个人学习笔记站，配色取自 Warhammer 40K 各军团
The Unforgiven
The First Legion — veteran knights of a lost forest world, famed for discipline, cold precision, and hooded robes over power armour. Behind their honour lies a hidden shame: the hunt for the Fallen, brothers who turned on the Lion in the closing days of the Heresy and escaped into the galaxy.
Stormseers of Chogoris
Horse-lords of the steppe reforged as lightning-fast sky hunters. The Scars strike from nowhere on jetbike and assault speeder, break a foe's spine, and are gone before the guns can answer. Speed, freedom and the Khan's pursuit of truth are the soul of the V Legion.
Vlka Fenryka — The Wolves of Fenris
Feral warriors raised on a death-world of ice and ash, counting saga, boast and blood-oath above any codex. The Wolves answer only to their own packs and their Great Wolf, and when the Emperor names a foe beyond redemption they are the blade He reaches for — the Executioners of Terra.
The Emperor's Praetorians
Masters of the siege, the wall and the unyielding line. The Fists once held the walls of the Imperial Palace against Horus himself, and every son of Dorn learns that duty outlives pain. Where the enemy cannot be broken, the VII Legion simply endures longer.
The Angels of Baal
Beautiful, artistic and aristocratic — and cursed. The IX Legion carry their gene-father's nobility and his flaw: the Red Thirst and the Black Rage, a creeping madness that turns poet and painter into a screaming, bloodied angel in the closing moments of a charge.
Sons of Medusa
Flesh is weak. The Iron Hands meet that belief with the knife and the bionic, replacing limb and organ with machine until little remains of the man. Cold, clannish and unforgiving since the death of their primarch at Isstvan V, they trust only the certainty of steel.
Guardians of the Imperium
The exemplar Legion — the Codex Astartes given flesh. From the five hundred worlds of Ultramar, Guilliman's sons fight by the doctrine he wrote, and in the 41st millennium their returned primarch leads the Imperium's last great counter-offensive against the encroaching dark.
Firedrakes of Nocturne
Smiths and protectors, fewer in number than any other Chapter but unmatched in their care for the common folk of the Imperium. The Salamanders forge their own wargear at the anvil, fight with flame and hammer at close range, and will break a battle-line to shield a single civilian.
Liberators of Deliverance
Ambushers and liberators, raised by a primarch who led a slave-uprising and never forgot it. The Raven Guard favour the silent drop, the severed supply line and the killing shot from cover, rather than the open field of honour. Victory is quiet, and its price is always paid by the tyrant.
The Phoenician's Chosen
Slaanesh
The only Legion granted the Emperor's own aquila, the III once pursued perfection in every form — mastery of weapons, of music, of war itself. Fulgrim's sons drilled until discipline became art, and art became worship. It was their greatest strength, and the seed of their fall.
Perfection soured into appetite. Sworn to Slaanesh, the Phoenician's sons now chase sensation past the edge of flesh and sanity — sonic screams, bladed ecstasies, parades of mutilation. Every battle is a performance in which only the most extreme survivors claim they have truly felt anything at all.
Lords of Iron
Chaos Undivided
The Emperor's siege hammer — kept from glory, handed every hopeless fortress, every thankless drag-out war of attrition. The IV Legion learned geometry, minefield and trench by a thousand grinding victories, and carried an equal weight of resentment for a father who never said well done.
Resentment froze into hatred. Perturabo's sons still break fortresses — the Imperial Palace, Tallarn, a hundred lost worlds — only now each siege is an answered grudge. The Iron Warriors are the slow, patient mathematicians of spite, and the wall has not been built that can keep them out forever.
Terror Incarnate
Chaos Undivided
Raised on a sunless hive-world and ruled by a primarch who hunted criminals as murdered ghosts, the VIII Legion were a blade of fear. Their creed was simple: a civilisation held by terror is cheaper and quieter than a civilisation held by armies. The Emperor used them, then disowned them.
With the Haunter dead, his sons kept the sermon. Painted in skull-and-lightning, they cull, flay and broadcast the screaming so that the next world submits before the drop-pods land. They worship no god in full — only the effect they have on the living.
The Butcher's Nails
Khorne
Taken from the slave-pits of Nuceria against his will, Angron was already maimed when he found his Legion — brain-spiked with the Butcher's Nails, implants that rewarded him only with rage. His sons followed him under the knife, and from that day the XII Legion never truly came down from the fight.
Now the Nails have the whole Legion. Pledged to the Blood God, the World Eaters no longer manoeuvre, no longer plan — they drop, they charge and they feed Khorne's throne one skull at a time. Angron himself, ascended to daemonhood, is a screaming weather system of murder leading them on.
The Deathshroud
Nurgle
Grim veterans from a poisoned mountain-world, led by a primarch who had fought sorcery and won. The XIV Legion endured gas, plague and nuclear rain as a point of pride — no foe with a finger on the environment could kill what was already inured to dying.
Mortarion's last pride was broken on the Terminus Est: a sickness he could not out-endure turned the Legion into Nurgle's favoured children. They are slow now, smiling, bloated — patient gardeners of rot, and their tread is the sound of plagues no Apothecary can name.
Sons of the Cyclops
Tzeentch
Scholars and psykers, the XV Legion traded blade-drill for library and mirror. Magnus stood a head above his brothers and read the Warp like a book — a gift that cured his Legion's flesh-change but left its gene-father too proud to believe the warnings that came from Terra.
After Prospero burned, Magnus gave the remnants of his Legion to Tzeentch. The sorcery held, but their bodies dissolved — most Thousand Sons are now only dust inside walking armour, loyal spells animating empty suits, commanded by Rubric and by the Cyclops's endless schemes.
The Warmaster's Own
Chaos Undivided
First found, first favoured: Horus was the brightest of the primarchs and the Emperor named him Warmaster above all others. His Legion, renamed in his honour, were the front rank of the Great Crusade — fast, versatile and utterly certain they served the galaxy's rightful leader.
Horus fell, and his Legion fell with him. After his death the survivors burned the old insignia, repainted their plate black, and under Abaddon the Despoiler they became the Black Legion — unbound from any single god, and the standing spearhead of thirteen Black Crusades against Holy Terra.
The Bearers of the Word
Chaos Undivided
Lorgar needed to worship. When the Emperor denied him the right to name his father a god and had the XVII Legion's cathedral-cities razed as a lesson, the rebuke did not make the Word Bearers stop praying — it made them find a different congregation, and study its scripture for decades before striking.
The Word Bearers were the first to truly fall, and the architects of the Heresy itself. Where other traitor Legions wage war, the XVII Legion conduct ministry — every battlefield a temple, every enemy's death an offering, every advance a new chapter of the Chaos gospel they refuse to stop preaching.
Hydra Dominatus
Alpharius (officially undeclared)
The last Legion found, the smallest on paper, and the only one with two primarchs — twins who shared a name and a face and kept the fact hidden. The XX Legion fought through proxies, cells and disinformation, winning battles before the enemy knew a battle had begun.
The Alpha Legion's alignment is the galaxy's longest-running argument. They marched with Horus, yet no Alpha Legionnaire will tell you which war they are truly fighting; every agent, every captured document, every confession points a different way. Cut one head off the hydra — two grow back.