Table of Contents
Class
Weapons
Decapitator
+24% Finesse for 8s on Enemy One-Shot. Stacks 5 times.
Wrath
40% Cleave on Hit. Stacks 5 times.
Hand-Cannon
+60% Rending on Critical Hit.
Surgical
+10% Critical Chance for every 0.3 second while aiming. Stacks 10 times. Discharges all stacks upon firing.
Curios
+1-3 Max Stamina
+13-17% Toughness
+13-17% Toughness
Talent Tree
Description
You will never be a real reject. You have no death sentence, you have no prisoner's collar, you've never broken the Lex Imperialis. You are a model soldier twisted by trench tales and vox chatter into a crude mockery of Atoma's finest.
All the "respect" you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back, servitors mock you. Your striketeam is disgusted and ashamed of you, your "comrades" laugh at your disciplined appearance on lower vox frequencies.
Tech priests are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of innovation have allowed them to sniff out frauds better than sacred machine oils. Even guardsmen who "pass" look uncanny and unnatural to the Mechanicus. Your standardized Militarum infantry combat doctrine is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get an engineseer to anoint your kit, he'll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your unmodified standard issue infantry lasgun.
You will never be feared. You wrench out a fake grimace every morning looking in the small mirror in your dugout while eating corpse starch from Munitorum rations, and tell yourself it's going to be fine, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a chaos spawn's tentacle, ready to drag you to the Sea of Souls.
Eventually, it'll be too much to bear. You'll fix your bayonet, emerge from behind cover, slowly goose-step into the crossfire, and be cut down by enemy guns. Your sergeant major and explicator will find you missing upon the Storm Raptor's return, heartbroken but relieved they no longer have to deploy you and the unbearable shame and disappointment that follows suit. They'll send a short letter to the company commissar with your dog tags attached, and every Astra Militarum cadet for the rest of eternity will know a guardsman had served on the Morningstar. Your body will be eaten by Nurgle's abominations and go back to the warp, and all that will remain of your legacy is a short footnote under a report buried in the back hall of the Archivum. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
(Grenades optional)
Other builds by Psurd
