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"You are indeed very powerful, Farseer. So powerful, in fact, that I seem unable to destroy you with my abilities. But I must ask Farseer, are you as skilled with a blade as you are with the powers of the Empyrean?"
—Ingar Blackspawn, taunting Farseer Nayair of Craftworld Ke'Lan before he "liberates" her arms from her body during the Battle of Kuran

A specter of doom and figure of much fear for so many across the galaxy, Ingar Blackspawn is and icon of ruin for many, both his allies and his enemies. Once the brilliant tactician and potent Librarian of the Luna Wolves Legion, Ingar Blackspawn is now the Chief Sorcerer of the infamous Storm Draugar Chaos Warband. With his great powers, and the might of his elder brother, Malak Blackspawn, he maneuvers the Storm Draugar forward on the bloody battlefields of the 40th Millennium.



Ingar was born to a whore in the darkest tunnel depths of Cthonia, miles below even the darkest Underhive slums. It was a life of hardship and extremes, especially considering that Ingar was a frail and sickly child. However, Ingar always had his eldest brother as his guardian and provider, even when they had less than nothing, the pair could always stand side by side. Such a bond borne of equal parts blood and shared suffering created in Ingar an admiration and loyalty to Malak the likes of which still remain strong even after centuries of corruption at the hands of the Dark Gods.

For most of their young lives the duo would scavenge and scrape by in the hollow depths of Cthonia, just two more forsaken souls upon a dying world. But then one day, Ingar received his first vision, his mind seemed to suddenly burst into flames, and his eyes beheld nothing but death. Ingar naturally acted on this vision, and saved his brother and himself from a murderous murder-gang raid. At first, the visions came without warning, and the voices that whispered in the frail child's ears threatened to make him little more than a slave. But, marked as his soul was, Ingar defied madness, his brother serving to anchor him in reality. With Ingar's newfound powers under the barest pretense of control, the pair began their rise to infamy.

Precognitive powers, combined with his elder brothers practiced skill with makeshift weapons, made the pair into a deadly duo of bandits. Overtaking their often larger and well armed prey by surprise and expertly applied brute force, the pair of orphans quickly became infamous within the deeper warrens of Cthonia. Tales were told, not of a pair of starving wretches, but of a pair of phantoms, daemons from the blackest bowels of the dying planet. Said to feast upon the flesh and souls of both errant beast and man, this pair would become known as the Blackspawn Brothers, spoken of in fear only by the wise, in jest only by those blissfully ignorant of the true horror that was this pair of Warp-touched feral children.

But such legendary status was short lived, for soon the Emperor discovered his first and favored son upon the desolate surface of Cthonia, Horus Lupercal. Their reunion sparked a purge of Cthonia's streets and warrens, scores of young men herded into armored trucks and corralled into ships to be taken off world to become the first crop of Cthonian Luna Wolves. And Ingar, for all his guile and gifts, was still little more than a child. Thus, when the snatchers came for them, Malak and Ingar could only run so far before they too were cornered, captured with nets and stun batons, and loaded with millions of other youths bound for Luna.

Pale Moon

Captured like animals and dragged to the distant star of Sol, Ingar and Malak would be brought to the Gene-Labs of Luna to begin their transformation from a mere pair of juvenile bandits into post human Astartes. Ingar was separated from his brother at the time of their capture, and throughout transit was haunted with uncontrollable visions of his brothers wretched death in the Gene-Labs of Luna. He saw every wretched detail, his protector and only friend, mutilated and twisted by the bumbling of those early Gene-Writes. Madness had all but overtaken Ingar by the time he was forced from his holding cell upon a specialized vessel designed to ferry potential neophytes with psychic potential.

Considered of greater value than the rank and file recruits by the Imperial Gene-Writes, Ingar and the small handful of other Cthonian youths with psychic potential were treated no less harshly than the more "expendable" rank and file neophytes. The rigors of both intense Psyker training and augmentations to become an Astartes broke most in Ingars group, whittling down their ranks one or two at a time with each new hurdle. The psychological conditioning was what Ingar most dreaded, hours of torture testing, empathy suppression, deprivation and desensitization.

Forced to bend until his mind broke, only to have it put back together and relentlessly shattered again. But the empyrean fire in the child's eyes never died, that raw, unassailable will. With every break came a resolve to become stronger, harsher, ruthless. Ingar loathed beyond all else to be powerless, to be a tool. Even when they were certain they broke him, the Gene-Writes of Luna were sorely mistaken.

The child that was Ingar never died, he merely transcended, evolved, became more twisted and animalistic as the Legion demanded. The visions of his dead brother never ceased, but in spite of having once driven him to the edge, they are all that saved any shred of Ingar's original personality, for they reminded him constantly of something beyond the psycho conditioning and agonizing reshaping of his body. They gave him hatred when fear was stripped from him, and hate sustained him, reforged him, honed his mind like a blade.

A Honed Blade

Ingar's first tour of duty as a Librarian of the Luna Wolves Legion

The Torment

The Eye of Luna

Brothers Reunited

For the Glory of Mankind

Sons of the Warmaster


The Horus Heresy

The Drop Site Massacre

The Traitors

Blood of the Draugar


Mantel of Luna: A suit of MkIII Iron Armor Ingar was presented with following his ascension to the rank of Librarian during the Great Crusade, the Mantel of Luna is a masterwork of Great Crusade era craftsmanship and technological advancement. Imbued with psychoactive crystals and later outfitted with potent runes by Ingar himself, the Mantel of Luna is not only nigh impervious to small arms fire but also powerfully resistant to attacks of a Warp borne nature. Clad in this suit of power armor, Ingar has weathered the assaults of both gunlines, xenos blademasters, and witch lords.

However, its power was magnified greatly during the Horus Heresy through collaboration with several Thousand Sons weapon smiths, enhancing its Warp fueled protection. The Mantel of Luna now produced a powerful shield, much like that of the later Ecclesiarchal Rossetes, and could also discharge some of the harmful effects of the perils of the Warp.

Now, the Mantel of Luna has long since lost its old colors, having been consumed by the dark energies of the Warp. Its spikes and fell runes conjure witch lighting and hell fire, which dances gleefully across Ingar's imposing form. Upon his back Ingar still wears the old pelt of a Dire Wolf of Glacia, a fearsome beast he slew in defense of the Primarch's Equerry, Maloghurst, during his deployment on that now dead world. The pelt is said to be so drenched in blood and gore that it has gained a foul sapience, and its iron eyes are believed to provide its master with a second set of eyes with which to survey the battlefield.

Nirvana: A lethal force sword that has served by its masters side with ruthless efficiency for over ten thousand years, Nirvana is a tool of bloody devastation in Ingar's divining hands. A weapon befitting Ingar's ability as a swordsman, Nirvana at first seems humble when compared to the arsenals of other Chaos Marines, its cruel, smiling edge and thin profile making it seem somewhat plain. But Nirvana is no ordinary Power Sword. It is a weapon of Xenos origin, discovered by Ingar during one of his first deployments on the icy death world of Glacia.

Nirvana was hand crafted by the greatest weapon smiths of the long extinct Grineff, whose grand empire once spanned no less than seven thousand worlds. Glacia was their throneworld, though the chaos of the Long Night obliterated all that remained of their civilization long before the rise of the Imperium. But deep within the ancient tech vaults, Nirvana rested, awaiting its next master. Ingar discovered the weapon, and took it as his own, not knowing the weighty power the blade held within it. Nirvana is, in fact, a living blade made of an unknown bio-mechanical material.

Hard as adamantium, but light as a feather, Nirvana is an ideal duelist weapon. The blade also self sharpens to a monomolecular point, and vibrates a high frequency when slicing through armor and flesh to further increase its cutting power. It can also change its chemical and magnetic composition upon contact with any form of force field, allowing it to bypass such constructs on the follow up blow. But most importantly, Nirvana releases deadly nanites into the enemies bloodstream, which begin to rend vital organs and blood vessels apart, slowly killing the opponent from the inside. The material is also psychically active, giving it a mental link to its master. Ingar uses this telepathic link to track targets infected with nanites from great distances, and halt or accelerate their murderous processes. However, this psychic link can be intercepted by other psykers, allowing them to halt the nanites and potentially mask their signal from Ingar.

In the years leading up to the Horus Heresy, Ingar has heavily imbued Nirvana with even greater power via various runes and blood rituals, making it a blade of uncompromising leathality. Now it arcs with witch lighting and whispers its lust for blood, and a great eye of Horus has been placed within its hilt, making the blade a locus for various powerful spells, which can be cast from the blade itself.

Nirvana's reputation as a weapon of pain and suffering has followed the rise of its masters own reputation for such evil. And though its relatively unadorned form may not seem intimidating at a glance, those who know of its power are usually rendered frozen with fear at the very sight of it.

Severance: Ingar Blackspawn's faithful Phobos Pattern Bolt Pistol, Severance has been Ingars most constant companion since his first days as a Legionary. Powerful, accurate, and spectacularly crafted, Severance has withstood the trials of countless battlefields and taken nigh innumerable lives during its long history. Severance, when guided by Ingar's divining hands, has struck down enemies with shots of supernatural accuracy. Having shot pilots of low flying aircraft and slain fully armored Terminators with precision shots to the eye, Severance is a humble but powerful weapon.

Ingar is known to carry a vast array of bolt rounds to suit any foreseen situation, making certain that Severance is ready to face down any foe he may encounter. Almost no foe is safe from Severance's accurate and punishing fire, be they heavily armored or swift as the wind.

Over the eons, the corrupting touch of the Warp has made Severance more temperamental than even the average Phobos Pattern Bolt Pistol, but Ingar spends many hours ensuring that it will not fail him at a key time in the future.

Phantasmagoria: A horrifying Xenos weapon of terror, Ingar Blackspawn took possession of the Phantasmagoria during the dark days of the Horus Heresy. Once a weapon belonging to a great warlord of the vile xenos race of pirates and raiders known as the Duratga, Phantasmagoria is a weapon analogous to the Eldar Banshee Mask, albeit in a much cruder form. It's psychosonic amplifiers are capable of turning mere words into very lethal weapons to not only the body but the soul itself.

Phantasmagoria itself takes the shape of a mask, similar to the standard Astartes vox-caster that covers the lower portion of the face. It appears as a simple black vox-caster or rebreather, which exudes a sickly green vapor whenever its user exhales. But its mere presence fills all living beings with a sense of dread and even fear, and it is said that this aura is more powerful with those more attuned to the ebbs and flows of the Warp. With this ornate weapon, Ingar can lose a battle cry that can easily slay an entire squad of Astartes, or lace his words with psychic power, making his victims more open to suggestion during torture or even enhance his already fearsome ability to intimidate. But most terrifying, is that Ingar has managed to utilize Phantasmagoria as a means to drive particularly unlucky captives totally insane, the dark and unearthly tones of the mask utterly shattering their minds with daemon tongues from the Warp itself. With this ability, Ingar has managed to make converts and slaves of even mighty Astartes warriors, given time.

But the supremely strong of will and faith can resist Phantasmagoria's vile power, and those well versed in psychic wards can protect themselves and others from its dark onslaught on the body and soul. Currently, Ingar only uses Phantasmagoria as a secret weapon in combat, where the element of surprise can cripple the enemy. He also uses it sparingly in order to spread rumor and fear amongst both enemies and allies, for those not especially well versed with such dark technology often assume that Ingar's mere voice is a weapon to be feared.

Eye of Siph VI: Taken from the bloody corpse of the great Reaver Queen of the Siphonian Blood Reavers, this strange Warp sensitive amulet imbues its bearer with considerable psychic power, and augments the powers of psykers even further. This strange black amulet, complete with a great violet gem in the center, is a great psychic channel, capable of absorbing Warp energy and harnessing it at the will of its master. The Reaver Queen utilized it as a weapon of war and a means to control her brood, but Ingar has since used it to sow more devastation than that long dead xenos warlord could have ever conceived.

Though its operation is complex, requiring incantations to be spoken in the now dead Siphonian tongue, Ingar was powerful enough to secure a number of Siphonian texts relating to the Eye, and has over the course of many centuries become very well versed in its use.

However, the Eye is far from a perfect weapon, and can, if overused or handled without the utmost care, quickly turn on its bearer. This was most evident during the Vektus Raids, when Ingar, having uttered an incantation incorrectly, accidentally unleashed the wrathful spirits of thousands of Siphonian Blood Reavers. The resulting planet wide poltergeist resulted in the death of the world and the near annihilation of the entire First Storm as the ethereal xenos warriors cut down all who stood in their way. From that day onward, Ingar has used the Eye sparingly, only for the most dire of spells and summonings. Ingar has embedded the amulet itself into the cursed spell book he keeps chained to his person at all times, making it seem as little more than an ornate decoration to the cover of the accursed tome. Only those particularly educated in such things or capable of feeling its power know of the Eye's truly devastating nature.

Súile Oíche: Ingar Blackspawn's ferocious pet and psychic familiar, Súile Oíche is a custom made Gargoyle Daemon Engine, built to act as a psychic locus, deadly companion, subtle spy, and lethal assassin. Forged from daemonic helliron and plated with a chassis of pure Warpstone, Súile Oíche is far more dangerous than the average Gargoyle Daemon Engine. Capable of minor daemonic abilities, such as telekinesis, technomancy, and suggestion. With these powers of stealth and sabotage, this foul creature can easily spy on the enemies of the Storm Draugar an, if need be, cut open their throats in their sleep. But it is Súile Oíche deadly inbuilt arsenal that is the most intimidating, lethal power claws on both its hands and feet, a powerful plasma rifle built into its snapping warpstone tooth jaw, deadly hellpistols mounted in the corners of its eyes, and finally, a ruthless power sword at the end of its long, sinuous tail.


"Can you not see just how outmatched you are?"
—Ingar Blackspawn to a full platoon of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers

Ingar Blackspawn is first and foremost a supremely dangerous sorcerer, capable of a vast array of deadly disciplines and forbidden magiks. It is Ingar's fascination with Xenos sorcery in particular that makes him an unpredictable foe, knowing ancient and long dead techniques that even the likes of the Thousand Sons could only dream of. Key amongst Ingar's arsenal of spells and powers is his robust talent in the discipline of Divination. Ingar is so adept in this ability that even the most skilled Eldar Farseer would balk at his raw capability, however, Ingar so rarely looks too far into the future, for in his youth he realized such fortunes are often lies. Instead, Ingar turns his mind's eye to the near future, and in this he is uniquely gifted. Ingar can foresee every tactic of his enemy, weather it be their months long preparations for a campaign, or the desperate strokes yet to be of an unfortunate opponent on the battlefield.

But perhaps more terrifying are Ingar's fell abilities in Telepathy, which he has refined into a tool of vicious torture. With but a word he can utterly shatter the enemies grip on reality, and with a simple flourish, he can unleash nightmares so monstrous that the foe readily falls upon his own blade. He also utilizes his power to even further disorient his enemies, creating duplicates of himself in their minds eye or even turning them to his side through potent delusions.

Finally, Ingar's raw psychic talent and practiced sorcery has various more... direct uses. From horrible Biomancy that snaps bone and burns the blood, to hateful warpfire and witch-lighting that undoes the very fabric of the soul, the number of application is all but limitless.

Ingar is also a master tactician, and military genius, utilizing his gifts as a tool to craft flawless tactics and ready his forces for any eventuality. With Ingar at the reigns, the Storm Draugar have won countless battles and prosecuted hundreds of successful campaigns. So capable is he that few if any can match him, for how could any mortal man, without and divine assistance of extreme luck, could hope to defeat a foe who knows his every move long in advance and commands a force of warriors far beyond the likes of mere mortal men?

But Ingar is still a mighty Astartes warrior, veteran of the Great Crusade and ten thousand years of combat against both Imperial warriors and fellow pawns of the Dark Gods. Thus, his skill in the physical arts of combat are not to be ignored. A masterful swordsman and expert pistolero, Ingar may not be the thunderous colossus that his brother his, but combined with his sorcerous powers, his xenotech blade and bolt pistol can be tools of such destruction that he can easily match his brother in terms of raw destructive power.


"You think me a monster, don't you? Naive fool. I could show you monsters, real monsters, not these trifling barbarians that tore down your armies. But you should first know the priorities of your fear. First and foremost... I am the most terrifying thing you will ever encounter. Because those monsters your priests and your ministers told you about... they come when I beckon. They kill when I heed them too. And they bow when I snap my fingers. I am no monster... I am the master of the monsters."
—Ingar Blackspawn as he tortures Governor Militant Harrier Locke

Ingar Blackspawn is one of the few things that can make even a fellow Astartes blood chill. His very presence brings an aura of doom and cruelty that follows him like a cloud. But what few of his foes and even a fair number of allies don't know is that Ingar Blackspawn is far from a simple sadist. For, like his brother, Ingar is a complex being, borne of a cold and ruthless will and convictions stronger than the toll of eons of unending warfare.

Having begun life weak and frail, Ingar knows what is its like to be powerless, to be rendered feeble and moot. And since the day he discovered his powers, he was resolved to never feel that way again. To his credit, he has not. Ingar could not find strength in arms alone, even after he became a Legionary, and so turned his efforts to the one great advantage he had, his mind. And so he honed this weapon, even as the Legions broke it down and reforged it. As a result Ingar is cold and analytical, taking in all the information before him and using it to gain whatever leverage he can. He seeks to know everything about his allies and enemies, their mannerisms, their convictions, their strengths and their weaknesses. Only then with this knowledge does he have control. And control is everything to Ingar.

This drive to dominate and control has seen him become a deadly opponent with few equals, mastering the arts of strategy, psychic disciplines, marksmanship, and swordplay. To allow even a lone loose end is to invite disaster, and Ingar has had his fill of disaster. This is the source of his ruthlessness, for it is usually not of malevolence that he orders a battalion of cultists into the fray against suicidal odds, only because then the flanks will be open to a devastating counter attack. There is almost nothing Ingar will not sacrifice to gain an edge... almost. It is this obsession with power and control that has lead Ingar into the service of the Dark Gods, though he sees them more as a necessity than a divine pact. Ingar plies the will of the Chaos Gods as a tool for continued survival and control. Ingar holds no devotion or fanaticism in his heart, only willing submission. Submission that is not given lightly, nor held easily when the capricious wills of the Gods interfere with Ingar's plans.

Therefore, what many consider cruelty or treachery, Ingar Blackspawn considered practicality. Stabbing an opponent in the back, or even orchestrating their death from afar is perfectly acceptable for Ingar if not preferable. However, if direct confrontation is the faster solution, he will not hesitate to join battle with the enemy. In battle Ingar regularly uses his innate talent of divination to gain the upper hand, forseeing the enemies moves and motives before they themselves even know of them. Ingar readily exploits any weakness, punishing his foe for harboring any such flaws. Only the weak or foolish allow their imperfections to come to the eyes of their enemies, and Ingar does not suffer fools lightly.

But the weak? Ingar often has a great deal of patience for the weak. The disheveled masses, the malnourished and disgruntled. These desperate individuals tend to have great potential in the eyes of Ingar Blackspawn. Where his brother sees naught but useless flesh, idly frittering away their short existences, Ingar sees potential pawns. People that, much like Ingar himself, were used to great effect as pawns by greater powers. As he can see the many outcomes of a given individual, he can easily assess their worth to his causes, and act accordingly. This makes Ingar very shrewd and calculating in his dealings with both beings of status and slaves.

But in spite of his overwhelming pragmatism, Ingar has been known to occasionally indulge himself in his quest for knowledge. He readily enjoys literature, both of the scholarly and fanciful. He also has a strong flare for the dramatic, readily giving speeches and grand quotes when he feels so inclined. Ingar may even enjoy an inside joke or two at the expense of his enemies, reciting Dark Age poetry or works done by xenos when it feels pertinent.

Most outstanding of Ingar's passions, is the study of xenos cultures and technologies. This strange, and some would say dangerous, affinity began early in Ingars life as a Librarian. Unlike so many of the Legio Astartes, he did not inherently despise xenos culture outright, though he did consider most of the beings themselves inferior to mankind in their entirety. He saw the strange and varied civilizations these creatures had built, and though he had a great hand in bringing them to the ground, he never quite understood the need to so totally destroy all that they had built. Much of what the alien had made, in Ingar's eyes, could prove useful if harnessed correctly. While these ideals made him quite unpopular with many of his fellow Legionaries, and quite nearly brought severe discipline upon his head, Ingar still managed to collect a vast collection of various xenological artifacts. Many of these items were mundane in nature, simple texts and scrawls that only Ingar could understand, as the cultures that had forged them were usually long dead by the time he acquired them. Most considered it little more than a trophy room, but to Ingar, it was a collection of strange and wondrous knowledge.

But first and foremost, Ingar Blackspawn most enjoys inflicting pain and suffering upon those who dared to make him their enemy. Using is various other, less passive powers, Ingar readily tortures captured enemies and rivals for both practical reasons and for sport. He often rationalizes it as "Making an example" of his foes, so that others will be even more reluctant to stand against the Storm Draugar in the future, but a deeper part of it is Ingar venting his deep seated spite of all that dares draw breath. His mortal years were ones of utter suffering and pain, with his brother the only good in those early days. Now, imbued with the powers of a demi-god and no longer a feeble child scrabbling for dear life in the pits of Cthonia, Ingar intends to exact full retribution from a universe that scorned him.

But for all his bile, vitriol, and heedless drive for power, Ingar still holds dear his elder brother. For without Malak, Ingar would have withered and died alone and abandoned in those black tunnels. Malak fought for him, killed for him, bled for him. Ingar would do anything in return. Together they have not only survived a universe that seemed out to get them, but conquered it, bent it to their will. No prize is worth that bond in Ingar's eyes. No cause more worthy than keeping his brother alive. Not only because Malak is the figurehead of the Storm Draugar and his absence would leave Ingar alone to rule this unruly band of traitors, but because without Malak, Ingar would find little worth in power.





"You dare call me child worm?! You may have dipped your hands in the swirling sea of souls, but I have suffused my very being with its power! I have become one with the Empyerean, and until you do the same, you are less than dust in my eyes. However, I am not without forgiveness, embrace the truth of chaos and become one with the Warp, it is not too late..."
Valkyura Warpschild, on the Daemon World of Yhuar Gu, upon the shattered temple steps of the Forbidden Chapel.
"He could sense my courage, but not the fact I was holding a plasma pistol. How very odd."
—Cuma Sybbyl[src]
"If the Angel, or the Emperor, disapproves of our conduct, he will make his will known. Till then heretic, I will not be lectured by the likes of you. Ready your blade, traitor."
—Leadros Kerventes, Chief Librarian of the Wings of Salvaxes facing off against Ingar during the Lurshast uprising.
"You send mere Astartes to fight me?! Give me some competent warriors that can put up a fight instead of these puny weaklings!"
—Ashrol the Mauler of the Crusaders Once Crossed shortly after an attempted assassination