting in the war? Or was it the fault of the Star Gods? In truth, it was all those things, though each to varying degrees. So, if they were to seek vengeance, against whom would it be? The Old Ones were no longer around, so they weren't an option. Seeking vengeance against their own kind or the royalty was possible, but they still felt bonds of loyalty towards their kin, suffering a common fate perhaps having hardened that bond. But the C'Tan, they could still pay. True, the Star Gods had been shattered, but as long as the shards still roamed free they could regain their strength and once more plague the Necrons. The C'Tan don't deserve freedom, they don't deserve even a fraction of the power they held before they were defeated. They deserve nothing but suffering, and perhaps, and eternal prison, such as a the prison they had entombed the Necrontyr in. The gods laughed and mocked their pain, taking delight in the fear and enslavement of their erstwhile allies. Now it was time for vengeance. The Dahvek Dynasty was small, not large enough to wage wars on the nearby larger human or eldar colonies, but they were large enough to hunt the remaining C'Tan shards.
Ever watchful of their ancient enemies, and seeing an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, an eldar farseer discerned the goals of the dynasty and dropped clues as to the location of a nearby C'Tan shard which had been terrorizing eldar colonies. A chance to have two foes bloody themselves on each other's swords was certainly the forte of the eldar. The Dahvek Necrons took to the stars in a hunt for this C'Tan, vengeance burning in their normally lifeless eyes. The C'Tan were pure evil; the Dahvek's crusade was just, was righteous, was well deserves..... The universe, however, gives no credence to righteousness, and is without mercy. The Dahvek engaged the C'Tan shard, a particularly powerful shard of the Nightbringer, and within the first hour, the Nightbringer had crushed the Dahvek forces. Even worse, the Nightbringer managed to exert its control over the Dahvek, and enslaved them to its will. Once more, the Dahvek were puppets to a Star God.
The Nightbringer, it seemede, shared their level of hatred, their thirst for vengeance, but it thirsted for vengeance against the race that brought the Star Gods low, that shattered their true forms, the Necrons. Now, the Dahvek, slaves to the will of a vengeful god, seek out fellow Necrons, brutally enacting the Nightbringer's vengeance against their own kin and adding to its fold as it controls those it defeats. As a final twist of cruelty, the Nightbringer has allowed them just enough sentience to understand the position they are in, to allow them the pain and the humiliation of knowing they are once more slaves, of knowing they kill their own kin just to sate the thirst of the being they hate more than anything else. But the Nightbringer's hubris may be its only weakness, as allowing its slaves to retain that tiny shred of sentience not only allowed them to feel suffering, but allows them to keep that flame of vengeance burning. Perhaps it will be enough to break free, perhaps not.
(This army would, obviously, include a C'Tan shard in it. I always loved seeing the C'Tan on the battlefield, especially from before they were actually just shards. The Nightbringer would be the defacto leader of the army, even though an overlord would have to be the HQ. I really wish the C'Tan could have been the HQ, but, oh well.)
The Cursed (Panoptek)
The lives of the Necrontyr were difficult. Their bodies were weak and prone to disease. Though brilliant, the Necrontyr could not halt the decay of their own flesh and weakness in their own genomes. At first, to many, the thought of a permanent cure offered by the C'Tan was, quite literally, a godsend. Not only would they remove the afflictions that had so plagued the Necrontyr, they would replace that diseased flesh with strong, efficient metal. The Panoptek Dynasty almost universally accepted the gift, barely any offering any resistance. They embraced their new bodies and became willing slaves to the C'Tan. (Not that they really had a choice, but it was easier to accept if you believe it's what you want.)
The Panoptek took to battle with eagerness, wanting to push their bodies to the extreme. They gladly marched into hails of gunfire, just to watch bullets patter off their metal form. They forwent ranged combat in favor of melee, just so they could watch brittle bone shatter under their mechanical grip. Truly, though slaves tot he C'Tan, the Panoptek were as gods themselves.
As the years went on, though, they began to want more. It was hard to enjoy the crunch of bone when they couldn't "feel" it snap, or "feel" the tear of flesh, or "feel" the hot blood of their of their enemies against their fingers. Triumphs started to become hollow. These victories weren't the victories of the Panoptek, they were the victories of the C'Tan. War became routine. Victory became routine. The one thing they gambled their souls, their freedom, away for was becoming routine. Their bodies were becoming a prison. They were no longer free to experience new things, or to even feel. They had dwelled so deeply on the pains their body of flesh inflicted upon them that they forget about the pleasures. The feel of the warm sun against their skin (even if that sun was the cause of their suffering) , the embrace of a friend or loved one, the taste of a delicious Truvian chocolate, the cool, rushing water of a creek on a hot day. These they would never feel again with their metal shells. Even the negative feelings, the prick of a thorn or the sting of an insect, those were at least feelings! Here and there, one could witness a lone Necron trace a clawed finger against its own metallic arm in a desperate attempt to even elicit the smallest memory of how it would feel, had they the ability to feel.
Where once they felt contempt and triumph over the lesser races, now a hint of jealousy had entered the Panoptek. The lesser races felt a panoply of feelings from war, albeit mostly negative. The Panoptek wanted to explore new experiences, but alas, they were still enslaved by the C'Tan and the highest levels of royalty. Desperation settled in, but they could do nothing about it, the desire for feeling quietly and slowly eating away at them in the deepest corners of the little sentience they had.
The long sleep did nothing to help this condition. They had broken free of the control and the slavery of the C'Tan, but still their metal bodies lingered. It is not clear, even to the Necrons, if they can dream, but this obsession manifested itself as visions and phantom feelings as they slept. Some even awoke from the centuries long sleep forgetting altogether that they no longer had flesh bodies, a renewed sense of panic and loss when they remembered that flesh was a distant memory. Other than this, the reawakening was typical. Their overlord joined the re-conquest of the galaxy and waged war on the lesser races once more. Not necessarily because of a burning desire to reassert their dominance, but now that they had a modicum of freedom from the influence of the other dynasties, not the mention the influence of the C'Tan, they finally had a bit of freedom to control their future. Their goal was knowledge, to reverse the curse of their metal forms. An answer had to be out there.
But time was ticking. Their obsession had crossed the line into madness. It started subtly at first. A Necron soldier hacked a crude chunk of flesh from a deceased enemy and laid that flesh upon its own arm. For the briefest of moments, that Necron believed it felt the breeze against its skin. The feeling, imagined or not, brought a sense of euphoria to this Necron, and from then on, it flayed more and more skin from its foes to cover its own metallic body. Others saw this and adopted the practice. They could swear they felt the kiss of the sun, the bite of a bullet, the rush of blood, and the more skin covered their metal bodies, the more pronounced the feelings. They even began to leave their ranged weapons aside and replaced their hands with claws, the better to efficiently flay the skin from their foes. They became obsessed with this practice, ignoring orders in search of prey.
How strong had this compulsion gotten, that they were able to surpass their loyalty protocols and ignore direct orders? Clearly the "sensations" they felt were false and only imagined by a desperate, broken mind. The only way to regain their humanity (necrontyrity?) was to transfer their consciousness to flesh bodies. This obsession was merely harmful to that goal, and to the dynasty! But every day, more fell and more abandoned the goals of the Panoptek Dynasty in pursuit of a suit of flesh for themselves. This "disease" of the mind seemed to be contagious and had to be purged. Whenever the Panoptek marched to war, their armies were heralded by these maddened machines. At least they would be the first to die and their numbers thinned. Yet still more succumbed to this madness, and even the upper echelons of the dynasty found themselves momentarily looking up at the sun, half-expecting to feel a ray of warmth. The overlord itself has recently taken more to melee combat than it used to, having replaced its staff of light with a warscythe. "More efficient" it said. It was clear this disease had taken root throughout the entire dynasty when the overlord itself, after hacking apart a fallen foe, stopped to admire the dismembered corpse, lovingly selecting the finest strip of skin, then roaring in anger as it came to its senses, tossing it aside. It could note deny, to itself at least, how much it wished to wear the skin.
There is hope yet for the dynasty. Necrons have a will as iron hard as their shells, but centuries of obsession can wear away even the hardest of shields. Will they find a cure for this disease, or perhaps the transference they seek so desperately? Will the transference even cure them? Or would they still seek the flesh of their foes, even when they have their own flesh? They must rush, for their time is limited.
(I would add two or three 20 man flayed one squads for this army, infiltrating ahead of the main army. The overlord would have a warscythe and would try to engage in assault at least once a game. I'd have to scout Ebay for the older flayed ones, because I just like them a hundred times more than the current ones.)
The Hateful (Saholtek Dynasty)
The Sahlotek are a powerful and fierce dynasty. Always at the forefront of a war, always victorious. During the war against the Old Ones, they were tasked with hunting down and slaying the young Eldar forces. This was a difficult task, as the Eldar were shaped specifically to fight the Necrons and posed the largest threat, other than the Old Ones themselves. The Sahlotek took to this task with all the prejudice their race could muster. They showed no mercy to their foes and slaughtered many Eldar worlds. That is, until they encountered the Eldar of Cyranil. These Eldar were masters of deceit and trickery, the tools of a coward, and were highly favored by the laughing god. Wherever the Necrons struck, they encountered only shadows and laughing holograms. Garish, brightly colored harlequins darted from the shadows to slash at their metal foes, but these attacks didn't destroy, they merely scarred. The harlequins then vanished back into the mist, a distant laugh slowly fading away. These scars staining their metal bodies proved exceptionally difficult to mend for the necrons, for reasons they could not understand. Poison? Warp Trickery? It was unclear. Instead, they stood as mocking reminders of the supremacy of their foes.
Enraged, the Sahlotek Dynasty chased after the craftworld of Cyranil on a chase that spanned a hundred systems, each time coming tantalizingly close to catching the Cyranil, only to find themselves grasping at illusions. This comparatively small craftworld had succeeded in luring the mighty Sahlotek Dynasty far away from the fighting, and, though the old ones were defeated, the Eldar managed to survive and even pushed the Necrons to the brink of defeat. Had the Sahlotek Dynasty stayed their course and carved a path of destruction through the Eldar empire, the Necrons would not have needed to go into hiding, they would have had dominance over the galaxy. Alas, the Cyranil had so masterfully diverted the Sahlotek, that the Eldar emerged far better from the war than they would have otherwise.
The Sahlotek were so distracted, they missed the entire ware against the C'Tan, not that they cared, as consumed as they were with their hatred of the Cyranil. When the order came to enter the great slumber, the Sahlotek resisted at first. Their job was unfinished! But even they could see the great Necron race was weakened and the Eldar were ascending. Still, they were unable to let their hatred die and continued their work. It took the intervention of the Storm Lord himself, and a skirmish between the two dynasties, before the Sahlotek were cowed and complied. As they settled into their tombs, just before they shut down, every Necron of the Sahlotek Dynasty saw, seemingly at the very edge of their perception, the garish, grinning face of a harlequin and heard their mocking laughter. To this day, they don't know if the Cyranil infiltrated their tombs, used some psychic witchcraft, or if the laughing god himself played a final prank on them, but for the centuries of their slumber, they heard, unceasing, the mocking laugh of the Cyranil.
By the time they awoke, many had been driven to absolute madness by the unending laughter. The laughter itself faded for some once they woke, but most swore they still heard it. The Sahlotek were already a violent dynasty, but that level of violence now pales in comparison to the hatred they feel. The Sahlotek want everything and everyone dead. The only way to silence the laughter is to ensure there is nothing left in the galaxy to laugh. They no longer follow the goals of the other dynasties. Conquering the galaxy is inconsequential , only complete destruction matters. They hold a special place of hatred for the Eldar, and will abandon any goal or strategy if it means they can kill their ancient foes. Other than general annihilation, the only goal they work towards is locating the Cyranil. Hatred unlike anything the galaxy has seen before festers in their mechanical hearts for the Cyranil, and even the lowest soldiers, those with barely any sentience, can feel the hatred.
(This army would contain a destroyer formation and at least one triarch formation. The praetorians would judge the foe guilty and worthy of destruction, and the destroyers would, well,destroy them all. (The praetorians have yet to find someone innocent...)
Well I hope you enjoyed reading it, let me know which idea, if any, you like for an army theme and I'd gladly take any suggestions on how to build it!
|
)