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. How long the process of creating a Custodian takes is unknown beyond the walls of the Imperial Palace. All those who survive emerge as magnificent praetorians, their sculpted physiques and altered minds so utterly other that they adopt entirely new personalities. They draw their names from ancient texts, deriving them from heroes, monsters and gods of old Terran mythology.
Not only is this practice regarded as being entirely appropriate for such transcendent beings, it also allows the noble families of Terra to save face. All can — and will — claim that it was their offspring that showed the fortitude to become a Custodian, and none will gainsay them.
Though the minds of the Custodians are armoured against the machinations of witches and psykers, they themselves never exhibit such abilities. The Emperor allowed for no chink in the defences of his bodyguards, for while battlefield psykers are undoubtedly powerful living weapons, they are also unstable ones. Their minds are prone to invasion by warp entities, a danger that no member of the Adeptus Custodes need ever face.
Certain names such as the Clan Halbrinmir or the Clan Gestaxtis are renowned for their martial masterworks, and their augmetically enhanced artisan-barons are famed for the wonders they have wrought.
For those superlative individuals that do survive to join the golden ranks, their comrades afford them immediate respect. There are no juniors amongst the Adeptus Custodes — only worthy warriors who understand the full burden of responsibility that their power and authority brings.
The Adeptus Custodes also have access to an incomparable armoury of technology, much of it dating back thousands of years. From the sleek Dawneagle jetbikes of the Vertus Praetors and the magnificent Allarus-pattern Terminator armour, to Land Raiders and Contemptor Dreadnoughts that saw battle during the Great Crusade, such equipment epitomises the proven excellence of all Adeptus Custodes materiel. Just as the warriors who protect the Golden Throne must be utterly without fault or weakness, so must be the equipment they rely upon to discharge their duties.
Though all begin with a single epithet, as these warriors achieve great deeds they are awarded additional names to reflect them. In days past, the Emperor himself would bestow these titles.
Now it falls to the Captain-General, or occasionally a Shield-Captain in the field, to bestow the honour on his comrades. Custodians who have served for many centuries typically have dozens of names inscribed within the plates of their armour or — in some cases — even etched microscopically into their bones. Along with their name, ascension to the ranks of the Adeptus Custodes earns each individual their own armour and weapons.
Some suffer physical hurts that impact upon their ability to perform their duties, with lost limbs, artificial eyes or augmetic organs lessening their physical perfection.
Others find their mental faculties beginning to erode, however slightly, acknowledging that their reaction times or mnemic awareness are not quite what they once were. For the vast majority of warriors, a tenth-of-a-second reduction in the speed at which blows are stuck or parried might be considered negligible. For a Custodian, it is error enough to necessitate that their watch come to an end.
When a Custodian judges himself no longer fit for duty he surrenders all of his equipment to the Hall of Armaments and vanishes into the void of the galaxy clad in hooded black robes. Such noble exiles still serve the Emperor, however, for wherever they travel they observe. Others cultivate networks of informants and agents, using fear and intimidation to secure compliance where loyalty and honour will not suffice.
Should they bear witness to a situation developing that they believe might threaten Terra or the Emperor, these watchers use secret channels to communicate a warning to the Captain-General. So do response forces of the Adeptus Custodes launch punitive and often pre-emptive strikes throughout the Imperium, forewarned of danger by the Eyes of the Emperor. It sprawls across an entire mountain range, stretching for thousands of miles over the surface of the throneworld.
The Adeptus Custodes are responsible for the defence of this immense fortress, a duty they discharge with tireless diligence. In the days of the Great Crusade, the Imperial Palace was a surpassing wonder of engineering. Yet the necessity to fortify that beautiful structure against the baleful intentions of Warmaster Horus — and the subsequent widespread devastation suffered at the hands of his traitor hordes — wrought irrevocable changes.
In the wake of the heresy, the Imperial Palace was rebuilt as the mightiest fortress in human history. The ten millennia since have seen it become ever more bloated, polluted and immense. What once was bright and magnificent is now vast and lowering, a hunched architectural monstrosity that wears its martial might like a challenge to the terrors of the darkling void. There can be no clearer metaphor for the fate of the wider Imperium, but though the palace is a grotesque mockery of its former self, still the Custodes guard it well.
This is no small task. The towering spires of its macro-habs and space ports break through the atmosphere and rise into the void like the spines of some bioluminescent beast. Its corridors, chambers, vaults, fastnesses and plazas are so multitudinous that no single record remains to list them all, and the societal sub-nations, clan holdings and techno-urbanic serf tribes that dwell within its walls could populate entire star systems.
They inspect the endless miles of orbital guns and defensive silos, and maintain a wary guard over the hidden vaults deep within the palace which contain secrets so dreadful that they could bring about the fall of Humanity were they ever released.
For thousands of years, their shield hosts have mustered in secret and set out aboard requisitioned warships to strike down threats identified by the roaming Eyes of the Emperor.
Bands of Custodians have regularly patrolled the Sol System, serving as rotating garrisons for military facilities based around Luna, Venus, Pluto and numerous deep-space star fortresses that watch the approaches to Terra. The Adeptus Custodes have also long liaised with the Imperial Fists Space Marine Chapter, who still maintain their role as joint guardians of the Sol System, and whose immense star fort — known as Phalanx — has often held a protective orbit over the throneworld.
The Adeptus Custodes have remained unwavering in these duties for thousands of years. Now, even as the galaxy darkens around them and new wars arise for them to fight, they are more determined than ever to ensure the Imperial Palace, and the whole of Terra, stand inviolable. Towering even taller than the mountain range upon which it was built, it is a monument to the grandiose martial might of Humanity. A fool dies with blades still sheathed, fearing that there might yet come a time of greater need.
For the sake of Emperor and Imperium both, we must take the fight to our enemies. Through great sacrifice and unnatural artifice, Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines, was restored from the brink of death. His coming would herald great changes for the Imperium.
Perhaps, had it been otherwise, the fate of the galaxy would have been very different. Whatever the case, following his revival Guilliman was determined that he would not make the same mistake twice.
Seeing the darkness rising to swamp the Imperium, he launched a desperate crusade across the stars that brought him by strange and bloody roads to the throneworld itself.
He quickly began instating changes that would permit the Imperium to fight back against the onrushing hordes of Chaos, bulldozing the bureaucratic stubbornness and hidebound pedantry of the Adeptus Terra as he went.
The Adeptus Custodes found themselves putting down riots, doomsday cult uprisings and rampaging packs of luckless petitioners driven to madness and cannibalism. Bands of Custodian Wardens stood their ground in the shadowed undervaults far beneath the palace as runic sigils burned out and timeless horrors burst from their containment cells. Worse was to follow. One by one, the eight Bloodthirsters that led the attack were blown apart or cut down.
Yet even as the skies boiled blood-red and carmine rains slicked the ground, the legions of Khorne faded from reality with howls of frustration and rage. If the servants of the Dark Gods had bypassed the defences of the cradle of Humanity. Behind locked doors, complex wards and layers of psy-protections, Valoris and Guilliman ratified a formal amendment to the role of the Adeptus Custodes. However, as a logical extension of the vows of duty they had sworn, the Adeptus Custodes committed to greatly extending their extra-solar activities.
Aided by oracular doomscryers and alphalevel astropathic intercepts, and guided in part by the continued efforts of the Eyes of the Emperor, more shield hosts than ever before struck out from Terra. The aim of these forces was to exterminate utterly the most deadly threats to the Emperor himself. This mission might take them all across the galaxy, even into the shadows of the Imperium Nihilus beyond the sprawl of the Great Rift, but always their focus would be the sanctity of Terra.
It was not to be squandered or refused. When they deign to account themselves at all to other Imperial bodies their ranks appear complex and highly stratified. Yet much of this is tradition, or else purposeful misdirection; in practice, the Adeptus Custodes use a robust and easily adaptable system to organise their forces. The Adeptus Custodes operate as a military force, a gathering of champions each of whom possesses unassailable authority over virtually any other organisation in the Imperium.
Conversely, no Imperial agent can give a Custodian orders. Even such worthies as the High Lords of Terra and Lord Commander Guilliman are able only to request — not demand — their aid. As befits such a body of elite warriors, the internal hierarchy of the Adeptus Custodes is remarkably flat. The Captain-General commands the Ten Thousand, inheriting a post that has been passed down from one gallant leader to the next ever since the mysterious disappearance of Constantin Valdor.
The Captain-General has absolute authority over the Custodes, acting as the ritual proxy for the Emperor himself and speaking with the voice of the Master of Mankind. Membership of this body changes periodically to ensure a blend of established wisdom and fresh ideas. A Custodian must have earned at least ten names before he can serve on the Tribunate, and have led his comrades victoriously in battle on at least three occasions. Once he joins the Tribunate, a Custodian must serve for at least ten years.
During this time he will not see the front lines, for he is too busy bending all of his considerable intellect to supporting — strategically and diplomatically — the Captain-General. Below this ruling council are the ShieldCaptains, who fulfil the roles of inspiring leaders, gifted generals and selfless champions. Their titles vary enormously, from Supreme Castellans and Aquila Commanders to Master Guardians, often borne in accordance with the specific duties to which they have been assigned.
The remainder of the Custodians possess roughly equivalent status to one another, forming loose warrior bands traditionally known as sodalities. There are varying strategic roles within the organisation to which some Custodians find themselves better suited.
However, whether this be the rapid jetbike troops of the Vertus Praetors, the heavy assault specialists of the Allarus Custodians, or the unwavering Wardens, they still operate within a meritocracy that sees them afforded whatever honour their comrades believe them worthy of.
A singular force of the Adeptus Custodes is referred to as a shield company. The numbers within such a formation can vary considerably, hand-picked by their Shield-Captain for the task at hand and ranging from a small band to a sizeable army complete with jetbikes, tanks and Dreadnoughts. Under normal circumstances, a shield company includes no more than one Shield-Captain and perhaps thirty to forty Custodians.
When a larger force is required, multiple shield companies gather into forces known as shield hosts. Led by conclaves of ShieldCaptains and boasting tens, sometimes hundreds of Custodians, shield hosts have the martial strength to crush enemy armies and bring entire star systems to heel. They have become weapons of vengeance, to be turned upon those who betrayed the Emperor and left him a broken shell.
Though the Custodians are typically immune to such superstition, there are those amongst their ranks who harbour the hope that if enough traitor blood is spilt with these blades, it may in some way restore their master. Another school of thought, the adherents of which are known as the Miserians, believe that through the wounds inflicted with misericordia they will slowly bleed the great descendants of Horus, inflicting a death by a thousand cuts upon the Black Legion and their masters.
Thus, though Custodians have the right to carry their misericordia or not as they see fit, it is rare indeed that they go to battle against the Heretic Astartes without these blades at their hips.
More than a lethal sidearm, the misericordia signifies something greater. Its traditional meaning is said to date all the way back to the darkest days of Terran history, when cruel warlords ruled by the blade alone. These weapons of oppression were known as misericordia. Yet as the Emperor led his wars of unification, his Custodians are believed to have co-opted the term for their own use.
No longer would the misericordia be a symbol of tyrannical rule. Those Custodians that lead each force are permitted vast autonomy in selecting whatever forces they believe they will require to complete their mission, with only the broadest organisational guidelines by which to abide. As is typical with such organisations, their members often fight amongst the ranks of other shield companies also, but when Paliades calls, all of his comrades who can will answer.
The composition of this shield company was determined by the Shield-Captain to suit his strategic needs; others might contain wildly different arrays of troop types and vehicles. These range from war engines and Dreadnoughts to seconded warships, and even noncombatant field agents.
They have fought together many times since, typically gathering to eliminate suddenly arising threats close to or within the Sol System. It is important to note that the Solar Furies is a very large shield host — any formation that brings two or more shield companies together beneath the leadership of multiple ShieldCaptains is considered to be a shield host.
From a practical point of view, however, these assets still fight with their parent shield companies. Thus, each suit of armour is an individual work of exceptional craftsmanship with its own unique flourishes and decorations. When a Custodian switches from one such organisation to another, the stones will be carefully extracted from his armour and replaced with those of an appropriate colour if needs be. The latter organisational tier takes precedence for these purposes. However, through closely guarded alchemical processes, auramite can be tinted, or its colour changed altogether on a molecular level.
This is not standard amongst all shield companies, however. To the Shadowkeepers falls the duty of standing guard over them unto the end of time. The Shadowkeepers hold the keys to the rune-locked portals hidden deep beneath the Imperial Palace.
They alone know the ways by which the runic locks may be disengaged, the wards unbound and the sanctic circles breached. A full shield host is devoted to this grim responsibility, over a hundred Custodians patrolling the dark and silent corridors, vigilantly watching over the last terrors of Old Night. It is a task that would soon drive most men mad, for though neither sight nor sound can escape the forbidden cells, the air of those corridors is charged with dread.
A perpetual menace thickens the shadows and makes them crawl. Even the superhumans of the Adeptus Custodes are forever on edge in those dark oubliettes, for the sense of unspeakable threat never wanes.
It is a testament to the discipline and spiritual fortitude of the Shadowkeepers that they stand their guard unflinching, sometimes for decades at a time. The ranks of this shield host include many Custodian Wardens, whose oaths of protection help them to focus upon the task at hand to the exclusion of all else. The leaders of these forbidding sentries carry ancient weapons of mysterious provenance, their use intended as a last resort should anything ever break free from the Dark Cells.
For ten thousand years the Shadowkeepers have performed their duty, yet the coming of the Great Rift changed everything. With the power of Chaos spilling raw and seething into the spaces between the stars, new abominations have come to light. Worse still are the cells that stand suddenly empty, the entities and artefacts once contained within spirited away by some unholy force to curse the galaxy once more.
Fearing the consequences of such dread remnants of the Age of Strife falling into the wrong hands, the Shadowkeepers at last sent warriors out into the galaxy.
These jailers must trammel that which should not be, slaughtering all who seek to impede them, before returning their foul prizes to the cells where they belong. Custodian Warden Jaeharl Feldorus Ghau, who stands amongst the steely eyed ranks of the Shadowkeepers.
Custodian Ghau has guarded the Dark Cells for seventeen years, during which time he has been called upon to leave Terra thrice on heavily veiled reclamation missions. This appointment confers the title of Lockwarden, a name that is borne in perpetuity and garners solemn respect from every other member of the Ten Thousand. The Lockwarden must be the sternest of all guardians, the most unrelenting and alert gaoler on the face of Terra. Moreover, should any creature or relic escape the Dark Cells, or newly emerged threat need to be imprisoned therein, it is the duty of the Lockwarden to personally oversee the operation.
The current incumbent of this position is Shield-Captain Borsa Thursk, who has been Lockwarden for a century and a half. He is a grim and frighteningly intense warrior whose utter fearlessness and steely vigilance make him ideal for his role.
It speaks volumes about the dire condition of the galaxy that Thursk left Terra but twice before the breaking of the storm, yet he has barely set foot there since the Great Rift yawned wide.
Such esteemed figures are afforded the protection of the Aquilan Shield, at least until their usefulness is thought to be at its end. As the doomscryers of the Imperial Palace sift the tides of the empyrean for warnings of disaster, they also take note of those who — through example, thought or deed — are likely to avert such catastrophes before they threaten the Golden Throne.
Our war is like an endless game of regicide, played over countless boards against infinite foes at once. In such a contest one must be constantly pre-emptive, always cunning and ever ready to seize any advantage that presents itself.
Our gaze must rove far afield, and our every move must be perfectly executed. To do any less is to court final defeat. They have even protected two crusade leaders bearing the title of Warmaster, staunchly ignoring the historic associations with he who first held that rank. Yet they have also appeared amidst flares of golden light to watch over firebrand frontline preachers, bewildered militia leaders and others of apparently little import. The Aquilan Shield fight to ensure such a future comes to pass, shielding their charges from harm until the exact moment the usefulness of the person under their protection is deemed spent.
At that point they depart without a word, leaving those they guarded to look to their own defence. Tragedy often follows, but this is of no concern to the Aquilan Shield — providing it does not jeopardise the safety of the Golden Throne. The Aquilan Shield are an informal brotherhood laced through the ranks of the Adeptus Custodes. They typically operate in small warrior bands, journeying across the stars to stand watch over their charges wherever they may be.
Such an honour is beyond compare, and is never refused no matter the circumstances or the individual chosen. His allegiance is indicated by the royal purple colouration of his left shoulder guard and his robes. The Dread Host represents a breathtaking concentration of military might. It numbers hundreds of Custodians, organised into multiple shield hosts and transported aboard a trio of pre-heresy warships known as the Moiraides. They cast down their false idols and set them aflame.
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