Grotesques | Necrospawn Space Marines | Gloom And Glory

Where the Exalted sing the Quiet with rapture, the
Grotesques scream it. These are the converts who resisted the
Quieting until their minds fractured and their bodies were
welded into warplate, scar-torqued muscle riveted to soulsteel,
nerves threaded through vox-thorns, faces entombed behind
masks carved into eternal horror. Their armor weeps alchemical
ichor from pain-engines that keep them fighting long after
sense should fail.
Deployed as breach leaders and shock-line breakers,
Grotesques advance behind riot-shields etched with howling
visages. Those visages are not decoration: they are psionic
relays that project the wearer’s pain as terror into nearby
minds. Where Graveblades are ritual executioners, Grotesques
are the hammer-blow, grim, unstoppable, and mercilessly
efficient. Choir-Guards march in their wake, converting
whatever still breathes.