Hrax

The warriors of Hrax are a "proud and noble people who value courage and honour above all else. Only through combat and glory in battle can individuals advance within Hraxian society, which means the clansmen must fight continuously to maintain their Bastial rights in a never-ending cycle of death and bloodshed".

In addition to power and glory, the inhabitants of Hrax also fight to honour the great warrior king of heaven referred to in clan lore as the Battle Lord. It is said that long ago, the celestial god-king sent his host down from the sky on columns of flame to deliver the people of Hrax from their enemies in a purifying baptism of blood. These legends also foretold that the Battle Lord’s armies would one day return to Hrax to convey the worthy to fresh conquests across the heavens.

"From the time they are first able to wield a knife, the children of Hrax are instructed in the ways of war, in preparation for this glorious return. The training is brutal in the extreme, with only the most senior clan warriors allowed to instruct the new recruits". Many clans also have reputations for viciousness, cunning, or some other skill or trait on the battleield, and these too must be ingrained in the new recruits, for without them the clan would lose honour, rights, and prestige among the others.

The feudal clansmen of Hrax wield a variety of weapons in combat, and these weapons vary in condition and function, from jealously-guarded relics to blades that have been repaired countless times over the years. These warriors believe that every weapon has a spirit within that yearns for battle, and that this spirit must be maintained if a weapon is to aid them in combat. For this reason, older, proven weapons are highly valuable to these warriors, both as relics of the Battle Lord’s armies and objects of personal value to the fighter and his clan. Many go to great lengths to retrieve weapons that have been damaged in battle, though those which are beyond repair are ceremonially salvaged in order that the spirit
within may live on.

The Lords of Askellon quickly realised the potential for such skilled fighters, and soon the agents of the Missionarus Galaxia began the diligent and subtle process of indoctrinating the clansmen of Hrax into the Imperial Creed. In a few years, the High Marshals were shown the proper rites of devotion, and those who survived publicly swore new blood oaths to their Battle Lord, who now bore the more worthy title of Emperor. Shortly thereafter, the massive transport ships of the Departmento Munitorum arrived, and before long the first regiments of the Hrax Bloodknives left their world behind to claim glory and honour amidst the innumerable terrors of the Imperium’s countless battleields.

After centuries of fighting and squabbling amongst themselves, many feudal clans that remain loyal to the Emperor have now joined beneath the might of Warlord Talvrak, High Marshal of The Bastia of the Golden Light and recently-appointed planetary governor of Hrax. The Bastia of the Golden Light is one of the oldest and most revered of the mighty fortress-cities, its name stemming from its many gilded archways and hull panels, as well as the massive Imperial altar that crowns its most prominent battlement. "Supposedly, when the sun first falls upon the altar, the light is refracted down the ruined Adeptus Ministorum frigate’s many corridors and murals until the surrounding canyon is bathed in radiance. It is rumoured that the warriors of the Bastia cannot be defeated when this light is upon them, and numerous clans have journeyed to its mighty, Adamantine gates to beg admittance into the warlord’s fiefdom."

However, despite "frequent exterminations", the rebellious clans continue to remain a thorn in his side, a fact which is not helped by the aggressive culling of Talvrak’s finest warriors for service in the Imperium’s armies. The Adeptus Administratum functionaries and Askellian representatives on Hrax also "see little need to interfere" in the planet’s affairs thus far, choosing instead to allow the conflict to continue as they pursue their own selfish gains. Yet still Talvrak persists in his efforts, even as his allies battle both each other and the heretic raiders for the right to ascend to the Battle Lord’s realm. Now, however, his body is growing steadily weaker with age, and his Marshals have begun to squabble and scheme for the honour of command. Meanwhile, the elderly warlord has begun to long once again to bathe in the blood of his enemies and feel his great axe bite into flesh and cleave bone. With every passing year, the call becomes harder and harder to resist, and it is rumoured that he has begun to look to ancient rituals for a way to break the stalemate while ending his own feverish cravings.

As Askellon continues to slip further into isolation and anarchy, the warriors of Hrax have had less and less contact with the heralds of the Astra Militarum. Many delegations even routinely insult the proud warriors of Hrax by herding recruits aboard drop ships like cattle, without regard for their rank or ceremonial blood sports and rites of tribute. As a result, relations have deteriorated dramatically in the past century, with many now openly questioning these ofworlders’ authority and resisting their attempts at impressment with terrible acts of merciless violence.

Several High Marshals have even forsaken their sacred oaths and publicly ordered their warriors to mar their loyalty scars with deep, vicious incisions. To these clansmen, the continued grovelling of the loyalist clans at the feet of their Imperial masters is unbecoming of true warriors, and only by killing the false god’s servants can they regain the blessings of the true Battle Lord.

Whispers of the old ways, of terrible rituals and offerings of blood in exchange for unholy power have also begun to re-emerge among many clans, and though the Imperium is quick to quash such activities, many believe these tales hold the key to overthrowing their offworld oppressors. Meanwhile, those clans who persevere in their faith continue to view such sorcerous activities with palpable scorn, and attempts to erase such dishonours by both sides have ended in numerous acts of bloodshed and death.

In addition to the growing unrest that threatens to plunge the planet into open revolt, the number of nascent Psykers on Hrax has also risen drastically. Imperial installations have trumpeted numerous decrees forbidding the harbouring of such individuals, but there is little evidence that the natives heed this instruction.

Those fiefdoms still loyal to the Imperium have by and large upheld these declarations, and most youths who display any psychic talents are quickly discovered and presented to the Emperor’s servants. Among those who honour the old ways, however, this decree has fallen on deaf ears, as gifted individuals are spirited away into the wilderness only to reappear among the heretic raiders as terrible abominations of Warp-spawned corruption. Many among the clans interpret the return of these blasphemous warriors as a sign of the end times and the impending battle between the Emperor’s warriors and those of the gods of the underworld that seek to devour the souls of the slain.

A clear night sky on Hrax is a wondrous beauty, yet the angry stain of Pandaemonium often tarnishes this splendour as it glares down from the heavens like a great unclean eye. Hraxian lore says that this is the gateway to Skreiga, the realm of the dead, and it is here that the Battle Lord’s armies fight to keep Charganal and the other foul denizens there from re-emerging into the mortal world. Now, as discontent with the Imperium continues to spread, there are many among the fallen who seek to revive the old ways of worship in order to free the armies of Skreiga and cast of the yoke of servitude. These so-called Skreiga Clans dedicate themselves to the worship of dread Charganal and the other malevolent beings whose veneration was once prevalent among the feral clans.

Though there are many underworld denizens which a clan may choose as its patron, one of the most powerful is Skarthrall, the keeper of souls. This god is believed to dwell in a hut on the banks of the River of Fate, appearing to his followers as a frail, wizened man draped in a tattered cloak of mouldering furs and shimmering, blue feathers. His small, unassuming hut is filled with the most terrible and wonderful secrets man has ever and could ever have know, and it is here that he weaves the dreams of the mortal realm with silvery threads of influence and seeming chance. It is said that those who harvest souls for Skarthrall may even bargain for a single thread of his forbidden knowledge of their very own, though the cost for such a request is often more than a sane man can bear.