And yea I actually consider the Shroudpslam change a buff What if adrptus had loads of models of one type because they were way more viable than the other models. Not everyone wants to run full Admech all the time. Made about average rolls and took out 4 of his wraiths in turn 1 with Protector.
Ironstriders got more expensive bit can shoot TWO lascannon shots from 48 inches that will each tanks and MCs alive. Your Battalion Detachment has room for 6 elites, 3 heavy support, and 3 fast attack choices.
Also, the macro stubber can wipe a 5-man termie squad in a single lucky round of shooting, or maybe use the shoot twice for 1cp to rape plague marines and rubrics. Areptus recently played a small Skirmish with a friend. The Start Collecting box comes at a decent discount over buying the units separately.
Welcome to Reddit, the front page of the internet. So split them in 5 men teams or browse the many ways to sustain a 10 man squad morale: Swap a unit or two of rangers for some Kataphrons for the added firepower. Kataphron destroyers and breachers, kastellens, cawlelectronpriests, tech priests are cult mechanicus not skitarii. This page is in need of cleanup.
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Did not know that lol Still a new playerbut thanks for clearing that up! For additional information, see the Global Shipping Program terms and conditions — opens in a new window or tab. Fortunately, AdMech in 8th Edition is overall a pretty solid army, with counters for almost anything. Pure skitarii lists are now depending on lascannon striders and dunecrawlers for anti vehicle duty. It will require 1 HQ choice, which you can fill with a cheap, barebones Techpriest Enginseer, and a minimum of 3 heavy support choices.
Sure it does more damage now. Want to add to the discussion? Delivery times may vary, especially during peak periods. Log in or sign up in seconds. Become a Redditor and subscribe skitwrii one of thousands of communities. Specialist Detachments are an upcoming type of Detachment that will be added starting in the Vigilus Mechanicuss campaign supplement by use of stratagems that costs CP. Every blow you strike will be crushing. Within this book you will find all the information you need to collect an Adeptus Custodes army and field it upon the tabletop.
As well as being incredibly powerful on the tabletop, the Adeptus Custodes are a wonderful modelling and painting project for those who really enjoy lavishing time and attention on every model. With a small number of exquisitely detailed individual warriors and ornate war machines at your disposal, you can afford to spend as long as you wish making sure that every single model in your collection looks exceptional, both by itself and as part of a wider tabletop force.
To play games with your army, you will need a copy of the Warhammer 40, rules. To find out more about Warhammer 40, or download the free core rules, visit warhammer The light of the Emperor shone from them like the radiance of Sol herself, and their battle cry was the booming voice of the Master of Mankind. Before their glorious charge, the worshippers of the Dark Gods were driven back like whipped curs.
For ten millennia they have stood sentinel over the Master of Mankind and defended the gates of his palace. The Ten Thousand walk the stars in numbers not seen since the Great Crusade, and woe betide those who oppose them. No finer or more fearsome warriors are there in the Imperium than the Custodians. Though even a small force of Custodians can rip through an enemy army in a whirlwind of bloodied blades, their true purpose is not one of conquest, but of guardianship.
Each Custodian is sublimely skilled, their strategic and tactical nous, bladesmanship and instinct little short of supernatural. However, where the warriors of the Adeptus Astartes employ squad-level tactics, their battle-brothers functioning as a cohesive whole, the Custodians fight as individuals.
Each of their fiercely independent number wields weapons hand crafted for him alone, and wears intricately designed armour tailored to his precise dimensions. So equipped, a single Custodian can go toe to toe with a dozen experienced combatants. When deployed en masse, such warriors can sweep away armies many times their number.
Ours is the vigil that must never end. Ours is the timeless honour, the willing sacrifice, the penitence enduring. We stand a watch that will never be relieved, and we stand it gladly out of adoration for he who gave us life, and whose life we must, in turn, preserve. We will never earn absolution, for we do not deserve it, but those who believe that would give us pause are fools. The cradle world was, at that time, a nightmarish place of abhuman armies and grotesque warlords who fought in thrall to entities both malefic and debased.
It is said that to have seen the Master of Mankind stride to war at the head of the Golden Legion was to have witnessed the most magnificent spectacle in human history. Where the gilded shield companies of the Adeptus Custodes storm into battle, the enemies of the Emperor come apart like smoke in a gale. The Custodians fight like legends come to life, and with the range of tools at their disposal are able to achieve the impossible. Enemy engines of war are annihilated by swift-striking spearheads of airborne Vertus Praetors, while heretical demagogues and roaring monstrosities alike fall beneath the blades of the Allarus Terminators.
For years uncounted the Legio Custodes, as they were known then, covered themselves in glory. Yet it was at the culmination of that epochal conflict that the Custodians knew defeat at last. They have carried the crushing shame and dishonour of doing so with them through all the millennia since. By the time the foe realise their cause is hopeless, it is far too late.
The only option left to the enemy to flee in dismay, and even then death is all but guaranteed. Such is the fate of those who dare to oppose the will of the Emperor.
Now, instead, the Custodians were charged with protecting what remained of their beloved Emperor at any cost. They donned shrouds of mourning black as a symbol of their disgrace, a sombre raiment that they would not shed for many millennia. For thousands of years, the Adeptus Custodes have stood vigil. Thanks to the remarkable gene-craft involved in their creation, these warriors do not age as other men, and so barring catastrophic physical trauma, they are functionally immortal.
With many Custodians being well over one thousand years old, they have had endless opportunity to perfect their skills, further their education across every lore and discipline, and hone their tactics so as to be ready for every eventuality.
Now, with the awakening of the Ultramarines Primarch Roboute Guilliman and his reinstating as Lord Commander of the Imperium, and the opening of the apocalyptic Great Rift, that time has finally come. Chaos-worshipping Renegades and howling tides of Daemons spill from warp storms all across the galaxy. Even the Sol System is assailed, the greatest enemies of Mankind coming within striking distance of Holy Terra itself.
The threats to the Golden Throne are now so widespread and dire that they must be stamped out pre-emptively, before they have a chance to fully manifest. Thus, while a standing garrison of Custodians remain upon the throneworld to defend their master, dozens of shield companies have set out into the stars to take the fight directly to those who would once again prove them derelict in their duty.
With them they bring the fury of the Emperor himself, sharpened by ten thousand years of preparation. Of course, this is not the only war that the Adeptus Custodes have mobilised for since the Heresy.
Such battles grind on even as the Ten Thousand sweep out to rend the traitor and the heretic all across known space. Like the Imperium as a whole, the Adeptus Custodes face opposition on every front. Upon the killing fields of Hydraphur, the Black Legion advanced in great and fearsome number. Yet though the heretics put all other Imperial servants to flight, they could not overcome the Adeptus Custodes, and against that living bastion of auramite their charge broke.
During the Dark Age of Technology, the human race was almost annihilated by its own hubris. Science and technology advanced at a breathtaking pace, enabling the conquest of increasingly far-flung planets. Thinking machines and the development of ever more esoteric weapons and transportation technologies played their part, but the single greatest factor to drive this expansion was the ability — and the reckless will — to manipulate human genetics.
Utterly certain of their own primacy, scientist-kings and techno-demagogues followed every strand of curiosity and exercised powers of creation that made them seem like gods. Ultimately, their hubris led them to catastrophe, and onwards to the very brink of extinction. Worlds were overrun by bloody uprisings within their own populations, much of which were mutated beyond sanity and recognition.
Gene-wars consumed entire star systems, while a psychic apocalypse drowned the stars in fire. The vast empire of Humanity was shattered amidst horror and anarchy, and the oppressive shroud of Old Night settled over all. At the heart of this galactic disaster lay Terra, transformed from a glittering jewel to an apocalyptic hellscape by forbidden weapons and biological atrocities. Yet though its people fell into darkness and ignorance, many of the technologies that had led them to ruin survived, sealed away in hidden bunkers and biomantic crypts.
Sure enough, as Humanity clawed its way back from the brink beneath the lashes of cruel warlords, so those selfappointed rulers discovered the weapons of old and tried once again to turn them upon one another. Terra faced the threat of a second apocalypse as gene-bred barbarians and ghastly fleshstitched ghouls made war at the behest of madmen, fanatics and techno-cannibalistic murderers. I was still as a statue, but always ready, always attuned to dangers unseen.
Days, months, years passed by in a frenzied blur beyond those walls, yet within, little moved and nothing changed. For one hundred years I did naught but wait, yet had any threat appeared, I would have struck it down in a heartbeat. For one hundred years I stood my watch, and as it ends I can tell you this — patience is a weapon. It was this ancient and dangerous bounty, coupled with his own incredible and unfathomable powers, that allowed the Emperor to fashion warriors with which to unite a world.
That task was not a simple one, and though the Emperor sought peace for Humanity, he could not achieve his aims without war. It is known, by the most learned of Imperial Historitors, that the living weapons the Emperor used for his early conquests were the Thunder Warriors. By the time the Thunder Warriors learned of their own disposable nature, the Emperor had set his sights on grander ambitions, and created the first of the beings that would become his Space Marines.
The years that followed saw the Great Crusade surge forth from the cradle of Humanity to reclaim the galaxy. Gathering pace with the technological aid of the Martian Mechanicum, the crusade forces spilled out into the void, billions upon billions of Imperial Army soldiers, proud warships, Space Marine Legions and countless other forces setting sail to reunite the stellar empire of Mankind.
The truth is hidden in fragments of the past, accounts of figures appearing in crude hieroglyphs and cave etchings, stasis-locked scads of parchment and gene-sealed tomes that no man now can open.
They held back the baying flesh-packs of the transnordic reaver tribes while the Emperor slew their bloated meat-god. Custodian blades took the head of Gharsha the Decryer, pierced the heart of the Ur-queen of Atlan, and drove back the iron fiends on the red fields of Primasalia. Or at least, so the dying echoes of history suggest. In those early days the Emperor was at the forefront of the expansion, even as his Primarch sons were rediscovered one by one and the crusade fleets became ever more scattered and autonomous in their operation.
Wherever the Emperor went, there too strode the Legio Custodes, an unstoppable golden army now ten thousand strong. To them went the finest weapons and armour, and all the accumulated wealth of archeotechnological secrets unearthed by the crusading armies upon ancient human worlds.
Alongside such esoterica as anti-gravitic battle tanks and terrifyingly potent disintegration rays, the Custodians also had access to the very best tried-and-tested Imperial tools of war. Their Land Raiders possessed the most exceptional and bellicose machine spirits. Their bolt weaponry, power blades and heavy weapons were all individually handcrafted by the greatest artisans the Imperium had to offer, as befitted such august and sublimely skilled warriors. In the last years of the Unification Wars, the Thunder Warriors at last realised that their creator had cursed them with short lifespans, and turned upon him for what they saw as his betrayal.
With those last relic forces purged in a ruthless act of barbarity worthy of culminating the Age of Strife, Terra could at last be pronounced unified, and the Emperor could turn his gaze to the stars for the benefit of all Mankind. Led to war by the Master of Mankind himself, they were the bane of every foe. Yet they would soon face their sternest and most tragic test. It is said that the golden-armoured giants of the Legio Custodes were the right hand of the Emperor, while the eerie witch-hunting nulls of the Silent Sisterhood were his left.
Together they represent the Talons of the Emperor. In an act of grossest betrayal, fully half of the Space Marine Primarchs turned against their father and began a civil war more ferocious than anything Mankind had ever endured. This was the Horus Heresy, and it would see tragedy wrought on a galactic scale. By the machinations of the Dark Gods of Chaos, they were scattered across the cosmos before they had fully formed, and so were reunited with their father — and the Space Marine Legions made in their image — piecemeal as the Great Crusade came to the worlds upon which they had fallen.
Arguably the greatest of their number was Horus Lupercal. It was Horus whom the Emperor named Warmaster in the wake of the Triumph at Ullanor, charging his gene-son with commanding the Great Crusade in his stead while he and his Custodians returned to Terra to complete new and secret works. H eracal swept his guardian spear in a tight arc.
Blood fountained, its colour rich red. Heracal raised one foot and kicked the swaying corpse in its midriff, sending it tumbling after its cranium. The Custodian scowled as two more traitors appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, clad in the panoply of the Sons of Horus.
He levelled his guardian spear and let fly, directing a hail of bolt shells into the turncoats. One of them was blasted backwards, his chest-plate reduced to wreckage. A lesser warrior might have gloated, glorying in his supremacy. The tragic events of the Horus Heresy — a full account of which would take more than a lifetime to relate — were cataclysmic in the extreme, sundering the nascent Imperium and leaving it to burn in the fires of treachery.
It is notable that while the Space Marine Legions battled furiously against one another — and the Imperial Army and Mechanicum tore themselves to shreds with internecine conflict — the Legio Custodes were strangely absent for much of the fighting. The few records that survive from that dark time provide only hints as to why that might have been, alluding to the existence of another, terrible war that took place beyond the sight of the wider Imperium, one that only the Adeptus Custodes had any chance of winning.
These were the Razing of Prospero, arguably the first battle of that dreadful era, and the Siege of Terra. The attack on Prospero came even before Horus tipped his hand in open rebellion. It was intended to be an act of censure, a punishment for the sorcerous Primarch Magnus the Red and his wayward Thousand Sons Legion.
Upon their distant home world of Prospero the Thousand Sons had recklessly continued the use of psychic powers and empyric meddling in direct defiance of the Edict of Nikaea.
None know for sure what finally forced the Emperor to intervene, but fragmentary sources tell of some psychic catastrophe on Terra, and an inescapable link to the powers of Magnus himself. Whatever the truth, Constantin Valdor and his Legio Custodes were charged with leading a force to Prospero Another moment and he was at the northern arch, firelight and smoke spilling through it along with the din of battle.
Heracal drew up shoulder to shoulder with Artoris, whose gold armour was drenched in the blood of the foe. Every shot they fired was perfectly placed. As blood sprayed and Legiones Astartes corpses crashed to the ground, Heracal felt a stern determination and unflinching conviction within him. So exceptional a warrior was Valdor that it is said he could even have matched a Primarch in a contest of blades.
It is said that Constantin Valdor epitomised all that it means to be one of the Adeptus Custodes. Stoic, watchful, fiercely intelligent and — when required — a truly inspirational leader, Valdor was a true hero of the Imperium who never once faltered in his duty. Since their earliest days the Custodians had always borne the Magisterium Lex Ultima, a mark of office that made them answerable only to the Emperor himself.
Yet never before had they been charged with exercising its authority for such a daunting task. Still, Valdor did not shirk from his duty. The aftermath of the events on Prospero was one of bewilderment and uncertainty.
During that titanic siege, the Legio Custodes fought alongside the loyalist Legions to defend the Emperor and his palace. They showed no mercy to the turncoat Space Marines. They did not waver, even as megatonnes of explosive death rained from the burning skies, even as daemonic abominations spilled through the veil of reality and renegade Titans hammered the palace walls with city-levelling weaponry. Valdor and his Ten Thousand fought valiantly during that nightmarish battle, driving back one offensive after another.
Despite their heroics, and to the eternal shame of the Legio Custodes, they failed in their ultimate duty. All through the Siege of Terra, Horus watched from his orbiting flagship, the Vengeful Spirit, coordinating the final battle from afar. Why he did this, none 11 can say. Perhaps he simply wished to face the Emperor before the end, and to strike his father down by his own hand. Despite the best efforts of the Custodians, they could not overcome the unnatural might of Horus.
Only the Emperor was able to defeat his rebellious gene-son, but the victory came at a terrible cost. The Master of Mankind would be consigned to the Golden Throne forever more, its sustaining technologies keeping him on the threshold of life. So enthroned, his immense psychic power continues to guide and protect the loyal people of the Imperium — should he ever perish, Mankind would surely follow soon after. They donned mourning black, for theirs was a shame and a failing that they sought neither to forget nor be absolved of.
For ten thousand years the Adeptus Custodes have stood guard over the Golden Throne. In that time, not a single enemy has gained access to the Sanctum Imperialis. The Custodians have many tasks upon Terra. Considering the complex is a continent-sized sprawl of interconnected fortresses, cathedrums, armouries, dungeons, macro-habs, judiciariums, archives, sanctums, space ports and countless other structures, this is no mean feat.
It is the Adeptus Custodes alone who decide who will be permitted audience with the Emperor, and it is an honour that is granted only in the rarest of circumstances. They oversee the soul-binding ritual that sees thousands of psykers each day drained of their life force in order to sustain the Emperor and his Astronomican.
The Adeptus Custodes guard the deepest vaults of the Imperial Palace, wherein lurk sanity-blasting secrets from the Dark Age of Technology.
They despatch shield companies to inspect the defences of the Sol System, and to eliminate anything that presents even the slightest hint of a threat to the sanctity of Holy Terra. They play their endless Blood Games, one of their own number taking the role of invader or assassin to test their defences and, in doing so, to strengthen them still further.
For millennia the Custodians have gone about their duties, bound to traditions that have become ritual and rote. Yet this is a mantra the Custodians apply also to themselves, and thus they have never permitted themselves a moment of laxity or introspection. Either way, the Adeptus Custodes continue to exercise the full authority of the Magisterium Lex Ultima, marshalling the defences of Terra as they see fit and answering to no one but their silent master in matters of security, sanctity and strength.
There can be no more important duty in all of the Imperium than to shield the Emperor himself. As such, no consideration for rank or veteran status is given when appointing Custodians to the Companions, and those passed over in favour of younger or less experienced candidates take no offence. Again, this is no mark of dishonour, merely a pragmatic admission that even a Custodian cannot perform such a taxing duty indefinitely.
Those who have served amongst the Companions are more likely to lend their talents to the grim bodyguards known as the Aquilan Shields. Such Custodians have protected the lives of the greatest and most august personages in the Imperium, most notably the High Lords of Terra themselves. To the Ten Thousand such duties are simply an extension of their vows to protect the Emperor, in this case by safeguarding those assets most important to the successful running of his Imperium.
The vigil of the Companions is unending, and though they are of course rotated out for brief periods of rest, it is still a purgatorial duty. Arrayed in ranks around the Golden Throne, these wardens stand for incredible lengths of time, unmoving, unspeaking, poised constantly upon the cusp of battle readiness in case the slightest threat were to present itself. More than ten thousand years later, the same processes are still utilised, remaining every bit as shrouded in secrecy and tradition as they were during the Great Crusade.
If it can truly be said that the Space Marines are the sons of the Primarchs, then the Adeptus Custodes are the progeny of the Emperor himself. His might permeates them, his blessings so powerful that they can shield the Custodians from hurts both physical and empyric. The greatness of the Master of Mankind runs in their veins, burns in their eyes, and charges the air around them so that all faithful warriors instinctively respect and fear these demigods of war.
Now there are ten thousand of us, ready to strike out into the galaxy with all of our might. Exactly what chance do you think your traitorous brothers stand against us, cur? Between them, these modifications reshape those who receive them into living weapons. By comparison, whatever mysterious bio-alchemy is used to trigger the transformation into a Custodian occurs on an entirely deeper level, taking root in the cells, perhaps even the soul, of an aspirant.
The process of ascension goes beyond the purely physical and spiritual. With the Adeptus Custodes fighting only for the Emperor himself, and beholden to the commands and scrutiny of no other, the secrets of their recruitment have never been revealed, for not even the High Lords of Terra have the right to demand them. Each aspirant endures thousands of hours of such psycho-indoctrination and mnemic conditioning. Their education is mercilessly absolute, information beaten into the metal of their minds at a punishing rate that drives many mad.
They must grasp not only the tenets of warfare in all its forms, and learn every method of assassination, counter-espionage, threat recognition and death dealing known to Mankind, but also expand their minds in far more esoteric directions.
Diplomacy and statecraft, astrogation and interstellar geography, history, philosophy, theosophy, artistry and countless other subjects must all be mastered to a breathtakingly high degree.
It is known that all Custodians begin their lives as the infant sons of the noble houses of Terra. Such children are taken in when they are still in infancy, for the earlier the genetic metamorphosis into a warrior of the Adeptus Custodes begins, the better a chance it has of success. Much of this education is a throwback to the days when the Custodians were expected not only to provide the Emperor with protection, but also counsel and conversation. It has become a tradition applied by rote, but still its benefits are apparent.
Not only does such an avalanche of information screen out those whose psyches are not sufficiently robust, but it further ensures that — almost alone in a dark and dreadful age — the Adeptus Custodes retain the enlightenment and perspective commonplace during the Great Crusade. Of course, with such blessings comes a tragic comprehension of the depths to which the Imperium has sunk; it is a credit to the Adeptus Custodes that such a realisation does not drive them to despair.
There is a reason that — despite their remarkable lifespan — the Adeptus Custodes have never numbered more than approximately ten thousand warriors. Simply put, for every worthy aspirant who succeeds, thousands are found wanting. A Space Marine 14 No truth is withheld from the Adeptus Custodes, for in order to do their duty without impediment they must possess all of the facts about the dark terrors that seek to conquer the galaxy.
Such sanityeroding revelations quickly eliminate those inductees who do not have sufficient spiritual fortitude to do their duty. An item that has been used previously. One use per canticle, or roll adepptus D6 to get a random one and possibly re-use one. Refer to eBay Return policy for more details. It will require 1 HQ choice, which you can fill with a cheap, barebones Techpriest Enginseer, and a minimum of 3 heavy support choices. Incensed at these accusations, the brotherhood of Electro-priests fractured many times, and the first Conduit Wars began.
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