Locus

A Locus is a Genestealer hybrid who serves as a potent bodyguard for the Magus and other senior leaders of a Genestealer Cult. They often are their principal's eyes and ears as well as their blades.

Role
Stoic and inhumanly patient, the Locus can go from sombre stillness to a blur of motion in an eye-blink. The sudden eruption of violence is as startling as it is deadly. Like a Lictor jumping from the shadows, the Locus makes a lightning-fast decapitating strike, their twin sabres flashing through the fog of battle to take the head of their foe.

With the reaction speed of a Purestrain Genestealer, they can match even an Aeldari Exarch in combat prowess. The Locus excels in their duty of bodyguard, whether at war or in a one-sided parley; even when merely exuding the threat of violence, they can unman any foolish enough to contemplate thwarting their master's ambitions.

In their role as sentinel, the Locus stands on guard for hours, physically motionless and unblinking. Their mind is always at full alert, for in many ways the destiny of the cult rests on their shoulders. Their principal duty is to act as the eyes, ears and blade of their gene-sect's Magus, whilst the psyker projects their consciousness across the prey world and uses their innate communion with the cult to better control the war to come.

At casual inspection, the Locus seems no more than a statue, merging with their surroundings by wearing the simple hooded robe of a monastic servant. They can be entirely unassuming, often beneath the notice of the haughty dignitaries of a world or the hulking warriors that stride the battlefields of the 41st Millennium. But this is a deliberate choice, for those who underestimate this vigilant guardian -- or worse still, move towards their master without permission -- have only a split second to realise their mistake before the Locus' blades arc towards them.

The blood of many a stealth adept or would-be headtaker has covered these artfully crafted weapons, the Locus licking them clean with their long black tongue before crossing them in their back-mounted scabbards once more. Even over-eager cultists have met their demise on the points of the Locus' swords, for these specialist bioforms do not know subtlety -- only the binary divide of trespasser and corpse.



Twin blades are far from the Locus' only weapons. Beneath their robes they have hidden limbs tucked away, small but powerful, and a long segmented tail that ends in a curling toxinspike. To witness a Locus in the full throes of combat is to see a shrieking, limb-lashing monstrosity erupt from beneath the serenity of a monkish facade. Once the enemy is slain, the robes fall back into place and the Locus regains their former calm in an instant.

The rod of office each Locus carries is no simple staff, but a complex neurological transmitter called a Neurotraumal Rod crafted for them alone by their gene-sect's Magus and Clamavus. It sends out destabilising frequencies designed to upset synapses and thought waves. When a Magus goes to "negotiate" with a particularly powerful enemy, perhaps one as mentally potent as an Inquisitor or an Arch-cardinal of the Ecclesiarchy, a Locus always stands near at hand.

Should the Magus' unnatural charisma not prove sufficient to achieve the cult's goals, the Locus will subtly turn the ornate handle atop their Neurotraumal Rod so as to increase the field of mental disruption that emanates from the artefact, inducing harrowing visions, splitting migraines or terrifying brain-spasms in the minds of nearby non-cultists.

Those canny enough to realise the source of their sudden anguish may reach for their pistol, only to be cut down in what the Locus and their master can confidently claim to all concerned was an act of pure self-defence.

Wargear

 * Hypermorph tail
 * 2 Locus Blades
 * Neurotraumal Rod