Then there was the third of the inspiring war-walker machines, Venerated Axagoras. His campaigns against the alien ksathra and sheed of the Durian subsector were the stuff of legend, almost as much so as the fabulous deeds of Ferrus Manus himself. New aspirant Iron Hands were indoctrinated with the battle tactics and strategies he had developed during the Xerxes Campaign as part of their initiation into the ancient, noble Chapter. The gleaming manifold of a plasma cannon protruded from the goliath's right arm mounting.

The tenth of the veteran warriors of the Chapter sported an entirely augmetic left arm and had a thunder hammer slung at his side. His face was knotted and twisted by bio-acid burns. From where he was standing, Gdolkin could clearly see that the back of this man's head had been replaced by a riveted, burnished steel skull-cap. The exposed edges of the vac-seal collar of his torso armour, his elbow joints and kneepads were finished with gold. Again, Gdolkin did not recognise this esteemed leader.

Each one of these great men, and even greater dreadnoughts, represented the marshalled might of one whole clan company. Between them they represented the united strength of an entire Adeptus Astartes Chapter, over a thousand of the most ruthless, super-engineered creatures in the whole, vast Imperium of Man. And they had chosen Gdolkin to bear the responsibility of successfully completing their exceptional mission.

In turn, the ten council members studied Iron-Father Gdolkin closely.

He was bald-headed. Above his scar-cut right eyebrow two metal studs denoted the centuries of devoted service he had given his Chapter. The feathering of a tribal tattoo fanned out from around his still-organic eye. Details of his armour were finished with burnished gold and polished steel skulls. The iron gauntlet badge of his Chapter, set between a pair of golden eagle wings, was picked out in white gold and red paint.

Gdolkin held his individually adapted helmet at his side. He had modified it himself. It was a masterly crafted piece of armour, its faceplate complementing the bionic implants of his head. The helm's right eye-slit was a vertically elongated red oblong, marrying exactly with the shape of the Iron-Father's optical augmetic. He had lost the eye long ago, fighting the enigmatic hrud on the moons of Gomrath.

'Greetings, Iron-Father Gdolkin.’ said a booming voice, redolent with age. It was Warleader Bannus who spoke.

Gdolkin maintained the expression of grim resolve on his half-organic features but inside his hearts-beat doubled. Venerable Warleader Bannus himself had addressed him. Despite being an Iron-Father of some standing amongst his own clan and the Chapter as a whole, at that moment Gdolkin felt like a neophyte again. Awe and pride swelled his chest. And this conclave had been convened aboard the Weyland. Something gravely serious was afoot.

'Greetings, my lords,' Gdolkin said humbly, bowing his head slightly as he did so, the appendage of his servo-arm also describing a graceful sweep.

'I expect you are wondering why you have been called to this conclave of iron.’ Venerable Bannus went on.