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[Excerpt | Horus Heresy 9: Crusade] An abridged history of the Rangdan Campaigns.

Context: The mysterious Rangdan Xenocides have long been the object of fan theories ever since they were first mentioned. Now, with the release of the Dark Angels-centric Crusade Black Book, we finally get a small glimpse into this particuarly bloody episode of Imperial history. Warning: Long post ahead.
THE RANGDAN CAMPAIGNS
The Imperium is a fragile sliver of sanity in the void, besieged upon all sides by forces of monstrous dread that are held at bay only by the blood and sacrifice of millions of forgotten heroes. For every crusade trumpeted to the masses as a safe legacy of triumph and glory, like the much lauded victory at Ullanor, there are a hundred dire tales of desperate stalemate with forces malignant beyond mortal ken. Were the populous of the Imperium to realise the dire peril in which they existed in the tenuous days of the Great Crusade then it is likely that their terror would have kept them prisoner on Old Earth, never to reach out for the stars. Of all these hidden threats and dire wars against the unknown, the most infamous among scholars of the forbidden is that of the Rangdan Campaigns.
These campaigns have long been relegated to the footnotes of history, little understood by the common historian save as an obscure reference to a forgotten evil. In reality the wars against Rangda threatened the utter destruction of all the realms of Mankind, the destruction of His dominion and the butchery of His subjects. More than 80,000 of the Legiones Astartes and uncounted millions of the Imperial Army gave their lives to hold back the hordes of the Rangda and their cohorts, over wars fought across some two decades of the Great Crusade. The Dark Angels stand prominent in the telling of this tale, and it is by their hand that so few details are known, for it was deemed by the First Legion that all knowledge of the Rangda and the wars fought against them should be purged for the good of the Imperium.
Much of the fact surrounding those battles has long since been obscured by rumor and invention, with even the true form of the Rangda forgotten. All that remains are a few blurred and indistinct picts of fallen Rangdan warriors and ancient horror stories speaking of towering xenos of monstrous appearance and terrifying intellect. They were conquerors and destroyers whose seat of power lay along the very edges of the galaxy, a race whose foul technology and cruel ambition were a match for that of the Imperium and whose determination to rule over all others threatened to drown the Emperor's dream in blood.
The wars fought against the Rangda number three in total. The first of these campaigns, the assault and destruction of Advex-mors in 839.M30, is most probably the first encounter between the forces of the Emperor and the Rangda, and has been covered elsewhere in this treatise in some detail. Advex-mors would later be discovered to be little more than a small outpost of the Rangdan empire, a minor station at the edge of their domains. In the aftermath of the Imperium's assault, the Rangda paused in their conquests elsewhere to turn their eye back upon Advex-mors and the surrounding systems, now swarming with the Imperium's colonies and fleets. The victory at Advex-mors, despite the steep price paid to secure it, would prove to be little more than the prelude to the true assault.
In 862.M30 the Rangda returned to Imperial space, marking the start of the second Rangdan war. They came not with a single small fleet, but with a vast armada compromising thousands of vessels as well as over a dozen war-moons, a force of might far exceeding that of the small garrisons and Expeditionary fleets in the area. They struck the northern fringe of the Imperium like a thunderbolt, annihilating the fleets set in defence over the fledgling colonies and forcing their colonists into neural shackles. It was only by the efforts of the Expeditionary fleets under the banner of the Vth and the XIXth Legions that the tide was delayed long enough for Imperial forces to rally, and the price they would pay to buy this respite was staggering.
Making a stand at the isolated Forge World of Xana, the combined forces of the Vth and XIXth Legions fought a bitter holding action for eight months at a cost of 3,000 of the Legiones Astartes and many hundreds of thousands of Mechanicum thralls. The siege of Xana would only be broken by the furious onslaught of the Dark Angels and Death Guard, shattering the Rangdan blockade and cutting a path through the slave cohorts on the surface to once again open up the forge as a beachhead for the Imperium's counter-attacks.
What would follow was more than two decades of war, millions upon millions of deaths, 19 inhabited systems laid waste and a ban on further expeditions past the exclusion posts of Endyris and Morox. Before the crisis was declared ended, contingents from nine separate Legions would become embroiled in the fighting, with more than 300,000 Space Marines being deployed at the height of the conflict during the climactic assault on Taxal. Due to the widespread nature of the campaign, battle honour goes to no single warlord, though three of the Primarchs were known to have lead their troops into battle against the Rangda. Despite this, the Primarch of the Dark Angels is widely held to be the foremost commander of the war.
The last known battle of the second Rangdan campaign is thought to have occured in 882.M30, a chance encounter with a battered Rangdan fleet, a broken remnant of the vast armada that had challenged the Imperium and lost. At the time the truth of the Rangdan campaign, of the slaughter endured and how the Imperium had teetered on the brink of ruin, was concealed. Those worlds tainted beyond recovery were abandoned and surviving veterans sworn to secrecy or eliminated. Much of its legend came later, the invention of Remembrancers and ideologues eager to promote the glory of the Great Crusade, and was composed of as much fiction as fact. For most this marked the end of the wars with the Rangda, an end to one threat among thousands. A simple, if bloody, way marker in the Great Crusade's inexorable path.
The third and final Rangdan war, more commonly known as the Rangdan Xenocide, is little known and in many histories completely absent. It was conducted under the orders of the Divisio Militaris by the combined forces of the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves, the final and irrevocable solution to the threat posed by the Rangda. That great and terrible race had been sorely wounded by their losses in the second war with the Imperium, but not vanquished. They had returned to their ancient homeworlds, and there, nourished by hate and a dark hunger, they had grown strong once again. By chance those nests were discovered by a roving company of White Scars after the lifting of the edict of exclusion in 887.M30, news the sons of Jaghatai brought to the courts of the Lion and the Wolf. Those two often antagonistic warlords were united by the same bleak purpose, for if the Rangda still lived, they must be swiftly and utterly destroyed lest they rise again and ignite another great war. Together they and their Legions visited hell upon the remaining Rangda, scouring their last worlds clean from orbit and then descending to verify the termination of every hive and fortress with blade and flame.
This last campaign was no war, but a brutal and one-sided extermination. Neither Russ nor the Lion held any illusions of tawdry chivalry to stay their hands, and they took a savage and final satisfaction in the utter annihilation of every last warrior and worker of the Rangdan breed. In the space of a year the galaxy was wiped clean of the Rangda, their last fastnesses torn down and all traces of their works brought to ruin. The world of Rangda, once a vast and hideous city, was left as little more than plains of fractured glass formed from atomic fire, and became the site of a chantry house of the First Legion, home of the Order of Broken Claws, the keepers of the last set of codices that detail the Rangda and their weaknesses. This was the end of both the Rangda and the campaigns against them, a quiet and undignified slaughter undertaken with the stoic determination that was the hallmark of the two rival Primarchs of Caliban and Fenris. If any of the xenos breed known to the Imperium as the Rangda survive, in some far flung outpost beyond the edge of the galaxy, then they have not returned to seek their vengeance, but the sentinels placed by the First Legion still watch and wait, and should they falter in some distant future where the Legions have ceased to be, I fear for the Imperium.
Further details regarding the first encounter between the Imperium and the Rangda - the assault on Advex-mors - will be posted at a later date, just as soon as my keyboard stops smoking.
submitted by Chumbucket6789 to 40kLore

[F] [Ynnari] Cut and Contain

A memory.
Craftworld Kalsan escaped. It fled through the darkest, most hidden branches of the Webway. It encountered many beings, most vile, but some benign.
Among them was Asurman, chosen of the gods.
Yldaen still remembers when she became the Roaring Lion. She still remembers the fear that such power and privilege inspired.
She remembers needing to use her new powers to protect her kin from other aeldari.

As battle was joined next to Kalsan’s heart, tendrils of corruption spread from the initial site of infection.
Many of these vectors were ethereal; daemonic.
Archon Merunae - head of the Kabal of the Immortal Flame - lashed out to cut off the head of a more physical vector.
The astarte’s helm did not hit the ground before the archon’s blade sliced out again. The helm clanged loudly on the floor simultaneous to the clangour of a pair of astartes’ corpses crashing down.
The remainder, ‘hiding’ in contemptibly simple cloaking technology, turned their bolters on Merunae. The archon watched impassively as her hidden kabalites cut them down with blades and guns.
“How many now?” Merunae asked, ignoring the clamour as corpses crashed to the floor.
“This is the third saboteur squad you have personally dealt with, honoured archon.” replied her attendant: Arkyn, a native warlock of Kalsan.
“Have you located the next?”
Arkyn nodded and sent a psychic pulse into the archon’s mind: a map manifested across the inside of her mind, sickly-coloured indicators marking the location of her prey. Merunae repressed a shudder. The ease with which craftworlders shared thoughts and minds was still surprising to the dark eldar.
“Onwards then,” she murmured, beckoning her kabalites.

The next was cut down quickly, as was the next. The sixth met the archon’s onslaught with some notable resistance.
Archon Merunae’s first blow, aimed at a seemingly-unwary astartes was blocked. Something intangible had halted her swing, and she cursed absentmindedly as the astartes turned to face her, eyes beginning to glow.
“Sorcerer,” she stated with just the slightest hint of disgust.
“Wretch,” the astartes replied. He levelled a sword, warp-flame crackling across the blade. Merunae leapt aside as hellish energies slammed into the ground where she had just stood. The astartes waved his blade aloft, projecting invisible shields that deflected the projectiles of Merunae’s kabalites.
Even as her kabalites maintained their fire, the other astartes under the sorcerer’s command levelled their bolters and opened fire.
Several soldiers of the Immortal Flame were rent asunder, most evaded or were protected by Arkyn’s psychic power.
“Do you know how many of your kind I have annihilated?” the sorcerer asked conversationally. His Will swept out in an invisible wave.
Merunae bounded over the sorcerer’s assault. She wouldn’t have been able to perceive his mystical attack before, but a new power burned within her. A small, potent coal of Ynnead’s influence had been awakened, and with it some tiny fragment of her long-repressed psychic gifts.
The archon, still aloft, fired an archaic pistol at the sorcerer. He barely managed to block the stream of ebon energy that slammed savagely into him. She landed and swiped out to cut down a less-well-guarded enemy, her blade relieving him of his head. She bit back a reply, still trying to restrain the passion and zeal with which she had carved out her destiny in the Dark City.
The sorcerer fired a series of bespelled bolt rounds, and Merunae capered aside, letting her esoteric energy shield protect her from the few projectiles she couldn’t evade. She responded with the pistol again, her dark salvo scattered by the sorcerer’s mystic defense.
“I doubt I will even remember you after you’ve been slain,” the astartes mused, lashing out with a crackling whip of pink and purple warpflame.
Merunae ducked and sprang aside, but the warpflame pursued her with unseemly hunger. It wrapped around her leg and cast her into the earth. She felt bones break and wraithbone floor dent.
A pulse of telekinetic force pounded down on her: a hammer-blow that drove her deeper into the wraithbone beneath. Her energy shield dissipated, unspooling in dark ribbons of exotic energy.
The sorcerer stood over her. His bolter was aimed squarely at her head. His eyes were focused on her, delighting in her defenselessness, even as his psychic power lashed out at her kabalites and attendant warlock. His trigger-finger tightened.
Merunae moved. She did not make a sound even as agony screamed through her shattered frame. She flicked out a hand holding a small, unobtrusive blade and punctured the bolter.
The gun detonated, taking the sorcerer’s hand with it. He barely had time to feel pain as his head was obliterated by a point-blank burst from Merunae’s pistol.
“I won’t remember you either,” Merunae murmured distractedly. She turned from the collapsed corpse and faced the remaining astartes, pistol and blade ready.

Merunae surveyed the downed enemies: astartes and base humans. This last incursion had been positioned high above the central battleground, and granted the archon an excellent view of the carnage.
“We seem to be doing quite well,” she commented.
Her kabalites smirked or laughed; warlock Akryn shrugged noncommittally. She aimed an arched eyebrow at the warlock who repeated the shrug.
“As these things are measured, we are within acceptable parameters. The physical battle may seem to favor us, just. The spiritual analogue is still strongly contested.” Merunae turned from the warlock, who continued, “It all feeds our Enemy. The pain. The triumph. The Enemy drinks it all in and leans closer.”
Merunae did not shudder. She also, deliberately, kept her newly awakened supernatural senses as closed as she could. She had seen flickers of what Arkyn was indicating: flickers of She Who Thirsts.
“Perhaps,” the archon murmured, “And yet,” she gestured at the conflict below, “Your autarch keeps their bulk occupied and I and my Kabal hunt the stragglers and intruders. They are trapped. Even now the noose draws closer.”
Something caught her eye, and she peered closer. Autarch Kaenyl was clashing with the captain of the Black Legion. He was massive, and Merunae was forced to admire the speed and power with which he hacked and cut at the autarch. After the first few passes she leaned back, satisfied.
She pointed, “See? Even now your autarch is set to cut down one of their chieftains.”
Arkyn followed her outstretched finger and froze. “No,” he whispered.
“What?” the archon asked, “See? Kaenyl has spitted him.”
“No!” Arkyn shouted, his fists pounding into the transparent barrier between the aeldar above and below.
Below, where autarch Kaenyl had managed to get the upper hand on his opposite and bury his glittering glaive deep in the captain’s chest.
Below, where even as the astartes died, he bellowed out loud enough for Merunae and her squad to hear.
Below, where something great and terrible boiled out of the deceased captain’s ruined corpse.
The daemon, it could be nothing else, was vast. Its serpentine bulk displaced dozens of fighters as it expanded into realspace. Its manifold blades lashed out in tandem with its invisible, psychic attack. The shock of its explosive assault scattered everything, friend and foe, within a dozen meters of its impossible bulk.
Merunae felt as its hideous Will coiled out and gulped up the souls of aeldari. She saw them consumed: living and dead.
“What is happening?” she demanded of Arkyn. “There wasn’t supposed to be an incursion this potent. Not yet at least; we were to receive a signal.”
“The Enemy is here,” the warlock whispered, “She is here. She has stretched her hand into the craftworld.” The young aeldar collapsed to his knees and shook violently. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Uhraies, Kelarys, the seer council, they all agreed the Enemy wouldn’t dare intrude this early on. There’s not enough psychic resonance yet: not enough to fuel a daemon of this magnitude.”
“It found another fuel,” Merunae cursed acidly as the daemon gobbled up yet more aeldari souls. “It will try to feed on your Infinity Circuit.”
Arkyn watched, a faint moan of sympathetic pain escaping him.
Merunae grabbed the warlock and dragged him to his feet. “Come,” she commanded, turning and beckoning her kabalites. The drukhari at least were still standing: their souls only faintly attuned to the warp, newly reawakened, and so less vulnerable.
“Come where?” Arkyn asked, stumbling after her.
“To cut off a god’s hand.”
submitted by professorphil to 40kLore

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