Angron, Primarch of the World Eaters
Among the Primarchs, I find Angron’s story one of the most tragic.
He was created to lead one of the twenty Legions of Space Marines, but stolen away in the night by the vast and inscrutable forces of Chaos and deposited on an impoverished world ruled by cruel warlords. As a child, he was recruited into the slave pits for gladiatorial fights, and like all gladiators had the ‘Butchers Nails’ rammed through his skull. This complex array of hormones and stimulants shaped his neurobiology for years as he rose through the ranks of the gladiators. While other Primarchs became great leaders on their adoptive homeworlds, Angron remained a slave. When the opportunity presented itself, Angron marshaled the other gladiators into a great escape attempt, hoping to overwhelm their captors. Outnumbered, outgunned, he was content to die in a suicidal attack to afford the others a chance at freedom, when like a God from the sky, the Emperor arrived. Teleporting Angron to his flagship, the Emperor prevented Angron from rejoining his men- letting the assault run its course and be wiped out before deploying his vastly superior force to take the planet.
Though he knew of the resentment festering in Angrons heart, the Emperor saw only a tool. While other Primarchs created their own downfall, Angron alone had his thrust upon him in the form of his trauma, and always the pounding of the Butchers Nails in his head. Was it any surprise, then, when his Legion fell to Chaos? The father who should have healed him treated him like a hammer to forge the Imperium, then to be cast aside. His brothers looked at him with suspicion and fear. Always the pounding in his head…
I got this model second-hand, missing a number of the parts including the arms, Volkite, and base. Instead of he Blood Sands of Istvaan, he is depicted here after giving his Axes to Kharn, before ascending as a Daemon Prince.
Though some Primarchs were figurative Gods of War, their shining armour acting like a beacon for their men, I regard Angron more as a force of nature. There is no evidence he was ever instructed in more than the most basic self-care during the first years of his life, and likely spent much of his life filthy, covered in blood, and purely insane. That is how I have chosen to represent him here, carrying whatever he could find to hand, cloak falling off, leaving a trail of carnage behind him because that is all he knows.