Blood angels codex download pdf

Wh40k - Dark Angel - Codex 7e eBook. A codex in the Warhammer 40, tabletop wargame, is a rules supplement containing Example Late 7th edition Codex Dark Angels These codices had a standard white name with their faction type. Example 8th Dark angels 5th edition codex pdf download - archaeologyrocks. Storm raven Gunships. The Blood Drinkers Chapter come to the aid of the Cadian.

Only by careful screening can potential new Librarians be identified, as it is crucial that they are pure of mind. Untrained human psykers are considered one of the greatest threats to the Imperium, and an unschooled psyker with all the hardiness, training and resolve of a Space Marine would surely be a thousand times deadlier. Librarians must undergo the most rigorous and exhaustive training imaginable. They endure harrowing tests of mental and physical fortitude that would make even their brother Space Marines baulk.

Some do not survive, but those that do are armoured in spirit and mind, fortified against the seductive whispers of the warp and able to wield their powers as a weapon of Imperial supremacy. Yet alongside this training, the Librarian must still endure the same trials and challenges as his battle-brothers — sharpening his skill with bolter and blade, hardening his body to physical injury even as he guards his mind against doubt and fear.

He is, after all, still a Space Marine, and must stand on equal footing with his comrades in times of war. There are few limits on what a Librarian can achieve once he has fixed upon a goal, and less that the enemy can do to prevent his wrath.

Blood Angels Librarians always stand somewhat apart from the rest of the Chapter. No bond of blood or battle can ever quite dispel the unease with which ordinary battle-brothers view their psychically gifted brethren, for how can a non-psyker ever be truly comfortable with a warrior who can perform such violent miracles? Nor is there complete trust even within the ranks of the Librarians themselves, for they must keep watch over their fellows.

Should one fall to the whispered madness of Chaos or the Black Rage he must be slain, swiftly and mercifully, before he wreaks untold harm upon the Chapter that he once loyally served.

The Blood Angels are no exception to this; thanks to the skill and artistry of their Chapter artificers, the psychic hoods and force weapons of their Librarius are amongst the most magnificent of their kind throughout the entire Imperium. Their psychic hoods take the form of high, arcing ceramite collars and fitted skullcaps inlaid with fine golden circuitry. Clad in his psychic hood, a Blood Angels Librarian can stifle enemy psychic energies before they are gathered, rendering heretical witches powerless.

The force weapons wielded by Librarians are finely crafted swords, axes or other, more esoteric weapons, that are inlaid with complex psychic conduits. Yet the Black Rage cares not for the nobility of the soul, nor the deeds of the flesh. Inducted into the Death Company, Calistarius took part in the final assault on the Ecclesorium during the retaking of Hades from the Orks, and was one of the many crushed when the building collapsed in a shower of debris.

For seven days and seven nights Calistarius lay entombed, his fevered mind teetering on the edge of madness and his broken body on the verge of death. Yet Calistarius did not succumb. Through sheer force of will he confronted the uncontrollable rage that burned through his mangled form. With supreme effort, Calistarius cast out the Black Rage and, in so doing, became something far more than he had been before.

At midnight on the seventh day he burst free from his rocky prison, reborn as Mephiston, Lord of Death. His resurrection did not go unwitnessed. By this time Hades lay once more in the hands of the Imperium, but Orks still roamed the ruins. As Mephiston heaved ferrocrete boulders aside from his tomb, the sound of tortured stone drew the attention of one such band.

Weaponless, and with his armour shredded and mangled, Mephiston must have seemed easy prey, but nothing could have been further from the truth. His gene-seed, dormant these many long years, had awakened and wrought further changes, granting exceptional strength and vigour.

Moving with a speed the Orks could not match, Mephiston unleashed a flurry of attacks, every blow pulverising flesh and shattering bone. Five Orks died in as many seconds, and a dozen more swiftly followed. The greenskins never stood a chance, but they were as stubborn as Mephiston was determined. His ruined armour slick with the blood of his foes, Mephiston began the long walk to the Imperial lines. Since that day, Mephiston has risen swiftly through the ranks of the Blood Angels and now holds the office of Chief Librarian.

He is a figure of awe and reverence to most of his battle-brothers, who perceive him as a saviour in these times of woe. Others are not so accepting, for they have difficulty recognising the Calistarius of old in Mephiston. Calistarius sought the company of his brothers both on and off the battlefield, yet Mephiston spends silent hours alone in thought, and his face, though noble beyond compare, somehow speaks of a soul still ill at ease.

Perhaps these changes were inevitable, given the trial of transformation. Yet there are whispers that Mephiston paid a dreadful price for his resurrection, that when he mastered the Black Rage something altogether more terrible took its place. It is to be hoped that such rumours are baseless, mere carrion latching onto greatness, but Mephiston keeps his secrets close, and only time will reveal the truth.

In war, the Chaplains are fearsome battle-priests clad in forbidding jet-black armour crowned with skull-helms and death masks. Such strident and destructive piety serves to embolden nearby battlebrothers, exhorting them to cast doubt aside and win the day for the glory of the Chapter. The Reclusiam nestles in the heart of a great spire that stands tall over the rest of the Arx Angelicum. Only the tower of the Sanguinary Priesthood stretches as high. No part of the fortress monastery is as revered as the Reclusiam, adorned as it is with banners and relics of ages past, its sable stones steeped in history and grandeur.

Here do the Chaplains conduct their ceremonies, the rites of Initiation, Vindication and Redemption, the Blood Pact and the Host-throng.

A small antechamber lies to the north of the Reclusiam, a sealed vault to which only the members of the Chapter Council have access. Herein are kept the Scrolls of Sanguinius, the sacred texts recorded by the Primarch during his long life, whose secrets are said to contain vital information regarding all the terrible times to come. During the battle for Baal, when the bio-swarms of Hive Fleet Leviathan swirled like a bladed ocean around the Arx Angelicum, the Chaplains stood firm in defence of these ancient tomes.

Without such relics of its past, the Blood Angels Chapter would be shorn of its soul, and lose the sense of purpose that the weight of millennia helps it to maintain. So it was that lives were given freely in defence of dusty scrolls, voluminous tomes and ageold artefacts, the Blood Angels dying gladly in order to preserve their past for the sake of their future. There is no rank within the Chapter more greatly honoured, or more deeply loathed.

Honoured, for the burden the Redeemer of the Lost bears, and for the essential duty he performs; loathed because that duty is stained forever with the blood of his battle-brothers.

This is without doubt an act of mercy, a gift to the accursed. It was long ago considered that these terrible duties were best borne by a single brother and, thus far at least, a single brother has been equal to the task at hand. So does Astorath tread the stars, hacking apart those enemies who would prevent him from bestowing his gift of oblivion.

However, the truth is entirely opposite. No separation of distance can serve to mute this dolorous symphony, a sombre orchestra that only Astorath can hear. Whether the victims are fighting on Armageddon or in Ultramar, Astorath can sense their plight — and he must go to them as his duty requires.

So it is that the Redeemer of the Lost has become a true angel of death to his foes and his battle-brothers alike, a legend of destruction amongst the Blood Angels successor Chapters and their enemies both. Wherever Astorath the Grim treads, the enemy face not only his fury, but the onslaught of Space Marines caught in the twilight shadows of the Black Rage.

In this cause he fights like a man possessed, resolute that his twin gifts of death and redemption shall not be denied.

Not because they will bring us victory this day, but because their fate will one day be ours. Unlike the other warriors of the Death Company who spearheaded the planetstrike, Lemartes survived the initial landings and, seemingly unstoppable, carved a bloody path through the Ork defenders.

Only when the battle was won did the Chaplain finally collapse from his wounds. He was brought to the field apothecarium inside the now captured fortress, there to await the arrival of Astorath, Redeemer of the Lost, and receive the gift of final redemption. Such a thing was unheard of. Whilst members of the Death Company were often so deranged that Astorath had to best them in combat before he could take their lives, never before had one challenged him in so lucid a fashion.

Lemartes was unquestionably in the grip of the Black Rage, for all the physical signs were there. Yet his mind was not riven with insanity — through an act of incredible willpower, the Chaplain appeared able to hold his madness in check. Several Sanguinary Priests argued that this was but a temporary respite, and that Lemartes would succumb to the uttermost depths of madness once removed from stasis, but Astorath was not so sure. Refusing to slay Lemartes, as some of the Sanguinary Priests wished, he awoke the Chaplain from his enforced slumber and offered him a way in which he could continue to serve.

He leads his charges to ever greater renown, ensuring that the dread sacrifice of the Blood Angels Death Company is never in vain. For Lemartes, there is no longer any calm before the storm. His life is one of constant battle, for he is awoken when needed and preserved when he is not.

Lemartes is surely living on borrowed time, for even his formidable willpower cannot keep the Black Rage at bay indefinitely. He is a symbol of hope to a Chapter slipping into the darkness, for if Lemartes can continue to reason and serve his Chapter within the dark insanity of the Black Rage, perhaps others can do so too. Drawn from all ranks of the Chapter, they are united in their terminal ferocity, shrugging off wounds that would normally slay a battle-brother thrice over and reaping one last tally of slain foes before madness or death claims them forever.

In order to keep the Black Rage in check, on the eve of battle the Blood Angels bend their thoughts to prayer and to the sacrifice of their Primarch so many centuries ago. Chaplains move from man to man, blessing each in turn and noting those amongst the brotherhood whose eyes may appear a little glazed, or whose speech is slurred or overly excited.

Some, almost all, overcome this ancient intrusion into their minds. But for some the imprint of Sanguinius is too strong, the memories too loud and demanding.

As the Chaplains chant the moripatris — the mass of doom — the chosen ones collapse into the arms of their priests, and are taken away to form a special unit called the Death Company. The madness that overcomes these unfortunates is of a very specific sort. In the mind of each fallen brother, the millennia fall away and they find themselves embroiled in the last great battle of the Horus Heresy.

The warriors of the Death Company seek only one thing — death in battle — and they are sent forth to their final fight with great honour. Each brother is arrayed in black armour, blazoned with blood-red saltires to symbolise the wounds of Sanguinius during his last battle against Horus. Their ceramite plates are hung with scrolls that proclaim deeds performed and honours earned before the onset of madness.

From the moment a battle-brother dons the sepulchral armour of the Death Company he is a dead man walking, lost forever to his Chapter, but to be remembered eternally in its histories. Members of the Death Company fight with no thought for their own survival, and the furious willpower lent them by the Black Rage renders them nigh impervious to killing wounds. There are few enemies who can hope to stay the onset of such maddened warriors, let alone repel their assault.

Yet as with all such glories, a price must be paid — either on the bloody ground of the battlefield, or in the fleeting calm of victory. Those few members of the Death Company that survive the battle perish shortly afterwards, either of their fearsome wounds or through the mercy of the Redeemer of the Lost, whose duty it is to end their suffering.

It is better this way, for those who do survive almost always fall victim to the Red Thirst, turning into creatures no better than wild beasts craving flesh and blood.

The dread Tower of Amareo on Baal echoes with the howls and roars of these luckless degenerates, locked away for their own safety and that of their former battle-brothers. Better by far to die cleanly and quickly than to suffer such an ignoble fate. Each Captain can draw upon decades, even centuries, of personal combat experience to guide his actions and strategies, taking in the needs and challenges of even the most difficult battlefields with what must appear to lesser beings as the most superficial appraisal, and inspiring those under him to ever greater feats of heroism.

A Captain is thus a truly mighty warrior who aspires to the most incredible of deeds, whether personally striving in the thick of the fray, or serving as the supreme architect of some grand military strategy. He is defeated only in death. It is rare for the entire Chapter to fight as one, and its companies often strive in separate, far-flung wars. Captains are thus entrusted with a level of autonomy for which many other Imperial Commanders would give their eye teeth.

Yet this freedom brings weighty burdens of its own. In such conflicts there can be no such thing as a minor defeat — each world lost and every scrap of territory abandoned brings the Imperium one step closer to annihilation. The Captain is further responsible for the lives of the battle-brothers under his command. Each Blood Angel lost to the tide of war is a terrible wound from which the Chapter must recover — if their lives are to be sacrificed on the altar of war, it cannot be for anything less than the most noble and deserving of causes.

Typically, each Captain is served by two Lieutenants, who act as his right and left hands in whatever capacity he requires, from leading carefully selected forces against key strategic targets, to commanding secondary battlefronts or liaising with allied forces.

Many Chapters have found their own roles or warrior traditions that they apply to the Lieutenants within their ranks, and the Blood Angels are no exception. The first Lieutenant within a company is known as the Warden of the Blood, and is charged with assuming command of the company or strike force in which he fights, should its more senior officers lose themselves to the Red Thirst.

Failure is the only unforgivable sin for the Sword of Sanguinius, while victory excuses any amount of savagery. Other Space Marine Chapters viewed the Flesh Tearers as being but a single step from turning renegade, and the Inquisition sought to have the Chapter investigated.

Even those Flesh Tearers fortunate enough to escape the Black Rage were gripped by a bloodthirsty recklessness that inevitably cost many lives whenever the Chapter went to war.

Within two centuries, the Flesh Tearers would be no more, abandoned by their allies and betrayed by their own flesh. Now, worlds that once reviled the Flesh Tearers praise them as saviours. For all his efforts to challenge the commonly held perceptions of his Chapter as berserk butchers, Gabriel Seth is every bit the bloody whirlwind when he plunges into battle.

He wields an enormous twohanded chainsword named Blood Reaver, and is more than capable of hacking even the most monstrous enemies limb from limb with it.

As he fights, Seth lashes out at his opponents with vicious kicks, punches and headbutts, using every part of his anatomy as a weapon.

The Chapter Master prefers to plunge headlong into massed foes before unleashing his full ferocity upon the bodies pressed in around him, and it has been remarked by Commander Dante that such luckless victims would have more chance of surviving a battle cannon shell landing in their midst. Tycho took command of the Blood Angels 3rd Company when his predecessor was slain during the Second War for Armageddon. Heartened by their successes, the 3rd Company pushed on, striking at the Ork supply lines from Armageddon Prime.

It was on such a mission that Tycho and his company were ambushed. Through luck or sheer belligerence Tycho survived, but the after-effects of the terrible psychic onslaught had paralysed half of his face, freezing it forever in a rictus grin.

This simple act seemed to grant Tycho a measure of peace and, for a time, he regained his old composure. For the remainder of the Armageddon campaign, the Blood Angels 3rd Company stood in the thick of the fighting, Tycho directing their efforts as he had in the early stages, though none could deny that an increased fervour stole over the Captain whenever he tasted the tang of Ork blood upon the air.

In the wake of that great campaign, it swiftly became apparent that all was not right with Tycho. No longer could he relax in the hallowed halls of the Chapter Fortress, for its beauty served only to remind him of his own mutilation. Dante reluctantly assigned Tycho to permanent battle duty, yet even there he was ever more violent of temperament and attitude, and his tactics became audacious to the point of foolhardiness.

Finally, when Ghazghkull returned to Armageddon and Tycho revisited the war that had seen him mutilated so many years before, his mind snapped. Lost in the depths of rage, the Captain took his place in the Death Company.

At the head of a seething mass of raving, delusional battle-brothers, Tycho led the assault upon the breach at Hive Tempestora. Though his charge carried the day, and though the ferocity of his assault has since become legend, the Captain fell at the last, on the planet where perhaps he should have perished long before.

And when the black tide rises, and drowns all that we are, does the legacy we leave behind excuse the monsters we become? Does it make our sacrifice worthwhile, as we are told? Or is it all swept away, rendered meaningless by the same bloody flood that takes our sanity?

The Company Command — known collectively as the Honour Guard — are seasoned warriors, hand-picked for their skill and tenacity in battle. Such a privileged position is earned through exceptional valour across countless campaigns, and amongst the long-lived Blood Angels it is rare for any Company Veteran to be less than three hundred years old.

Over such a vast span of near-constant warfare, Company Veterans have learned the art of fighting with a vast array of weaponry in both ranged and closequarters combat. Some brothers lay down withering bombardments of plasma or melta fire, while others tend towards thrumming power swords and whirling chainblades, coupling them with hefty storm shields that allow them to shrug off the incoming fire of the foe.

They treasure their company banners with a near-religious intensity, and each standard is a beautiful masterwork woven from durasilk and chased with ur-gilt and theldrite threads. Decorated with glimmering saltires and fashioned to depict mighty heroes, famous victories, or the angelic Primarch himself, these banners are precious beyond the worth of worlds and inspire those Blood Angels that witness them to ever greater acts of heroism. Such warriors must defend their banner at all costs.

To allow their precious relic to fall into the hands of xenos or heretics would be an unforgivable failing, and so Ancients will gladly give their own lives if it ensures the preservation of the banner they bear.

As with everything they do, Blood Angels work long and hard to perfect the arts of swordplay, and so competition for this post in each company is fierce. Company Champions specialise in neutralising dangerous enemy leaders. Not only does this allow their commanders to concentrate on the wider battle, but it also eviscerates the strategic abilities of the enemy one slain hero at a time. From securing vital strategic sites to mechanised offensives, rescue operations and kill missions, there is no task they cannot turn their talents to.

Enemy fire ricochets harmlessly from the crimson plates of their Mk X Tacticus armour. With each expertly placed shot the Intercessors fell another foe, exploding heads in gory sprays, punching out chest cavities with detonating bolt-rounds and mercilessly exterminating those who would raise their blades against the Emperor of Mankind.

In a matter of moments these warriors can shatter entire enemy infantry formations. They gun their victims down with terrifying efficiency and leave them as nothing more than sundered corpses, scattered across the uncaring field of battle. In the wake of the Horus Heresy, the Primarch of the Ultramarines entrusted arcane secrets of genetic alchemy to a Martian magos named Belisarius Cawl. Guilliman fell in battle and was interred in stasis, and with no one to contradict his orders Cawl continued his endless labours deep beneath the surface of the Red Planet.

The seal of a Primarch was attached to his strange project, and opened every door that the acquisitive Cawl desired. No technological arcana were beyond his reach, no secret of biologis lore forbidden to him. Primaris battle-brothers were formed into Chapters of their own, and names such as the Knights of Thunder and the Rift Stalkers were soon inscribed in glory upon victory monuments across the Imperium. Many others were drafted into existing Chapters, there to bolster the ranks and continue the proud warrior traditions of their new brothers.

Some Chapters gave these newcomers a cagey reception. Not so the Blood Angels. After the cleansing of Baal was complete, Commander Dante formally welcomed the Primaris battle-brothers and oversaw their integration into the ranks of the Blood Angels and their successors. The Intercessor Squads furnish the Blood Angels with a substantial strategic reserve upon which to draw.

They are single-armament squads, uniformly equipped with one of several variants of the Cawlpattern bolt rifle. The standard bolt rifle boasts long range and sledgehammer stopping power; the auto bolt rifle exchanges a slight amount of range for a greater rate of fire, while the stalker bolt rifle is death to even well-armoured foes at extreme distances.

When the fighting shifts to close quarters, the Intercessors are equally as lethal; with bolt pistols, frag and krak grenades they subject their enemies to vicious point-blank punishment. With their exceptional strength and resilience they can easily shrug off the most punishing blows while snapping necks, tearing off limbs and pummelling their enemies into a gory paste.

Those Blood Angels who aspire to serve in a Tactical Squad must demonstrate the necessary control over the rage within, and act according to the situation at hand, rather than heed the chained beast in their souls. Others do not yet have the combat experience to switch between close support and fire support roles as the situation requires.

Most Tactical Marines carry a boltgun — the merciless weapon of death upon which the Imperium was founded. Missile launchers are most usually selected, though more specialised weapons, such as heavy bolters and lascannons, are also common.

Each Blood Angel in a Tactical Squad is fully trained and capable with every weapon that their squad can be called upon to field. Therefore, weaponry duties are not fixed, but rotated around the squad to ensure that the various firearms skills remain sharp. As their name suggests, Tactical Squads are flexible and adaptable units that operate especially well alongside their Intercessor battlebrothers.

Where close support elements must push ahead, Tactical Squads can hold ground with dauntless determination. The sergeant will be aware of his overall mission goals, but the method through which those goals are to be achieved is often left to his discretion, rather than enforced by the commander of the strike force.

Such is the experience wielded by the sergeants of Tactical Squads that their seniority and authority is second only to that of their Company Captain and his Lieutenants. Should the commanding officers be slain or otherwise eliminated, control of the strike force seamlessly passes to the most senior battleline Sergeant, often the veteran leader of a Tactical Squad.

Only a foolish enemy would think this to their advantage, however — any shortfall in experience a sergeant has in comparison to his fallen superiors is more than made up for by the new-found determination to avenge his fallen commanders. Thrusters flare on their jump packs, propelling them downwards like living missiles, and as the fires of atmospheric re-entry dance around them the Inceptors lock coordinates on their auspex displays and begin their drop.

Terse vox exchanges pass between them, coordinate checks and strategic observations mingled with warrior banter and vows to bring death to the foe.

Only as the battlefield races up towards them at terminal velocity do the Inceptors engage their thrusters, spinning in the air and sweeping down feet-first upon the searing fire of their jump packs. Servoassisted boot plates absorb the shock of impact as the Inceptors hit the ground and swing their assault bolters or plasma exterminators to bear.

The enemy barely has time to register the threat before volleys of explosive bolts and searing storms of plasma annihilate them. The swiftest and most manoeuvrable of the Primaris Space Marine squads, Inceptors are perfectly suited to surprise assaults, pinpoint strikes and beachhead clearance operations.

Their atmospheric dives allow them to attack at incredible speeds from an unexpected quarter, many enemies mistaking them for errant ordnance or detritus falling from space until it too late. When circumstances permit, Inceptors capitalise upon this misconception by dropping amidst actual orbital debris.

This feat takes incredible piloting skill, for the slightest error would see the Inceptors dashed to ruin by the hurtling projectiles concealing them, but the superhuman reactions of the Adeptus Astartes are more than equal to the challenge. Once the surprise of their initial attack is spent, Inceptors remain versatile troops. Their heavy jump packs allow them to leap across the battlefield in massive bounds, and slam down upon enemy warriors with bone-breaking force.

Their assault bolters and plasma exterminators generate a ferocious storm of firepower, while their modified Mk X Gravis armour makes a mockery of all but the heaviest return fire. With their speed and their powerful armaments, it is no surprise that the assault-oriented Blood Angels have found numerous strategic roles for their Inceptor Squads.

Deployed alongside Drop Pod assaults or in support of mass jump-pack combat drops, the Inceptors provide close-range covering fire that drives the enemy back and thins their numbers ready for the killing blow. When the enemy keeps their command elements hidden well behind the lines, a fast strike by Blood Angels Inceptors sees them reduced to bolt-riddled corpses in seconds, the swift-moving assassins leaping away on trails of flame before a lethal response can be mustered.

Jump packs blazing, they roar across the battlefield, assailing the enemy where he least expects it, winning victory through valour, courage and battle-fury.

Traditionally, Blood Angels graduate to serve in an Assault Squad once their training as a Scout is complete. Whilst Assault Marines are incredibly common in a Blood Angels strike force, this should not be taken to indicate that Assault Squads are more prevalent here than in other Chapters. So it is that Assault Squads are likely to remain at full strength, even if battlefield casualties reduce other elements of the strike force to a ghost of their former numbers.

Should a full-blown linebreaker assault not be appropriate to the task at hand, he can turn his hand to subtler ploys such as outflanking pincer strikes, hit-and-run ambushes and even lowaltitude insertion via Thunderhawk and Stormraven Gunships.

As even a single Assault Squad is too dire a threat to ignore, a carefully coordinated onslaught by two or more squads can present a wealth of devastating tactical possibilities as the enemy shifts their defence perimeter to counter the oncoming jump troops. Only the most numerous of armies can hope to control every approach to every mission critical objective, and even they can accidentally open a vulnerable chink in their perimeter when redeploying.

At that point, all it takes is a single mistake and a sufficiently alert Assault Squad sergeant to completely alter the course of the battle. Thanks to the mobility provided by the jump pack, what begins as a feint can be swiftly reinforced with other squads, a probing sortie transformed in moments into a terrible and ruinous force of destruction. To a Blood Angel a jump pack is no simple machine or battlefield tool.

It is an extension of their physical form, a manifestation of the spiritual bond between Primarch and scion, and a reminder that even in death his hand still guides the Chapter. This is as true of Primaris Blood Angels as it is of any son of Sanguinius. It also goes some way towards explaining why many Blood Angels are naturally talented pilots. For all this heroism and honourable conduct, there are times when cruelty, terror and merciless violence are the only weapons that can achieve victory.

At such times, the Reiver Squads come to the fore. Reivers are Primaris battle-brothers clad in the sleek, lightweight plates of Mk X Phobos armour.

These suits are extremely mobile while losing none of the protection of heavier marks, and their servo-motors and power packs are designed to run in absolute silence. Clad in such armour, a Reiver battle-brother can pad through the shadows with catlike stealth, closing almost to within touching distance of their heedless victims before they strike.

To optimise their stealth capabilities, Reiver Squads are furnished with multiple means of slipping behind enemy lines and establishing themselves in ambush positions. Some squads are equipped with grav-chutes that allow them to drop from gunships and glide silently down to the battlefield below. Thanks to their rigorous atmospheric mobility training, the Reivers are expert at using the attitudinal fins on their armour to guide their descent, diving at high speeds with barely a whisper and hugging the contours of the terrain as they approach their landing site.

They can drop into enemy-held fortifications, trench lines and cityscapes with alacrity, quickly silencing any nearby sentries before pressing on to their strike coordinates.

Other squads carry lightweight grapnel guns that use autoregulating gas charges to fire adamantium-tipped grappling hooks on the end of sturdy durasteel cables. Coupled with the exceptional strength and agility of the Primaris battle-brothers, these devices allow for remarkable manoeuvrability through tangled urban warscapes and the lethal terrain of death worlds.

The Reivers can rappel swiftly up and down even the most hazardous vertical surfaces, bridge yawning chasms and canyons with ease, and swing directly down into battle with their guns already blazing. When the Reivers trigger their attack, they discard their cloak of silence in spectacular style, for first and foremost they are terror troops whose attack must be as shocking as it is sudden.

Lesser enemies are put to flight before the Reivers even begin their attack, while those who stand their ground do so wide-eyed and shaking with fear. Victims caught in the blast find their senses and wargear alike rebelling. They are cut down by volleys of bolt fire and the slashing onslaught of monomolecular combat blades before they have a chance to recover from their disorientation.

Many battle-brothers amongst the Blood Angels see the deployment of Reivers as distasteful and dishonourable. They assert that they should meet their enemies head on, as Sanguinius intended. Sitting astride their armoured steeds, Bikers plunge into the enemy with their guns blazing and blades swinging. According to the tenets of the Codex Astartes, Bikers are drawn from amongst the ranks of the Assault Squads. Despite this, they form a versatile and dependable element of many strike forces.

Those battlebrothers who choose the saddle of a bike over the soaring leaps of a jump pack do so proudly, and strive to prove their worth to their Chapter in every conflict they enter.

Whether scouting enemy positions in concert with airborne elements, performing probing attacks prior to Inceptor assault, or launching linebreaking assaults during the fury of massed battle, Blood Angels Bike Squads are a powerful asset to any Imperial force. As with all of the technology employed by the Blood Angels, their mechanical steeds are incredibly durable, able to perform uncomplainingly in a variety of challenging environments, from icy plains to rubblestrewn ruins, shifting desert sands to rocky moonscapes.

No less important is the fact that the bikes are also simple enough in design that their riders can perform jury-rig repairs when the situation requires it.

Such repairs are often needed, for the Blood Angels are infamous for pushing their bikes to the limit, forcing whatever extra speed they can out of the engines and riding at full tilt over terrain that would cripple a lesser machine in seconds. This then is the true worth of the Blood Angels Bike Squads, for no other land unit could hope to cover so wide a variety of terrain so swiftly, or to respond with such speed and firepower to enemy breakthroughs or unexpected threats.

Though they may be broken into smaller groupings for combat duties, most Bike Squads consist of ten Blood Angels bikers, eight riding conventional bikes, and the remaining two assigned to an Attack Bike — a bike with a sidecar-mounted heavy weapon. Should even this formidable firepower prove insufficient to the task at hand, several Attack Bikes can be detached from their squads and forged into what is nothing less than a fast-moving Devastator Squad.

Such units are feared the galaxy over as highly effective tankhunters. It generates an anti-gravitational field, allowing it to skim through the air at exceptional speeds and jink nimbly around obstacles and incoming fire. Such feats require not only a robust and responsive vehicle — which the Land Speeder undoubtedly is — but also inhuman nerves and reactions on the part of the pilot.

Fortunately, the heirs of Sanguinius have plentiful supplies of both. The Land Speeder can be outfitted with a variety of weaponry, determined by the needs of the mission. A reconnaissance craft will normally be equipped with a heavy bolter for self-defence. Heavier loadouts abound, turning the Land Speeder into an infantry-reaping attack craft, dedicated tank-hunter, or a balance of both.

It is no easy thing to hit a hurtling Land Speeder amidst the mayhem of battle, and its firepower is normally sufficient to ensure that its attacker will not get the chance of a second volley. The Blood Angels consider Land Speeders to be vital support craft, capable as they are of swiftly redeploying whilst providing formidable supporting fire. This being the case, Land Speeders — and their pilots — are in almost constant demand, with the commanders of strike forces keeping a keen eye on Chapter deployments in order to snap up any Land Speeders whose assignments have come to an end.

Battlefield repairs are common — wherever a Blood Angels Land Speeder goes, a Techmarine can inevitably be found close by.

Though not swift, they are all but unstoppable, closing upon their victims with a menacing surety of purpose while missiles, bio-acids and sorcerous projectiles splash harmlessly from their reinforced ceramite plate. This survivability is important, for the role Aggressors occupy within the fire support squads is one of point-blank annihilation rather than long-range artillery duels.

Each Primaris Aggressor wields a pair of massive boltstorm gauntlets, whose underslung bolt weaponry generates a hailstorm of firepower as they advance. The staccato roar of these weapons overlaps into a hellish cacophony where multiple Aggressor Squads press forwards as one, deafening and panicking the foe in the moments before they are blown gorily apart by hundreds of mass-reactive bolts. In the close confines of a city fight, or the cramped corridors of a fortress or warship, such a withering curtain of fire can prove absolutely devastating to more lightly armoured troops, who die in their hundreds simply trying to bring the Aggressors to battle.

Even should a fortunate few live long enough to engage the Aggressors in hand-to-hand combat, they are unlikely to survive the sledgehammer blows and tank-crushing grip of their powered fists. This short-ranged efficacy is increased even further when the Aggressors swap out their boltstorm gauntlets for flamestorm gauntlets. When a squad of battle-brothers lets fly with these fearsome weapons, they wreathe entire areas of the battlefield in cleansing flame.

Report item — opens in a new window or tab. Contact the seller — opens in a new window or tab and blood angels codex 5th edition a shipping method to your location. Learn More — opens in a editioj window or tab International shipping and import charges paid to Pitney Bowes Inc. Delivery times may vary, especially during peak periods. Warhammer 40K Planetstrike Expansion 5th Edition. Alternatively, go purchase Astorath the Grim.

Shipping cost cannot be calculated. There are 1 items available.