u/KennethChan_512

Remember to revisit earlier installments.

Yamnin Volunteers : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/hYifF8YLCx
Yamnin Dragon Fortress Guard : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/XEyopRIEaH
Yamnin Yamnin Ogryn Grenadiers : https://www.reddit.com/r/ImaginaryWarhammer/s/MxAzbPxlgM
Yamnin Anti-Materiel Team : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/rNJwC4Zl1g

"When the seas of golden grain caught fire, the distant horizon bled an ominous violet-black.

I tightened my grip on the "Zarona Mk.IIa Revolver-Spear (Yamnin Ver.)", the harsh clatter of its mechanical speed-loader matrix echoing against the heavy air. The plasteel buckler strapped to my left arm was jammed hard into the plasteel-reinforced embrasure on the second floor of our Tulou, its cold vibrations traveling through my arm straight to my chest. This ancestral earthen fortress, built by our forefathers with three-meter-thick rammed earth and layered plasteel inserts, was our last line of defense.

In the adjacent firing port stood my younger sister. She had been holding this line inside the Tulou for a full week now, her forehead streak-stained with soot and sweat, yet her eyes remained locked on the golden wheat fields that had fed us our whole lives. Now, there was no wind across that endless ocean of grain—only twisted, horned World Eaters Khorne Berserkers and wretched beasts warped by Warp-plagues, trampling the charred stalks as they surged toward our clan's stronghold in a relentless tide. It was the exact nightmare described in the ancient bedtime lore passed down from our ancestors, now tearing its way directly into reality.

"Steady your breathing! Hold your fire until they hit a hundred paces!"

The old village chief—now serving as our squad leader and retired Yamnin Volunteer veteran—pased behind us with heavy, measured steps. His battered Astra Militarum flak armor was scarred from past campaigns, his right hand resting steadily on the hilt of his sabre. His voice was as rough and grounded as sandpaper:

"Behind us, this Tulou holds our ancestors and our children! Yamnin has no retreat! If the traitors of Chaos want to pass, they'll have to step over our corpses first!"

Panic bit at my stomach like a cold serpent. The distant sky was torn apart by the crimson flashes of bolter shells, and the horrifying roars of the approaching horde rattled our eardrums. But as the veteran's roar reverberated through the hall, and as the spear-mounted blades of over a hundred fellow clansmen flickered in unison, that deep-seated terror crystallized into sheer, unyielding desperation.

"FIRE!"

The revolver barrels erupted in blinding muzzle flashes, their thunderous cracks echoing inside the central courtyard. Bullets slammed against the heavy power armor of the Berserkers with deafening ricochets, harmlessly bouncing off for the most part; only a rare few managed to penetrate a gap in the armor, doing nothing to slow the chaotic charge slamming against our plasteel gate. The massive hinges groaned in protest, and the entire centuries-old Tulou shuddered to its core.

Suddenly, a world-shattering explosion swallowed everything. Under heavy enemy artillery fire, the outer wall shattered in an instant. A brutal shockwave sent me, along with the collapsing masonry and my kin standing nearby, flying into the air!

My vision blurred beneath a shroud of falling earth and debris. Through the ringing in my ears and blinding pain, I faintly heard the veteran commander bellowing his final, triumphant roar:

"BRACE BAYONETS! ENGAGE AT CLOSE QUARTERS! FOR YAMNIN! FOR CHOGORIS! FOR THE EMPEROR!"

I don't know how much time had passed when the pungent odor of antiseptics and burnt flesh woke me.

I struggled to open my eyes. A stark, unfamiliar white ceiling filled my view—I was inside a field hospital at the rear Barbican Gateways. All around me lay maimed, groaning casualties, their makeshift steel beds smeared with blood.

I tried to push myself up, turning my stiff neck to scan the room. Amidst the sea of critically wounded soldiers and frantic field medics... where were my family? My sister, the old squad leader, the rest of our clan from the Tulou... where are they?"

Remember to revisit earlier installments.

Yamnin Volunteers : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/hYifF8YLCx
Yamnin Dragon Fortress Guard : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/XEyopRIEaH
Yamnin Yamnin Ogryn Grenadiers : https://www.reddit.com/r/ImaginaryWarhammer/s/MxAzbPxlgM

"Pour the barley tea from the bamboo canister into the water-cooling jacket, quick! This barrel is so hot it's about to melt the paint right off!"

I lay prone in the muddy trench at the edge of the golden rice field, the metallic joints of my right arm giving off a faint, cold clinking of gears engaging.

I hated this augmetic arm. Ever since those Tech-Priests detected some damned "sniper talent" in me and brutally sawed off the flesh hand that once planted rice seedlings, I had loathed this metallic contraption. Over the years, it never ceased tormenting me—fingers long gone would constantly throb with sharp phantom pain, like thousands of red-hot needles driving into my nerves out of nothingness.

"Don't rush me! There's only half a canister left, and I need it to wet my throat!"

Beside me, my spotter stayed low behind his ballistic shield, his conical plasteel helmet soaked in muddy water. He jammed the multi-function observation device firmly into the soil, its green rangefinder beam slicing through the smoke and locking onto several towering, twisted silhouettes at the edge of the swaying grain.

"Heavy enemy infantry! Chaos Space Marines! Three of them, lined up in a row, tearing through the defensive line! Signal's synced, but artillery won't make it in time—we have to stop them ourselves!" The spotter's voice remained as cold as ice amid the deafening roar of artillery.

Clad in corrupted ceramite, those hideous giants swept our ancestral golden fields—tilled by our people for generations—with ruthless bolter fire.

"Overcharge capacitors!"

The high-frequency electromagnetic hum of the backpack capacitor violently tore through the air. At that moment, an overwhelming surge of pain erupted from my right arm, threatening to rip my mind apart. But I didn't curse like I used to. Instead, I grit my teeth, funneling a lifetime of built-up resentment and torment straight through the neural interface of my augmetic arm and pouring it into the trigger of the "God-Slayer" Long-Las.

Mechanical joints locked tight, filtering out every organic tremor, clamping my aim into absolute, unyielding stillness.

FZZT—BOOM—!

A colossal beam of crimson light sliced across the rice field like a mythical Yamnin dragon! In a fraction of a millisecond, the high-energy las-beam shattered the chest plate of the first Chaos Space Marine, impaled the core power pack of the second, and completely vaporized the head of the third!

Ceramite, vile flesh, and twisted souls were instantly turned into a misty rain of blood and burning debris in mid-air!

Scalding white steam blasted out from the water-cooling vent, blinding my goggles in a haze of pure white.

The brutal recoil slammed into my augmetic arm. That familiar pain—the torment of countless sleepless nights—coiled together with the total destruction of the enemy, shooting straight into my brain like an electric shock...

It felt wonderful.

So damn wonderful!

It wasn't a curse of mutilation; it was a holy instrument of torment granted by the Emperor and this very soil. A low, raspy laugh bubbled up from my throat, insane and feverish. Why had I ever hated this hand? This lingering, agonizing pain—wasn't it birthed precisely for this moment?

Listening to the frantic gurgling of the boiling coolant inside the barrel, I adeptly switched the power setting back to low-output mode.

Peering past the edge of his ballistic shield, my spotter turned his head, staring in utter shock at the morbid, psychotic grin stretched across my face.

Stroking the metal arm—a sensation weaving between scorching heat and icy chill—I stared into the smoke-choked battlefield and slowly widened my smile:

"Who's next? Come on... I've got plenty of 'pain' left in this arm... and I'm going to share every single drop of it with you scum who trampled my rice fields!"

Remember to revisit earlier installments.

Yamnin Volunteers : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/hYifF8YLCx
Yamnin Dragon Fortress Guard : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/XEyopRIEaH
Yamnin Yamnin Ogryn Grenadiers : https://www.reddit.com/r/ImaginaryWarhammer/s/MxAzbPxlgM

"Pour the barley tea from the bamboo canister into the water-cooling jacket, quick! This barrel is so hot it's about to melt the paint right off!"

I lay prone in the muddy trench at the edge of the golden rice field, the metallic joints of my right arm giving off a faint, cold clinking of gears engaging.

I hated this augmetic arm. Ever since those Tech-Priests detected some damned "sniper talent" in me and brutally sawed off the flesh hand that once planted rice seedlings, I had loathed this metallic contraption. Over the years, it never ceased tormenting me—fingers long gone would constantly throb with sharp phantom pain, like thousands of red-hot needles driving into my nerves out of nothingness.

"Don't rush me! There's only half a canister left, and I need it to wet my throat!"

Beside me, my spotter stayed low behind his ballistic shield, his conical plasteel helmet soaked in muddy water. He jammed the multi-function observation device firmly into the soil, its green rangefinder beam slicing through the smoke and locking onto several towering, twisted silhouettes at the edge of the swaying grain.

"Heavy enemy infantry! Chaos Space Marines! Three of them, lined up in a row, tearing through the defensive line! Signal's synced, but artillery won't make it in time—we have to stop them ourselves!" The spotter's voice remained as cold as ice amid the deafening roar of artillery.

Clad in corrupted ceramite, those hideous giants swept our ancestral golden fields—tilled by our people for generations—with ruthless bolter fire.

"Overcharge capacitors!"

The high-frequency electromagnetic hum of the backpack capacitor violently tore through the air. At that moment, an overwhelming surge of pain erupted from my right arm, threatening to rip my mind apart. But I didn't curse like I used to. Instead, I grit my teeth, funneling a lifetime of built-up resentment and torment straight through the neural interface of my augmetic arm and pouring it into the trigger of the "God-Slayer" Long-Las.

Mechanical joints locked tight, filtering out every organic tremor, clamping my aim into absolute, unyielding stillness.

FZZT—BOOM—!

A colossal beam of crimson light sliced across the rice field like a mythical Yamnin dragon! In a fraction of a millisecond, the high-energy las-beam shattered the chest plate of the first Chaos Space Marine, impaled the core power pack of the second, and completely vaporized the head of the third!

Ceramite, vile flesh, and twisted souls were instantly turned into a misty rain of blood and burning debris in mid-air!

Scalding white steam blasted out from the water-cooling vent, blinding my goggles in a haze of pure white.

The brutal recoil slammed into my augmetic arm. That familiar pain—the torment of countless sleepless nights—coiled together with the total destruction of the enemy, shooting straight into my brain like an electric shock...

It felt wonderful.

So damn wonderful!

It wasn't a curse of mutilation; it was a holy instrument of torment granted by the Emperor and this very soil. A low, raspy laugh bubbled up from my throat, insane and feverish. Why had I ever hated this hand? This lingering, agonizing pain—wasn't it birthed precisely for this moment?

Listening to the frantic gurgling of the boiling coolant inside the barrel, I adeptly switched the power setting back to low-output mode.

Peering past the edge of his ballistic shield, my spotter turned his head, staring in utter shock at the morbid, psychotic grin stretched across my face.

Stroking the metal arm—a sensation weaving between scorching heat and icy chill—I stared into the smoke-choked battlefield and slowly widened my smile:

"Who's next? Come on... I've got plenty of 'pain' left in this arm... and I'm going to share every single drop of it with you scum who trampled my rice fields!"

Remember to revisit earlier installments.

Yamnin Volunteers : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/hYifF8YLCx
Yamnin Dragon Fortress Guard : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/XEyopRIEaH

"Dabao, you broke the wooden plow again!"

The giant squatted by the field, awkwardly holding the snapped plow in his tree-trunk fingers. Wearing tight civilian clothes, he offered a goofy, gap-toothed grin, handing me a steaming bun wrapped in cloth.

"Dabao... didn't mean to. Eat bun, little brother... don't be mad."

In Yamnin, Ogryns are not feared as abhumans. We call them 'Colossi,' working beside us to farm and build. He was dumb enough to struggle counting past five, but he was family.

"Enemy attack! Cover the flank!"

Golden rice fields mixed with blood and mud in a storm of artillery fire. I clung desperately to the trench wall, my "Three-Eyes" lasgun Spear burning my hands. Beside me, my shattered plasteel force shield lay broken—having already absorbed far more punishment than it was ever built for.

Then, a heavy enemy frag grenade landed a meter away, its fuse hissing a death sentence. Nowhere to hide. Legs frozen. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blast to tear me apart...

BOOM—!

A thunderous metallic crash shook the earth. The pain never came.

I opened my trembling eyes. Inches away, a colossal plasteel tower shield was driven deep into the mud, holding back the fire, shrapnel, and death.

Behind it stood that towering, comforting back.

Scorched by plasma and bloodied from battle, Dabao turned his massive face. He shoved the shield forward, wiped his nose, and gave me that exact same goofy smile from the fields:

"Little brother... stay down. Dabao's big shield... very strong."

Remember to revisit earlier installments.

Yamnin Volunteers : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/hYifF8YLCx
Yamnin Dragon Fortress Guard : https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/XEyopRIEaH

"Dabao, you broke the wooden plow again!"

The giant squatted by the field, awkwardly holding the snapped plow in his tree-trunk fingers. Wearing tight civilian clothes, he offered a goofy, gap-toothed grin, handing me a steaming bun wrapped in cloth.

"Dabao... didn't mean to. Eat bun, little brother... don't be mad."

In Yamnin, Ogryns are not feared as abhumans. We call them 'Colossi,' working beside us to farm and build. He was dumb enough to struggle counting past five, but he was family.

"Enemy attack! Cover the flank!"

Golden rice fields mixed with blood and mud in a storm of artillery fire. I clung desperately to the trench wall, my "Three-Eyes" lasgun Spear burning my hands. Beside me, my shattered plasteel force shield lay broken—having already absorbed far more punishment than it was ever built for.

Then, a heavy enemy frag grenade landed a meter away, its fuse hissing a death sentence. Nowhere to hide. Legs frozen. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blast to tear me apart...

BOOM—!

A thunderous metallic crash shook the earth. The pain never came.

I opened my trembling eyes. Inches away, a colossal plasteel tower shield was driven deep into the mud, holding back the fire, shrapnel, and death.

Behind it stood that towering, comforting back.

Scorched by plasma and bloodied from battle, Dabao turned his massive face. He shoved the shield forward, wiped his nose, and gave me that exact same goofy smile from the fields:

"Little brother... stay down. Dabao's big shield... very strong."

Remember to revisit earlier installments.

Yamnin Volunteers: https://www.reddit.com/r/TheAstraMilitarum/s/hYifF8YLCx

"Golden oceans of grain surge beyond the Five-Fold Ring-Walls, and the air is thick with a chill, oppressive mist—the silent protection emanating from the peak of the Sovereign Citadel, forcefully snuffing out every gaze of Warp entities peering upon this world.

I lightly trace my hand over the cold frame of the 'Three-Eyes' M36 Lasgun Spear in my grip. This is no mere ranged firearm; the super high-capacity power pack at its base radiates a faint warmth, and its heavy gunstock is forged solid enough to crush an enemy's bones like a warhammer in close quarters. The low hum of its internal housing vibrates in steady resonance with the gear that fills every Guard with immense pride—the solid ceramite carapace across my chest, the armaplas lamellar armor shielding my legs, the ceramite shield strapped to my left forearm, and the violet aura of the personal energy field projected from the generator behind my shoulders.

This spear and shield endured alongside me through the bloody survival trials on the frozen moons against warp-twisted native beasts; they have also sat with me beside quiet trench fires, brewing boiling bitter tea and reciting ancient poetry left behind by our East Asian Terran and Chogorian ancestors.

They call us the 'Dragon Fortress Guard'—a rank that every single Yamnin Volunteer envisions as their ultimate honor and dream destination. We are not merely the custodians of this continental Great Rampart and the golden oceans of grain; we are the very embodiment of Yamnin's military might—mortal armies rally their resolve at our frontlines; provincial officials dare not slacken under our watchful gaze. When the crimson plumes atop our helmets sway above the battlements alongside our heavy armor, it stands as the sector’s supreme military discipline, order, and unyielding authority.

If the marauders and heretics of this galaxy believe we are merely farmers hunkered down in peaceful isolation behind a veil of mist... then when they dare attempt to breach Yamnin-Jing, we will personally teach them the meaning of the 'Impregnable Wall of Yamnin'."

"Since I was old enough to hold a las-lance, the elders told us the same story. They spoke of the "Dawn of Ruin"—a cataclysm we were born to fight, against monsters from the dark. For ten thousand years, generation after generation of Yamnin Guardsmen manned the Five-Fold Ringwall, training for a war that never came. We lived and died guarding a myth.

Today, the myth fell from the sky.

Purple lightning still scarred the clouds from the Astropaths' dying scream. Now, the heavens boiled with the blinding crimson of our macro-lasers tearing into the atmosphere. I gripped the edge of my energy shield, its hum vibrating violently up my arm. Down there, beyond the fortress shadows, spiked drop-pods slammed into the ash plains like rusted meteors.

To my left and right, along the endless miles of the Ringwall, a million Yamnin guardsmen stood shoulder to shoulder in dead silence.

I tasted ozone, ash, and absolute fear. I swallowed hard, lowered my bamboo-helmed head, and locked my shield into the phalanx.

The ten-thousand-year wait is over. They are here."

DEPARTMENTO MUNITORUM ARCHIVE: TX-904-YMN

SUBJECT: Imperium Nihilus Munitorum Records: Yamnin Sector Overview & Astra Militarum Infantry Regiments

CLEARANCE LEVEL: Prioris-Vermillion — Restricted to Commissariat, Lord Generals, and Sector Auditors Only.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: "The strength of a fortress lies in the fervor of its defenders; the height of its walls is built upon the stacked bodies of mortal men."

---

SECTION I: SECTOR GEOGRAPHY & PLANETARY ECOLOGY

Yamnin was originally a boundless steppe world. Over ten millennia, it was terraformed into an agro-fortress world capable of sustaining a singular, monolithic mega-structure.

Planetary Ecology

The Golden Oceans: 40% of the planetary landmass is designated as central core agri-zones. Endless fields of golden grain stretch to the horizon, bordered by native steppes occupying 20% of the world’s territory. This wilderness—a legacy left by Primarch Jaghatai Khan—serves as the outermost defense buffer.

Geographical Wonders: Beyond the grain fields and steppes lies a vast inland sea. Scattered across the landscape are steep, towering sandstone karst pillars blanketed in ancient virgin timber—reminiscent of ancient Terran geological formations.

The Horizontal Mega-Hive: "Yamnin-Jing" & The Great Ramparts

Unlike standard Imperial spire-hives that pierce the upper atmosphere, Yamnin features a singular, ground-spanning mega-structure covering 20% of the planet: **Yamnin-Jing**.

Continental Footprint: Yamnin-Jing is a rectangular metropolis spanning the width of an ancient Terran continent. It is low-built, consisting of surface heavy-fortress structures over a hundred meters tall and shallow under-hive vaults.

Unyielding Ramparts: Built in secrecy under direct decree of the Emperor during the Great Crusade, the hive is encircled by three concentric defense works: The Yamnin Great Ramparts. Scaling downward from 1,000 meters to several hundred meters in height, the innermost wall utilizes adamantine plating with ceramite reinforcement; the middle wall uses ceramite over plasteel; and the outer wall is constructed of reinforced plasteel-concrete matrices.

The Ultimate Secret: The Terran Webway Gate

At the geometric center of Yamnin-Jing stands a solitary mountain peak crowned by the Sovereign Citadel and Fortress-Palace.

Linchpin to Terra: Yamnin was originally designed as a contingency sub-capital. Deep within the mountain subterranean vaults lies a secret Direct Webway Portal to Holy Terra, intended to allow rapid redeployment should Holy Terra ever fall under siege.

The Khan's Mandate: Primarch Jaghatai Khan and his elite Kheshig guard plunged into the Webway under secret orders from the Emperor to hold this gate from within. For ten thousand years, this knowledge has been passed orally solely among the Planetary Governor's line, the Mechanicus Magos, and the Lord Commissar. The local Inquisition remains unaware, constantly monitoring the Governor's lineage for suspected heresy.

to be continued...

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## SECTION II: ASTRA MILITARUM — YAMNIN REGIMENT RULES

Faction Infantry Rules

The Unyielding Rampart

While a Yamnin Infantry unit is receiving the benefit of Cover, or is within 6" of an Objective Marker, add 1 to Save rolls made for models in that unit (e.g., a 4+ Save becomes a 3+ Save).

Sluggish Phalanx

Yamnin infantry wear heavily layered plasteel-scale armor. The Move characteristic of all Yamnin Infantry units is set to 5". Units with this rule cannot declare an Advance, and when declaring a Charge, subtract 2 from the Charge roll.

---

Yamnin Infantry Squad Volunteers Guardsman

Keywords: Infantry, Battleline, Guardsmen, Yamnin

Points Cost: 80 pts / 10 models

Unit Composition:

• 1 Yamnin Dragon Sergeant
• 9 Yamnin Dragon Fortress Guards

M 5" | T 3 | SV 4+ | W 1 | LD7+ | OC 2 | INV 6++

Ranged Weapons:

"Three-Eye" Akkan Mk VIIa Lasrifle (Yamnin Ver.):
Range 18" | A 2 | BS 4+ | S 3 | AP 0 | D 1`

(Keywords: Sustained Hits 1, Suppressive Volley: Against Light Infantry targets, increase Attacks characteristic to 3)

Abilities:

Wall Line Defensive: While receiving the benefit of Cover, stacked faction bonuses improve this unit's Save characteristic to 3+, and its Invulnerable Save improves to 5++.

Glory Grenade (Martyrdom Phalanx):

Trigger : In the Melee phase, each time a model in this unit is destroyed by an enemy melee attack, before that model is removed from play:

Primary Effect : Roll a D6. On a 6, the dying soldier detonates the grenade around their neck, inflicting 1 Mortal Wound on the attacking enemy unit.

Collateral Backblast : Due to their extremely tight phalanx formation, each time a detonation succeeds (i.e., a 6 is rolled above), immediately roll another D6 for this unit. On a 1–3, the blast wave affects nearby comrades, inflicting 1 Mortal Wound on this squad (this damage can be intercepted/nullified by an adjacent Yamnin Ogryn; refer to the Yamnin Infantry Ogryns Grenadier datasheet).

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