Temperus Maximus

From 1d4chan
Jump to: navigation, search
Get ready for some ownage! *Original character, do not steal*

Temperus Maximus is the Chapter Master of the Angry Marines, by virtue of being the angriest Marine in the chapter, if not in the entire Imperium of Man. He's got a pair of chainfists with assault cannons built in and Khorne is fucking scared of this guy as he reminds him of a certain other angry marine. He is constantly entombed in Artificer Terminator armor, not in order to protect himself, but to protect enemies and allies alike from the sheer RAGE he outputs unchained. He is never seen without the Angry chapters heirloom; an adamantium cigar that none but the living embodiment of the Imperial middle finger can smoke.

It is believed by many imperial citizens that Temperus Maximus is the holy equivalent of a daemon prince since his anger is beyond even the Emperah's comprehension.

Records say that an entire World Eaters Warband ran like little pussies just by the sight of this angry beast and it is unknown how old he is but he's been around for quite a while though, His main goal is to teach the World Eaters just who is the angriest space marines around.


Like much of the Imperium’s history, details regarding Temperus Maximus’ life prior to his induction to the Angry Marines have been lost or forgotten. But like any hero of the Adeptus Astartes, Temperus Maximus’ impressive tenure of accomplishments as an Astartes has been preserved as inspiration to and benchmark for all Angry Marines to aspire.

Before he was Temperus Maximus, brother Furem was a respected Apothecary known for the savageness with which he would fight to recover every fallen brother’s Gene-Seed. The Angry Marines’ predilection to close combat meant that often times they would fall while deep in or even behind enemy lines. But no matter how suicidal or seemingly impossible the task, brother Furem would brave everything from scarring acid rains to withering hails of enemy fire to recover his brothers’ precious Gene-Seed so that their legacy might be passed on to the next generation. This tenacity enabled those fighting alongside Brother Furem to unleash devastating fury even in the most dangerous situations knowing that they could die with utmost certainty that their Gene-Seed would be returned to the chapter. Once such account reports an engagement in which an entire squad of Angry Marines pinned down by Havocs was finally relieved when brother Furem arrived from another combat zone and tore through the autocannon fire like a man possessed, braving the fire to allow the remainder of the squad to charge in and massacre the enemy gunline. During many similar instances it was reported that despite his grievous wounds, brother Furem carved through several enemies with nothing more than his Narthecium.

The Butcher of Cinder Canyon[edit]

Of all the myriad titles by which Temperus Maximus is known, there is one that many claim marks the true beginning of his ascendency to Chapter Master—the Butcher of Cinder Canyon. However, Temperus is loathe to recount the tale as it is also the story of one of his greatest failures.

The account begins in the midst of a warzone on the planet Rigol VII. What initially started as a Chaos Cult uprising turned into a full-blown invasion when Imperial Forces were unable to prevent cultist forces from hailing Traitor Marine support. With Heretic Astartes entering the struggle, the Angry Marines were routed to the planet in full force to push back the forces of Chaos. Initially, the arrival of Angry Marine forces was able to turn the tide and isolate the traitors to an inhospitable volcanic region of the planet where they could ultimately be destroyed. However, as the battle dragged on over solar weeks the chaos activity caused the skeins of reality to thin, allowing the neverborn to translate into realspace. With these reinforcements, the tide was once again changed as the Chaos forces began to break out from the Imperial encirclement.

In a desperate attempt to disrupt the leadership of the Chaos forces, a strike team comprised of heroes from the elite First Company along with Chapter Master Irae Rex was dropped into the heart of the Chaos encampment in the hopes of eradicating the Chaos command. The strike team fought valiantly, slaughtering easily over 50 times their number as they blazed a trail of Imperial fury towards the Chaos Lord. Brother Furem fought no less heroically than any of his fellow Astartes, fearlessly retrieving Gene-Seed in several perilous positions, each a hero’s tale in its own right. Yet despite all their zeal, upon finally facing the Chaos Lord they were wiped out to a man.

Exceroth was a fearsome servant of the Prince of Pleasure. He was clad in an ancient pattern of terminator armor painted impossibly black that glittered with light like stars in the void. His armor was chased with vibrant pink flames that seemed to shift and dance over the void-black armor. On his left arm was an older pattern of lightning claw, each talon ending in a terrible hook. His right arm was without armor from the elbow down exposing unnervingly smooth pale skin wreathed in a spectral violet-blue flame. Over the length of the conflict the waning of reality allowed Chaos Lord Exceroth’s power to swell far beyond initial assessments. Against this psychic might the heroes of the Angry Marines were crushed like ants as heads detonated in showers of gore, organs liquefied and ran like water, while others were shorn to pieces by the foul denizens of the warp. Even Chapter Master Irae Rex was no match and was cut down leaving little more than scuffs on the Chaos Lord’s armor. Brother Furem was the last of his squad, held in the clutches of Chaos Lord Exceroth impaled upon his lightning claw over a massive crevasse. As Chaos Lord Exceroth was ready to impart the Emperor’s Peace he noticed the cryo-tubes on Brother Furem and a sinister leer overcame his face. He reached out with his free hand and began canting the foul language of the warp. Brother Furem could only watch with horror and impotent rage as the contents of his cryo-tubes ran black with foul ichor. Exceroth drank deep of his pain and his perverted smile only grew. Images of all of the heroes he had failed burned through his fading consciousness as the damage to his body took its toll. In his final act of defiance he mustered every last ounce of fury and kicked Exceroth in the groin. Doubled over in his surprise, he dropped brother Furem into the abyss below.

Furem awakened in the base of the gorge, his trans-human physique having somehow miraculously staved off death. His head pounded as his armor sounded masses of alarms warning of damage sustained from the fall. His head ached in part from the fall but it was nothing compared with the pain of knowing that the legacies of his chapters heroes and most shameful of all his own Chapter Master would all end with his single failure. Not even the Deathwatch would take an Apothecary stained with dishonor of this magnitude. All that was left for him was vengeance.

Exceroth was blind with rage. The impudent corpse-worshipper had caught him by surprise and in that moment accidentally tore the amulet from his armor. Without the amulet, he would not be able to complete the chaos ritual needed for his full ascension to daemonhood. Despite his forces’ heavy losses caused by the rampaging Angry Marines he had no choice but to send squads of marines after the imperial dog while he worked to complete the ritual. He barked orders and a full twenty marines set off after brother Furem.

The only thing still fully operational was his Narthecium. His suit had dried out all combat stimms in the attempt to save his life. Most of the servos in his armor were running at below half capacity. He was lucky to find the life support was working—even if barely. The toxic fumes accumulated at the bottom of the pit from the volcanically active region would have killed even an unprotected marine. After assessing the extent of the damage to his suit Brother Furem took stock of his surroundings. His retinal display flickered intermittently, in part no doubt from the fall. He could no longer make out the sky as ash fell like snow from the burning walls of the crevasse. The embers glowing along the walls cast everything in a sinister light. The space was only wide enough for maybe four or five marines to stand shoulder to shoulder.

Buried in the ash by his feet he noticed an eerie blue glow unlike the fires burning around him. He dusted off the area and found an amulet, something from the Chaos Lord perhaps? Just then, he heard the unmistakable sound of power-armored ceramite footsteps. Judging by their volume they must have assumed him dead. Rage focused his bleary vision and he pressed himself against the wall, the layer of ash upon his yellow armor blending him into the wall. He heard the leader speak.

“There is a strong warp signature nearby, the amulet must be ahead. Keep an eye out for the yellow bastard’s corpse-worshipping body. The amulet can’t be far from it. We’ll also need any replacement parts we can strip from his corpse.”

His vengeance would start here. Even with their superior numbers there was little room to move in the chasm which meant they couldn’t use ranged weapons to avoid friendly fire leaving close combat as the only option. The poor bastards never knew what hit them.

As the first marine passed, Furem exploded from his concealed position in a shower of fire and sparks. He extended his Nartheciums’ drill and pinned the traitor’s head to the wall. The next marine reacted with superhuman speed but Furem was faster. Ceramite plates buckled under his greaves and made a cavernous mess of the traitor’s chest cavity. A whirring chainsword roared past Furem’s face missing it by hairs. He couldn’t be careless, even if they were traitors they were still Space Marines. He dislodged the Narthecium from the first marine and revved its adamantium chainblade. He made a feint for the marine that had swung at him who fell back leaving his comrade open. At the last second Furem stepped in and yanked his torso left making a ruin of the next marine’s face. Even if he somehow survived having his face removed he would die of asphyxiation on the canyon floor before long. By this time the Chaos marines realized they would not best him in single combat and the closest two both leapt in with combat blades making for the soft joints in his armor. With his delipitated armor he knew he could not avoid both blades and grit his teeth as a combat blade bit deep into his right shoulder. He parried the other blade with his Narthecium sending the traitor tumbling over his own weight. The traitor made what would be his last mistake and yanked combat blade out for a second strike freeing Furem’s arm. He laid a haymaker into the marine before he could ready himself for another blow sending him stumbling into the marines behind him. Furem spared no time and executed the other grounded traitor before he could bring his combat blade to bare stomping his head into a pulpy red mess among the ashen ground. Furem quickly snatched a grenade off the corpse and lobbed it into the center of the group of marines. They tried to scramble but in the tight space they had nowhere to run. The grenade shredded the marines closest to the blast and maimed several others.

It had been hours since his marines left to find the amulet. The electrically charged ash combined with the depth of the chasm made any electronic communication nearly impossible. He had to focus all of his psychic power on maintaining the ritual lest it failed and damned them all. Without the amulet even Exceroth was straining to maintain the furious warp energies needed. Becoming distraught, he sent the remainder of his forces not in active combat to find the amulet leaving a skeleton of honor guard to maintain the perimeter. He would have the amulet and his daemonhood at any cost.

When Furem’s vision finally stopped spinning there were still 7 heretics standing with the rest either dead or incapacitated. He could feel his body slowing down, his rage just keeping him on the edge of consciousness. His twin hearts strained to push the coagulants to his shoulder as the air in his helmet grew thin from the openings in his armor. For all his pride even he had to admit he would stand no chance against these foes in his current condition. As they closed in, he could only think of one last move to take out the remaining enemies. He reached for his remaining krak grenade causing the wary traitors to give pause. With the last of his strength he lobbed the grenade before falling over in exhaustion. The traitors laughed, shedding their tension and their now-limp quarry. The grenade had flown high and wide, a pathetic attempt by a dying corpse-worshipper. As if the Emperor himself had willed it, the krak grenade detonated unleashing a torrent of lava. In the confined space of the pit the remaining traitors had nowhere to run and were scorched into oblivion.

By the time Furem came to the traitors had all been turned to slag. The heat from the lava had cauterized his shoulder wound through the opening reducing the strain on his hearts. However, his suit integrity was at critical levels. He had to leave the canyon else he would die from the fumes and the heat. He picked up the amulet and looked for a way out. The traitors had no special climbing equipment which means they had to have come down a path. He stepped over the cooling lava using the charred remains of the traitors as stepping stones, heading off in the direction from which they came.

In a stroke of luck Furem came upon his suit repair kit not too far from where he awoke. He quickly mended the deeper cracks in his armor and sealed the soft joints. His combat stimms were also replenished along with his air filters and oxygen. The reprieve could not have come any sooner, his oolitic kidney close to failure from the toxic atmosphere. With his oxygen returned to safe levels he took a second to ingest some nutrient paste. After all his struggles even the normally bland nutrient paste tasted better than grox meat. But it was not to last, the sting of his failure quickly returned the flavor of the paste to ash in his mouth. Even if he could avenge his fallen brothers, would his chapter take him back? The question weighed heavily on his mind as he forged through the ashen waste.

Furem hacked his way through everything the Chaos Lord could throw at him. Knowing the Chaos Lord would not give up on the amulet so easily, he had to prepare to take down far more enemies. Even with his armor plates repaired the servos were close to shot—a repair he could not make without a techmarine. As much as it crushed his Angry pride he rigged the canyon with grenades scavenged from the marines not burnt to ashes. He could only wonder what his brothers would think of his cowardly tactics. He collapsed part of the canyon wall on the incoming party, slaughtering the survivors with brutal efficiency. After hours of killing he eventually came upon the path which the marines had been using to make their way down. He readied himself for the garrison of cultists most likely guarding the path but was surprised to find no one.

By this time Exceroth’s resources had been stretched to the breaking point. He had sent over 50 marines including his elite guard to retrieve the amulet but to no avail. He should have killed the marine instead of toying with him. The pleasure he had siphoned from the marine’s anguish was bitter in his mouth. Worse yet, the ritual was entering its final phase. The warp rift was now self-sufficient but it had taken its toll. Exceroth had expended a great deal of energy without the relic to amplify his strength. He had also burned out far more sorcerers than he would have liked but such was the price of power. With his psychic powers temporarily drained he would have to be on guard.

Furem could see unholy light coming from the Chaos encampment. It was empty save the sorcerers powering the rift and the Chaos Lord. His brothers were still on Rigol fighting the forces of chaos and it had stretched the chaos forces thin. This would be his only chance to strike at the enemy unchallenged. His mind turned to the blackened vials at his side and his vision ran red. There would be no stealth and no sneaking this time. He charged directly at the Chaos Lord shouting a promise of vengeance eternal.

His armor’s damaged servos put him at an immediate disadvantage. Worse yet, his opponent was clad in Tactical Dreadnought Armor. Even with his Narthecium specialized to punch through power armour it would prove to be difficult to breach. His mind was lost to rage, his body powered by sheer fury and unquenched vengeance. His body moved almost seemingly of its own accord, hundreds of years of combat pushing him to fight like as if breathing. Any other opponent would have been long dead but this was a veteran of the Long War. Where Furem may have had hundreds of years of experience his opponent had thousands and the difference showed. Exceroth’s speed and grace with the lightning claw belied his armors bulk. Even without his psychic powers his strength was formidable. Furem landed blow after blow but his Narthecium could not find purchase on the terminator. With each parry it was all he could do to avoid being impaled a second time.

The adamantium teeth of his Narthecium were dulling. The Chaos Lord had used the powered claw to deftly parry and destroy his drill. The little cuts in his armor were starting to add up, he blink-clicked away suit integrity warning runes away as fast as they were coming. Death was certain and his plans of vengeance seemed more and more like a dream. His strength was fading fast and it was then the Chaos Lord revealed the depth of his depravity.

With a wave of his hand Exceroth drained the rest of his psychic reservoir and the ground began to ignite with ethereal fuchsia flames. Exceroth screeched with delight as he fed from Furem’s horror. Before him stood the reanimated corpses of three his fallen brothers—including Chapter Master Irae Rex. To fail to save their gene-seed was a stain upon his honor that no marine could live to bear. But to see his brother’s bodies defiled by the foul energies of the warp was more than he could endure. Their names and deeds would mean nothing now; every word of their heroism would be struck from Angry Marine history for there was nothing that could be admired from one whose body succumbed to chaos.

His rage was finally pushed to its limits and something in Furem finally broke. The relic burned with an intense white-hot light pouring forth his hate, anger, and sorrow until he shone with the fury of the nothing less than the Emperor himself. The dulled chainblade thundered to life in a blaze of fury and in a blinding burst of speed he was upon his former brothers. He could not save their gene-seed but he would sooner die before he would forfeit their souls. Pfistus was first to charge, as in life he was always first to fight and last to leave. He came in hard with his overhand right, power first booming to life ready to run Furem through. But Furem had seen brother Pfistus fight for almost a century, admired him as one of the chapter’s finest. His heartstrings wrenched as he sidestepped the attack and countered with a vicious uppercut that plunged elbow deep and eviscerated Pfistus. It was a strike that Pfistus would have been proud of, yet the crumbling form twisted its head in a sick imitation of life and hissed its spiteful last words.


The sting of failure stoked Furem’s violent rage as he stepped to face brother Atmeus. As an unparalleled duelist of the Angry Marines he fought with a cold precision practiced over a hundred lifetimes across a thousand battlefields. Furem ducked and weaved Atmeus as best he could, the latter using even his shield as a bludgeoning weapon. With each attempt to close in, Furem was met with swift testicular retribution. Even with his scorching rage his codpiece integrity was nearing critical failure. It was at this moment he realized that although the body fought like Atmeus it lacked the creativity and soul behind each strike. Furem gambled everything on the next charge, leaving his groin completely unguarded he charged in and like an automaton Atmeus’s foot came in for the strike. With all his might he halted the charge, Atmeus’s foot only grazing his armor. With this opening Furem clamped onto Atmeus’s leg and heaved with all his might. He had Atmeus airborne with a heavy heart called upon his Angry Marine training and slammed him full-force into Exceroth sending them both flying.

He turned to face the last enemy standing. To once again Chapter Master Irae Rex resplendent in his artificer armor Profanity was sickeningly bittersweet. The Profanity was the pinnacle of the work of hundreds of artificers who gave their lives to engrave on a molecular level every vulgarity in low gothic imaginable. The hate rolled off of Irae Rex in waves projecting an aura of fear that would void the bowels of a lesser man. In his left hand he wielded Scourge, a thunder hammer whose striking face was embossed with the words “FUCK YOU.” On his right was Purge, a power fist with inbuilt heavy flamer discharged from ports in the fingers to which many traitors met their end. But most defining was the adamantium cigar that was clenched in his jaw, an irreplaceable heirloom of the Angry Marines.

A blistering gout of promethium poured past Furem’s face before he had time to doubt fighting his former Chapter Master. He sprinted wide left barely keeping ahead of the flames threating to roast him alive. The flames came to an abrupt halt and Furem prepared himself for the trick he had seen the Chapter Master pull countless times. Irae flung his arm in the direction opposite Furem and released a massive burst of flame that propelled himself at Furem. Furem went to wrench himself out of the way of the attack but his torso’s servos let out a death cry as they finally failed under the strain. Caught off balance, the thunder hammer crushed his left side, his fused ribcage splintering under the weight of the blow. He had been fortunate; his unexpected stop turned the killing blow into only a crippling one but now he could barely stand. Irae raised his power fist and unleashed a murderous torrent of fire.

Time slowed to almost a complete stop. The blistering promethium crawled agonizingly slowly towards him. He was about to fail his Chapter yet again. The shame and dishonor ran though his mind a million fold until he could take no more. Furem let out a battle cry unbelievable magnitude; its shockwave extinguished the surge of flames and sent Irae sailing. Irae died a second time before he even hi the ground, his internal organs liquefied by the concussive blast.

With his brothers finally laid to rest, Furem turned his attention to the broken Chaos Lord. There were no words, no banter, no smartass comments to be had. His seething fury forced the Narthechium’s saw to life and he began torturously cleaving through the terminator armor powered on by his wrath. He pushed every last ounce of his strength and cut clean through the Chaos Lord and the relic exploded under pressure his unchained rage and in a blinding flash the warp rift was seared shut and the entire chaos stronghold was laid to waste

Furem woke on his back, staring up at the black sky surrounded by still-burning earth. He could almost see the forms of his fallen brothers as if there to forgive him. He dismissed it as the thinned reality causing warp apparitions to toy with his mind. His eyes turned to the lit adamantium cigar as he faded into a sus-an induced coma. Death could not vindicate his failure but at least revenge was finally his.