TEXT: THE WARHAMMER 40.000 BIBLE
  >>The Imperium
  +++Overview of the Imperium+++
  The ADEPTUS MECHANICUS or Tech-Priest are the guardians of Earth's ancient knowledge. The 
  Adeptus Mechanicus owns and administrates the factory planet Mars, whose vast orbital 
  workshops turn out the majority of the weapons, spacecraft and other technologically 
  sophisiticated machinery used in the Imperium. The Adeptus Mechanicus is as much an arcane 
  cult as a scientific body, and its knowledge goes beyond mere technology into the realms of 
  techno-arcana.
  The ADMINISTRATUM is responsible for assesing and levying tithes, distributing Imperial 
  resources, and countless other administrative functions. It is the largest of all the departments of 
  the Adeptus Terra. Its members are for the most part scribes and petty officials, the hereditary 
  slaves of a galaxy-spanning bureaucracy. The heart of the organisation lies within the Emperor's 
  Palace, a vast complex whose cavernous vaults extend far below ground. The Administratum is 
  probably the most powerful organisation in the entire Imperium. It is divided into many 
  departments, offices and subordinate organisations.
  The ADEPTUS TERRA is also known as the Priesthood of Earth, or more simply as the Adeptus. It 
  consists of many millions of dedicated servants and religious followers whose duty is to interpret 
  and enforce the Imperial will. It is the Adeptus which actually controls the Imperium, including its 
  armies and fleets. The Adeptus Terra is divided into many departments and sub-departments, 
  some of which operate so secretly that their existence is unknown outside of their own 
  membership - only the principal departments are shown here.
  ADEPTUS MINISTORUM. To countless billions the Emperor is nothing less than a god to whom 
  they devote their entire lives. Over the aeons this faith has spawned a vast and powerful 
  organisation devoted to his worship - Adeptus Ministorum, more often known as the Ecclesiarchy, 
  after its cheif high priest, the Ecclessiarch. The Adeptus Ministorum is a very powerful 
  organisation with its own crusading armies in the form of the Adeptus Sororitas and Fratris.
  ADEPTUS CUSTODES. The Emperor's Guard or Custodians are the palace guards of the 
  Emperor, and their duty is to protect the Imperial Palace. As the Imperial Palace covers such a 
  large area of the planet the Custodians act as a defensive army. Only a select inner corps of three 
  hundred, called the Companions, actually serve the Emperor as personal bodyguards.
  ADEPTUS ASTRA TELEPATHICA. The job of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica is to recruit and 
  train psykers for service throughout the Adeptus Terra. The organisation's most important role is 
  to train Astropaths. The title of Astropath is an abbreviation of Astro-telepath it refers to a psyker 
  capable of sending a telepathic message over interstellar distances. The vast distance between 
  the stars means that technological forms of communication are useless. A psychic message sent 
  though the warp is not necessarily instantaneous, but it si sufficiently quick to be a practical 
  means of communication. Only Astropaths have the power to send and receive psychic messages 
  over interstellar distances.  
  +++The Imperium Now+++
  Over ten thousand years ago the Great Emperor of Mankind ascended to the Golden Throne of 
  Earth. Of the wars he waged to get there, of the countless agonies of battling worlds, there is no 
  record. Only the Emperor remembers - if indeed even that strange and ancient creature can 
  recall those distant times. 
  The ascent of the Emperor marked the end of a long era of human history, an age typified by 
  
  inter-human warfare and a gradual decline of the acculumated knowledge of millennia. This was 
  the Age of Strife. The high point of scientific achievement had occured thousands of years before, 
  in the yet older age known now as the Dark Age of Technology. Through the Dark Age of 
  Technology and the Age of Strife, mankind has come to the present age - that of the Imperium. 
  In many respects it is a time of superstition, in which a great and unfathomable technology has 
  been enslaved to the forces of mysticism and madness. To the ordinary humans of these times, 
  the peasants in the fields and the warriors amongst the stars, scientific thought represents an 
  abhorrent perversity; a corruption of honour and religious virtue. Even to those few humans who 
  deal with the material of technology, the science and the magic have become largely 
  inseparable; the warp engine must have runes upon its side, the laser gun requires the blessing 
  of the Gods of Battle. 
  This is a universe in which the gods, mysticism and magic are real. For this is a time of great 
  change within humanity itself, a time when more and more humans are developing powers and a 
  vision far beyond those of their ancestors. Humans developing these abilities are known as 
  psychics, or psykers, and by many less flattering names - the most common being that of witch. 
  Psykers are men and women who have the ability to transcend the normal laws of space, placing 
  them in touch with great universal forces which lie far beyond the understanding of their kin. 
  Their gifts defy explanation; telepathy, telekinesis, illusion, and countless others. Many ordinary 
  humans attribute these powers to a divine origin. Some psykers claim their powers enable them 
  to tap forces which he under the control of entities existing outside of the real universe - beyond 
  normal time and space. Others seek a rational explanation for these phenomena - but this is not 
  a rational age and they are few and their voice is weak. 
  +++NOTE ON LANGUAGE+++
  The common language of the Imperium is represented by English, proper names have been 
  rendered in an anglicised form. Many of the titles of ancient institutions and organisations are 
  presented as Latinised English (such as the Adeptus Terra). This represents an older tongue, itself 
  a development of Twentieth Century languages, not necessarily Latin as such. 
  This older tongue is known in the Imperium as "Tech", being a version of the language in which 
  technical rituals and ancient works are recorded. This developed during the Dark Age of 
  Technology (in fact a golden age from the point of view of science - it is only dark in the minds of 
  the men who now fear it). It derives from the common tongue of the time, an assimilation of 
  English, European and Pacific languages which developed over many centuries in the 
  American/Pacific region. This was the universal medium of written record until the Age of Strife, 
  and was spoken as a first language by many and as a second languange by almost everyone. Its 
  idioms and vocabulary now appear archaic and mystic, many of its words have acquired religious 
  significance over the years. It is the language of the Tech-priests and of forbidden books. 
  The common tongue of the Age of the Imperium is spoken as a first language on almost all 
  civilised planets, and is accepted as a second language on planets within Imperial control with 
  the exception of some medieval and feral worlds. This is a bastardised version of Tech, 
  combining additional elements from several of the oriental languages of ancient Earth. Over the 
  millennia it has changed greatly, and now bears almost no resemblance to the tongues from 
  which it derived. Although a common language, it varies fiom planet to planet (and even from 
  region to region), so that it is not always easy for two characters to communicate if they are from 
  different worlds. 
  Medival, feral and worlds suffering from long periods of isolation may have several indigenous 
  languages derived either from Tech or one of the ancient Earth tongues. It was quite common 
  during the Dark Age of Technology for worlds to be settled by small communities of 'isolationists'. 
  These eccentric groups were often self financed and their journals unrecorded, many were of 
  racial minorities attempting to recreate a sense of national identity away from the overpopulated 
  Earth. Some of these groups made a deliberate attempt to revive long dead or moribund 
  languages, perceiving them as a source of national identity and communal strength.
  +++NOTE ON THE TECHNOLOGY IN THE AGE OF THE IMPERIUM+++
  
  Except on the occasions where a technical explanation or description was felt useful to an 
  understanding of the rules, such explanations have generally been avoided. The book contains 
  few descriptions of how specific items are used or function - it is enough within the context of the 
  game that the item has the effects attributed to it. This has been a deliberate policy throughout 
  the rules. The main reason for this is simply that the Age of the Imperium is not a technically 
  inclined age, to have included descriptions of 'head-up dispays', 'computer links', etc, would have 
  given the wtong impression entirely. This is an age where problems are solved by brute force and 
  ignorance, where dangers are either too gross or too unthinkable to elicit any other response. The 
  other reason why technical description has been avoided is that the Age of the Imperium lies 
  more than forty thousand years in the future - at a stage in history when those head-up displays 
  and computers are about as innovative as storte circles. What scientific knowledge persists from 
  the Dark Age of Technology is far above and beyond anything we can imagine from the 
  perspective of the Twentieth Century. That understanding lies only with a select few - the 
  Adeptus Mechanicus - the Tech-priests of the Imperium. Even their knowledge is somewhat 
  debased, and the popular image of technology can be compared with that of witchcraft in 
  medieval times. Those who come into contact with technology use it with reservations and a 
  reveicnce that are almost religious. The Space Marines, for example, treat their equipment and 
  armour as if if were imbued with a will of its own - a fine chest-plate, well looked after and 
  constandy maintained may reward its wearer by saving his fife; whereas a Marine who neglects 
  his equipment may be struck down by a leaking suit or malfunctioning weapons. Such is the will 
  of the Gods. 
  While it is impossible to speculate with any certainty on the technical developments of the next 
  forty millennia, it has obviously been necessary to make assumptions during the construction of 
  this game. The greatest assumption has involved the creation of a broad history and a universe 
  populated by a variety of dangers. The people of the far future are mentally very different from 
  those of today - they have a way of looking at things in which twentieth century ideas of 
  efficiency and morality are irrelevant. Their technology reflects both their past (an age of 
  discovery and achievement) with their future (an age of danger and survival).
  +++TRANSMISSION SYSTEMS+++
  Electricity formed the single most important form of transmissible energy for a very long time, 
  and still plays a role in the Imperium. It is one of the primary motivating forces in nature, and has 
  applications which make it ideal as an interface between the biological and physical worlds. The 
  most significant advance in the field of electronics was the development of Stacked Atomic 
  Chains - or 'stacks'. Atoms within a small piece of material are arranged in rows and patterns, 
  forming the basis for molecular level circuitry. Using this technique miniaturisation reached its 
  ultimate form - so that few devices have to be any larger than necessitated by controls or 
  aesthetics. Stacks use an extremely low voltage, depending on perfect refining techniques for 
  their raw materials, and perfect simulation during operation. The natural electricity radiated by a 
  human would destroy an unprotected stack based system. 
  Photon lines are an extremely refined development of the fibre optic principle. Flexible hair-fine 
  strands made from ceramic based materials are used to transmit laser light signals to photon-
  powered actuators. A single strand can handle a lot of information, but most systems are so 
  complex they require a bundle of cables to function. 
  Phased Crystals use crystal technology to transmit a signal - although they provide no power. The 
  conductive matenal is crystalline, exploiting the way in which a chain of crystals change shape 
  when subjected to varying heat/pressure or energy fields. Phased crystals are the chief 
  components in monitoring devices, and act as regulators of other systems. 
  Hydroplastics transmit power directly by pressure, or activate other systems by the same means. 
  Hydroplastic lines of a suitably small bore are highly efficient, yet technically simple, means of 
  powering a system. Bore diameters are on the molecular level. Hydroplastic actuators (small 
  motors which transmit energy into physical movement) are perhaps the most common type. 
  Sucrosol is the usual abbreviation for Sucrose based solution. It is a synthetic blood designed to 
  feed cultured bio-tissues by means of osmotic pressure. Sucrosol is used by all mechanisms 
  incorporating bio-engineered parts, including robots. It is usually white. 
  Radio signal is essentially the same as in prior ages, although equipment now has the ability to 
  
  utilise far narrower wave bands.
  +++GENERATION SYSTEMS+++
  Crystal Batteries are based on specially engineered crystal structures with the ability to absorb 
  energy modifying thcir crystalline form in the process. The absorbed energy is released slowly as 
  the material's structure reverts back to its original form. Units of such crystals may be rechargcd 
  almost indefinitely. Some units can be recharged by heating (even exposure to daylight), whilst 
  the most powerful are designed to hold an electric charge and must be recharged from an 
  electric generator. 
  Plasma is the purest form of energy it is possible to generate - essentially the component 
  material of stars. It is completely ionized matter consisting of free sub-atomic particles 
  maintained at incredibly high temperatures. Plasma must be transmitted along armoured coils 
  and contained within a magnetic field. Plasma is little used in the Age of the Imperium, the safety 
  margins necessary for its containment are too tight. Regarded as old fashioned, it is still used to 
  power steam or photon based generators and is used for space drives. 
  Conventional - on most worlds electric or photon power is generated by wind, tide, photo-cell or 
  by burning something. On many other remoter worlds machinery is powered directly by wind, 
  steam, combustible fuels or good old animal power. Isolated settlements make the best use of 
  local resources.
  +++MOTORS AND ACTUATORS+++
  Hydraulic actuators rely on hydroplastic pressure to power components. These are commonly 
  used in robotic systems and to power sub-systems on vehicles, in buildings, etc. 
  Electrically Motivated Fibre Bundles are made from a fibre that contracts under the influence of 
  an electric charge, replicating die actions of living muscles. They form the chief components of 
  bionic parts, and are used in many robots. Powered armour and Dreadnoughts use this 
  technology almost exclusively, as it is far more efficient and faster than equivalent hydrauhc or 
  mechanical systems - ir is also difficult to produce and therefore rare. 
  Gravitic Reactors are powered from a surrounding magnetic field - such as a planet. They have 
  the ability to counteract gravitational affects, and form the basis for gravity based motors, and 
  suspensors. The technology used in their manufacture belongs to the past. Fortunately a vast 
  reserve of raw material still remains on Earth, from which gravitic reactors can be made utilising 
  conventional technology. Once this store of material is used up, however, further production will 
  be impossible.
  +++CONTROL SYSTEMS+++
  The actual appearance of equipment is as variable as the populatons of the different planets. 
  With over a million worlds in the Imperium, local tastes and materials will inevitable produce a 
  riot of different forms. Some worlds favour an archaic pattern of instrumentation, believing that 
  the arrangements of buttons and levers form part of a runic pattern itself important to proper 
  functioning. Other worlds prefer to mimic the higher technical achievenents of their ancestors, 
  utilising the more advanced (although no more effective) pure crystal or holographic control 
  systems. When it comes down to it, all are forms of pushing a button, and are equally effective. 
  Only if characters encounter a system radically different from one they are used to will problems 
  arise. 
  Archaic controls are basically buttons, levers, switches and dials set into a panel and monitored 
  by video, digital or dial display. This is the sort of thing anyone from the Twentieth Century could 
  easily understand and use. 
  Pure Crystal Technology and stacked atomic chains have no visible components - control panels 
  often take the form of either black slabs of material or transparent sheets like glass. Held by 
  suspensors, an inactive control panel could appear as a floating pane of glass or slab of stone - 
  the same panel could be recessed into fioor or ceilin and might float into position by vocal 
  command, radio-signal, pressure sensors, presence detectors, etc. A panel is activated by coded 
  
  radio-signal, voice or simply by touch. An active panel displays information visually like a vid-
  screen. Its equivalent of buttons are differently coloured lights which are touch or heat sensitive. 
  Holographic Projection envelops the user in holographic images somewhat a three-dimensional 
  wrap-round vid-screen. Activation is usually by presence, or by any of the methods used for 
  crystal technology - so the operator simply sits in a control seat to activate the 'panel'. The 
  projection can be manipulated to provide monitoring or control functions. Projectors sense the 
  movement of the user's eyes and limbs and translate these into instructions - the user only has to 
  press imaginary buttons! This is the most specialised type of tactile panel, being almost 
  impossible for the uninitiated to use. The slightest gesture will change the entire set-up, and 
  unique arm/hand/finger and eye movements form the basis of the operating procedure. 
  Mind Impulse dispenses with any sort of panel or control gear, allowing the user to control and 
  monitor a system by thought alone. These system are technically complex and producing them is 
  difficult. Consequently they are rare. Their most common appiication is in Dreadnought suits: 
  some spacecraft employ mind impulse links but this is not usual. Such devices require 
  considerable training to use at all, and a great deal of practice if they are to be used efficiently. 
  The physical component is a headring which picks up and amplifies the wearer's instructions. A 
  cruder, but equally effective, version is the spinal tap. This is engineered into the wearer's spinal 
  cortex and works in the same way as the headring but is difficult to remove without causing 
  physical or mental damage.
  +++SKINPLANTS AND ELECTOOS+++
  A development of crystal technology is its use for personal ornamentation. Many races apply 
  paint or tattoos and within the Imperium the practice is common. This is true of all levels of 
  society, from the lowly city-scum of the hive-worlds to the most sophisticated of the Adeptus 
  Terra. Amongst government servants and employees of the Navigator families these marks serve 
  as identification as well as ornament. Devices are also used as secret signs by governmental and 
  anarchist agents, psychic covens and pirates. Tattooing is commordy achieved using materials 
  and technology of a very ancient kind - although the inks used can be of any colour (including 
  flourescent) and can be removable, temporary or degenerative when exposed to light, laser light, 
  heat. etc. 
  Skinplants are sophisticated tattoos - very sophisticated. The miniaturisation possible using 
  crystal technology makes it possible to create a functioning device between layers of skin. The 
  device cannot include mechanical components or utilise large amounts of power. The most 
  popular application of this idea is to power and control an electrically sensitive tattoo. So, any 
  citizen with sufficient credit can have a device or logo on their forehead which actually lights up 
  and fiashes! This can be either controllable, light-sensitive or a permanent fixture. The 
  subcutaneous wristwatch is a standard way of carrying the time - light pressure on the wrist 
  activates the digital display beneath the skin. A character could even go to the lengths of having 
  an entire limb or his whole body glow if he wanted! A light emitting patch on the palm will 
  illuminate a small area within 10 cm and is popularly known as the 'thief's light', providing 
  sufficient light to pick locks, operate switches, etc. 
  Electoos also utilise crystal technology, but involve a lot more work and a great deal of skill to 
  create. An inert layer of conductive material is inserted beneath the skin, sometimes it is injected 
  and allowed time to form before the process can continue. Crystal stacks are built up on this film 
  and waste material is dissoived out. The Electoo can then be programmed to function as any 
  control or monitoring device. On Earth everyone carries an electoo containing personal details, 
  credit ratings, security grades and details of social record - these act as police files and automatic 
  credit facilities. Sensors at building entrances read the details of every electoo carrying individual 
  that passes them - so a constant record can be build up of anyone's movements. Similarly when 
  an individual buys anything, a till-sensor automatically modifies the credit rating of the electoo 
  accordingly. The system is also used throughout the Adeptus Terra and on some imperial worlds 
  either generally or within specific social levels. As electoos are invisible they are ideal for carrying 
  secret messages - information is coded so as to be almost useless except to the intended 
  recipient. A character carrying a Electoo need not be aware of the fact, and certainly wouldn't be 
  aware of its contents. Electoos carrying secret messages can be split between several people and 
  only work when joined. 
  
  Electrografts are a special form of electoo engineered directly onto the recipient's cerebellum. 
  This involves cutting away a portion of skull and creating the electoo directiy on the brain tissue 
  before (usually) replacing the section of cranium or covering with synthetic material. An 
  electrograft reacts with the brain to alter a creature's memory, personality and knowledge. Many 
  of the Imperium's technollogical secrets are passed on by this means, and it is certainly a quick 
  and easy way to learn how to speak new languages, operate machinery, etc. On the other hand, 
  interferance with the mind tends to cause personality disorders, problems with memory recall 
  and occasionally total mental breakdown. Once inserted an electrograft can be reprogrammed 
  almost indefinitely, although repeated re-use accelerates the degenerative process.
  +++STANDARD TEMPLATE CONSTRUCTS+++
  During the Dark Age of Technology humanity travelled throughout the galaxy, founding new 
  colonies and exploring new worlds. Many of these colonies failed to establish themselves, others 
  were lost, whilst a few grew into independent civilisations with distinctive cultures. Most however, 
  established a subsistence economy and simply stopped. In such an environment the impetus for 
  change was very low; everything the citizens needed was at hand, their new world supplied them 
  with food, and the store of knowiedge brought from Earth enabled them to maintain a high 
  technological base without a technological society. In part this was a result of the Standard 
  Template Construct system carried by every colony. 
  The heart of the STC system was an evolved computer program designed to provide construction 
  details for the colonists. Its prime function was to enable the colonists to build efficient shelters, 
  generators and transports without any prior knowledge and using almost any locally available 
  materials. The user simply asked how to build a house or a tractor and the computer supplied all 
  the necessary plans - in short it was idiot proof. Many humans attribute the entire Orkish 
  civilisation to early STC systems - but the truth will never be known. 
  The Age of Technology ended in inter-human war and anarchy. The STC systems that had helped 
  to build it either lapsed into disuse or decayed so that they became increasingiy unreliable and 
  quirky. On some worlds they were maintained, but most suffered damage by enthusiastic 
  software specialists or subsequent jury-rigging. Hard copies of the information they contained 
  survived much longer, and were frequently copied and passed down from generation to 
  generation. Today, in the Age of the Imperium, the familiar designs of the STC are still 
  discernable in the shapes of vehicles, spacecraft and buildings. The Adeptus Mechanicus on Earth 
  make it their business to collate and utilise STC material - it is their equivalent to a holy text, a 
  font of all knowledge (which is exactly what it was intended to be). 
  One result of the STC system and its pivotal place in human development is that many worlds 
  now utilise designs and machinery of a similar type. Of course, the millennia have wrought 
  changes in the basic utilitarian devices proscribed by the STC, but many humans adhere 
  religiously to the old designs. STC designs were intended to be able to cope with anything - by 
  the standards of the day they were rough and ready, big and brutish, hard to damage and easy to 
  repair. Because they were intended for use by unqualified people their power-plants mere based 
  around commonly obtainable materials, employing steam power, wind power, water power and 
  combustion engines. High-tech material was described too (although rarely used) and designs 
  were provided for full-scale nuclear power-grids and fission processors. However few people 
  understood these, and the need for power was supplied quite easily by conventional means. 
  Consequently hard copies were rarely taken and gradually written texts became lost or 
  hopelessly distorted. 
  The weapons, vehicles and much of the equipment described in this book have their roots in the 
  STC system. Fighting vehicles often look like tractors and prime movers because that's exactly 
  what they were copied from! STC designs can be produced in almost any materal; wood, plastic, 
  concrete, steel, plastic, etc, and can be replicated on almost any world that has raw materials of 
  some kind. Uncorrupted STC systems are unknown and after so many years will probably remain 
  so. Nonetheless, finding such a system is regarded by many Tech-priests as their ultimate goal - 
  a sort of quest for the holy grail. Legends surround the existence of lost, functioning STC systems, 
  but whether they have any basis in truth is anyone's guess. 
  
  +++The Imperial Fleet+++
  Practically all inter-stellar travel is administered through the priesthood, who sanction routine 
  journeys and direct craft to suit their purposes. There are a few independent ships capable of 
  interstellar flight but these are very rare indeed. The fleet moves cargo and personnel from 
  system to system, according to the dictates of imperial need. The fleet also has routine duties to 
  perform, such as patrolling frontier worlds and scouting for alien intrusion. In all, the fleet 
  numbers many thousands of ships, and the Imperium has a considerable capacity to build and 
  operate spacecraft. 
  +++IMPERIAL ARCHITECTURE+++
  Much of the fighting in the wars of the Horus Heresy has taken part in and around cities, refinery 
  complexes, and similar groups of buildings. Thanks to the Standard Template Construct, buildings 
  of several common types are constructed on most Imperial worlds using locally available 
  materials. Using Standard Template Construct means that the appearance of a building is 
  determined by its function rather than the materials of which it is constructed. According to the 
  resource base of the planet in question, this can be stone, brick, wood, coral, volcanic ash, 
  compacted inorganic waste or any of a hundred other materials. Thus, buildings of more or less 
  identical appearance may be found throughout the Imperium, regardless of all considerations 
  other than function. 
  ADMINISTRATUM
  The complex organization of the Adeptus Ministratum, or Administratum, is responsible for the 
  administration of the whole of the Imperium; it manages over a million inhabited worlds. 
  Planetary government buildings, records offices, taxation centers, and many more are controlled 
  by the Administratum; they are usually distinguished by the sign of the Imperial eagle over the 
  main door. Many bloody assaults and valiant defenses have take place in and around urban and 
  planetary government buildings; they are natural command posts, and the fall of the 
  Administratum normally indicates the fall of the city. This building is often the attacker's primary 
  target. 
  AUDITORIUM
  Most Imperial cities have at least one auditorium, where the local populace assemble at great 
  rallies organized by the Administratum and the Inquisition. A visiting dignitary, such as an 
  Inquisitor or a Space Marine commander, will often be requested to lead such a ralley. It is 
  common practice to use the main auditorium - if it still stands - to announce the 'liberation' of a 
  city by one side or the other. 
  CASTRA EXERCITUS
  According to the provisions of the Codex Exercitus, every Imperial world has a duty to raise and 
  maintain its own planetary defense force. Additionally, each city or world forms part of a precinct 
  where Imperial laws are enforced by the Judges of the Adeptus Arbites. One or more barracks will 
  be found in most Imperial cities, providing accommodation, training areas and armories for the 
  forces they house. Much fighting has centered around these strongholds. 
  CHAPEL
  Chapels are found throughout the Imperium, and this is a typical example from a world of 
  medieval or higher technology. On many worlds which have fallen to the forces of Horus, chapels 
  have been desecrated and torn down; on some Traitor worlds they have even been turned over 
  to the feral-world cults favored by the Warmaster and his followers. In such as case, the 
  Inquisition normally demands the chapel's complete destruction. 
  CELLARION
  No world is an island within the Imperium; each gains something from the rest of the galaxy, and 
  each must pay its way. The worlds of the Imperium provide foodstuffs, machinery, minerals and 
  many other things according to their resources. Few Imperial cities are without vast warehouse 
  complexes where the goods are collected ready for shipment to other areas and worlds, and 
  where incoming goods are placed ready for distribution. 
  
  CENSORIUM
  Countless clerks and officials labor on a million worlds for the Administratum, most of them 
  confined to dark offices in grim, towering administrative blocks. These buildings house vast 
  quantities of information on their worlds; population, economy, levels of production and taxation, 
  resources, industrial and agricultural quotas - the whole of the world is recorded, filed, indexed 
  and updated by an army of bureaucrats. The valuable data in the Censorium can make it a prime 
  target. 
  GENERATORIUM
  A city or industrial complex requires vast quantities of energy, and power supplies are a favorite 
  target for attacking forces. The nature of a generator will vary from world to world. Fertile planets 
  often use organic or fossil fuels, while fusion grids and plasma reactors are common on 
  industrialized worlds. Solar generators and geothermal energy are also used where local 
  conditions permit. These power sources, and the secrets of their operation, are jealously guarded 
  by the Adeptus Mechanicus. 
  GENETORIUM
  Most planets in the Imperium maintain a gene-pool of plant and animal species for terraforming, 
  agriculture, resource management and other purposes. Native species are studied with a view to 
  assessing their usefulness elsewhere, and introduced species are bio-engineered to adapt them 
  for use in local conditions. The scientists of the Adeptus Mechanicus who run these 
  establishments also monitor the genetic purity of the planet's population, and cooperate with the 
  Inquisition in their task of rooting out mutation and other undesirable traits. 
  LIBRARIUM
  During the terrible wars of the Age of Strife, untold quantities of knowledge were lost. And 
  preserving what was left became a holy task shared by the Administratum and the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus. In many of the larger cities of the more advanced Imperial worlds an imposing 
  Librarium building will house thousands of books and records, and make them available to those 
  Imperial servants and citizens whose rank or privilege entitles them to access. 
  MANUFACTORIUM
  Although much technology was lost during the fifteen centuries of the Age of Strife, the Imperium 
  is by no means technically backward. Industrial complexes across the galaxy produce billions of 
  items, from clothing to plasma bombs. All of these installations are closely controlled by the 
  Administratum and the Adeptus Mechanicus, and it is not uncommon for the workers in a factory 
  to be completely unaware of the end product of their labors. The occupation or destruction a 
  Manufactorium or other industrial complex can deny precious resources to the enemy. 
  MAUSOLEUM
  For the vast bulk of the citizens of the Imperium, death is not the end of their service to the 
  emperor. They are quickly forgotten by everyone except the record keepers of the Administratum 
  and their bodies are recycled into foodstuffs, fertilizers, and other useful products. More 
  prominent members of society may receive the honor of entombment in an Imperial mausoleum, 
  where the masses may read of their deeds and be inspired by their example. With its halls of 
  entombed heroes, a Mausoleum can become the focus of a fanatical defense, and its destruction 
  can deal a severe blow to the defenders' morale. 
  RESIDENTIAL
  The population of the Imperium is vast, and only the Administratum has the means to begin to 
  estimate it. The bulk of this population lives in cities, ranging from the huge complexes of the 
  Hive Worlds to the smaller garden cities of the more advanced agricultural worlds and the grim 
  tenements of the industrial worlds. While worlds and cities may differ, the residential blocks 
  follow a limited number of standard patterns laid down by the Standard Template Construct. 
  Living space in the cities caries widely, according to wealth and social standing. Most people live 
  in residential blocks of one kind or another, but the living space permitted to an individual can 
  range from a spacious luxury apartment to a cramped and filthy cubby-hole with barely room to 
  turn around. According to the type of world on which it is found and the status of its occupants, a 
  residential block can house a few dozen or several thousand.
  +++Worlds of the Imperium+++
  
  There are over one million worlds in the Imperium, all of which are inhabited by humans or 
  human descended creatures such as beastmen and squats. The imperial administration may 
  choose to consider these mutations as human or otherwise. In any case, they are all citizens of 
  the Imperium - although citizenship confers no rights, only responsibilities. 
  The worlds of the Imperium are scattered throughout the galaxy; they are not confined to a 
  specific area or territory. The distances involved are vast, and many human worlds will be 
  inaccessible, or have been so in the past, due to warp storms or governmental apathy. For these 
  reasons the Imperium includes a vast variety of cultural and technological levels. Planetary 
  governors and other Imperial Commanders always maintain a fairly high level of personal 
  technology, but the worlds they run may be inhabited by primitive savages, or overrun by 
  mutants and native creatures. The worlds of the Imperium can be classified into the following 
  broad categories: 
  Agricultural worlds are little more than farming planets on which a sizable part of the surface is 
  given over to producing food for other, less fertfle, worlds. They tend to be sparsely populated. 
  The Imperial Commander of such a planet has the added responsiblities of protecting his harvests 
  and meeting his quotas. Inter-commander rivalry often results in enemies attempting to destroy 
  or steal crops or meat animals, often blaming raids on pirates or bandits. Such petty rivalries are 
  of no concern to the Adeptus Terra - who only demand that quotas are met and conflict 
  contained. 
  Civilised worlds are by far the most common of all the types of settlement in the Imperium. The 
  people inhabits urban centres supplied by the planet's own natural resources and agriculture. 
  These worlds are self-sufficient, and have reasonable, but not excessive, populations. The social 
  and technological base varies from world to world, although access to fully-developed technology 
  is usually possible. Although these planets are civilised - in that their inhabitants live in cities - 
  the humans that inhabit them are as bound by superstition, mysticism and barbarism as are 
  many others in the Imperium. In the cities, sophisticated urbanities pray to the same gods and 
  incant the same rituals as dull peasants in isolated vffiages. For urban warriors and technological 
  barbarians, rationality and science are as abhorrent as to the most hide-bound rural farmer. 
  Death worlds are planets on which the native flora and fauna has evolved into naturally 
  aggressive and dangerous forms. These eco-systems are finely balanced between continual 
  destruction and lightning-fast reproduction. Humans can, and do, live on these worlds, but it is a 
  never-ending struggle. On many death worlds it is as if the entire bio-mass of the planet were 
  consciously motivated against human settlement - concentrating forces against intruders to 
  destroy them. Death worlds are not usually inhabited unless there is some good reason to do so - 
  such as outstanding mineral wealth. 
  Feral planets are worlds which have reverted to savagery, either because of neglect, a naturally 
  inadequate ecosystem, or long isolation. Human groups roam the surface as wandering hunters, 
  using primitive tools and weapons - these people have a barbaric and aggressive view of life that 
  makes them ideal material for the Legiones Astartes. Imperial commanders on such worlds tend 
  to live as isolated 'gods', perhaps in a single civilised city inhabited by outsiders, mostly military 
  staff and their families. Apart from recruiting for the Space Marines, and keeping a check on 
  emerging psykers, the Commander will usually leave his subjects alone. 
  Hive worlds are distinguished by vast, continent-spanning cities, often built high into the sky and 
  deep below the ground. Their populations are enormous, and almost all food needs to be 
  imported. A hive world rendered temporarily inaccessible through warp space will suffer a 
  devastating famine within a very short space of time. It will become a vast catacomb of lunatics 
  driven to excesses of anarchic, urban savagery by starvation and claustrophobia. Hive worlds are 
  dangerous, being too large to monitor safely, and their citizens are typically unbalanced, if not 
  utterly crazed. it has been known for the Adeptus Arbites to cull these planets in order to bring 
  their populations down to manageable levels. 
  Industrial worlds are given over to industrial processes such as manufacturing and mining. They 
  are only sparsely poptdated, as most work is carried out by machinery and robots. Most industrial 
  worlds are developed only for mining and, even then, a planet must be extremely mineral-rich if 
  the effort is to be justified. Normally, manufacturing of goods takes place on ordinary, inhabited 
  planets, because the costs and hazards of inter-stellar flight are considerable. 
  Medieval worlds are feral planets in which a level of medieval technology has been reached, and 
  the culture has stabilised. Imperial Commanders of such worlds will often stand aside from their 
  
  subjects, and may even remain aloof in orbital space-stations or on a nearby moon. Medieval 
  worlds are self-sufficient, but are of little use to the Imperium. The true position of their place in 
  the universe may constitute something of a culture-shock to the inhabitants, a factor which 
  makes them poor material for imperial service - although selective recruitment into the Space 
  Marines is possible. Control of psykers has to be maintained - but this can be achieved in a 
  clandestine manner; by infiltrating religious and social bodies, or by more blatant means such as 
  kidnapping and assassination. 
  Paradise planets are worlds of outstanding natural beauty and abundance. Rather than develop 
  all of these planets, some are retained in an almost completely natural state and used as 
  recreational bases for imperial servants. On such planets, warriors may train their minds and 
  bodies for war, studying arcane battle-philosophy and practising martial arts. 
  Research stations are recently inhabited, often newly accessible planets in the process of being 
  assessed for development and full settlement. To this end, they initially become research 
  stations, small farming centres, experimental settlements, test mines, etc. Mostly they are just 
  wilderness - a whole planet awaiting exploration. 
  +++The Adeptus Mechanicus+++
  Mars is the planetary realm of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Home and Domain of the Tech priests 
  of the cult mechanicus. The red planet is acclaomed as one of the wonders of the Galacy, the 
  Workshop of the imperium, the forge world, the maker of ships, and the guardian of secrets. It is 
  the Adeptus Mechanicus who furnish the tecnical knowledge of the Imperium, preserve the 
  scientific secrets of former times, and who explore the new sciences of the 41st millenium.
  The Cult Mechanicus
  The Cult mechanicus, or cult of the machine, acknowledges the Emperor as Master of Mankind 
  but Does not recognise the authority of the Imperial cult or the Ecclesiarcy. Instead the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus follows its own dark and mysterios strictures.
  According to the adeptus Mechanicus, knowledge is the supreme manefestation of dvinity, and all 
  creatures and artifacts that embody knowledge are holy becasue of it. The Emperor is the 
  supreme object of worship because he comprehends so much. Machines which preserve 
  knowledge from ancient timnes are also holy , and machine intelligences are no less divine than 
  those of fleash and blood. a mans worth is only the sum of his knowledge - his body is simply an 
  organic machine capable of preserving intellect.
  The Adeptus Mechanicus controlls the entire governmental, industrial and relicious affairs of 
  Mars. In its broadest terms , the population is divided into two parts . The Greater mass of 
  martians are worker slaves called servitors. Servitors are not really fully human, but half man, 
  half machine creatures whose minds have been partially programmed to perform specific duties. 
  The servitors are slaves to the ruling priesthood of tech priests who form a heirarchy of 
  technicians, scientists, and religious leaders. Tech priests provide the Imperium with its engineers 
  and technical experts. 
  •Fabricator General 
  •Ruling Cult Members the Tech Priests 
  •Magos 
  •Logos 
  •Genitor 
  •Artisan 
  •Ordinary Cult Members the Tech Priests 
  •Electro Priest 
  •Rune Priest 
  •Transmechanic 
  •Lexmechanic 
  •Servitors 
  Fabricator General
  The Leader of the Adeptus Mechanicus is the Fabricator General of Mars. He is a High Lord of 
  
  Terra and also the head of the Cult mechanicus in his capacity as the magos mechanicus.
  Magos 
  The Magos is the master of technological achievement. There are many divisions such as Magos 
  Technicus, Magos Metallugicus, Magos Alchemys, Magos Physic, Magos Biologis, etc...
  Logis
  The Logis is the logistician, an analist and a statistician. His purpose is to predict future trends 
  and make forecasts about expediture and needs. They are regarded as prophetic figures.
  Genetor 
  Genetors are Genetic Scientists. They are very common amongst the Adeptus Mechanicus and 
  often accompany Imperial Forces incvolved in the Exploration of new worlds.
  Artisan 
  Artisans or Constructors , design machines, buildings, space craft, weapons and military 
  hardware. They controll the vast labour force of the servitors.
  Electro Priest 
  The Electro Priests are the fanatical cult warriors of the Adeptus Mechanicus. They travel on 
  board spacecraft and support th tech priest warriors in battle. The Electro Priest turns himself into 
  a crackling fount of electrical energy, destroying everything he touches before he collapses from 
  the strain.
  Engineers 
  Engineers are highly trained agents of the cult Mechanicus and they are often assigned to duties 
  in the Imperial Guard or other parts of Adeptus Terra
  Rune Priest 
  The Rune Priest scribes runes and chants liturgies over machines as part of the Cult ritual of 
  initiation. He is trained in the arcane branches of scientific lore such as intuitive mechanics, 
  speculation, , and improvisation. They are famous for their lateral thinking, which may be called 
  upon when strict logic and standard procedures fail.
  Transmechanic 
  These are Technicians or service engineers who specialise in communications tecnology. Like the 
  engineers, they are often assigned duties in other Imperial Organisations.
  Leximechanic 
  Their purpose is to compile and rationalise data so it can be entered into a central computer 
  repository. They can work with computer speed and accuracy, assembling battlefield reports, 
  economic statistics , planetary reports, and so forth, they may be assigned duties throughout the 
  Adeptus Terra.
  Servitors 
  Servitors are mindless slave machines of living flesh and metal creatures with no individual mind 
  who obey their programming without question. Servitors make up a huge bulk of the Martian 
  population, there are many kinds from heavy mini cyborgs to holomats (holographic recorders). 
  The most severe punishment for a criminal is to be turned into a servitor: mind wiped and 
  reprogrammed to perform some rudimetary function. Ex wrongdoers wear a brass plaque round 
  their necks proclaiming their crime as a warning to all who would cross the tech priests of mars.
  Mars
  The planet Mars has changed enormously since man first set foot upon its barren and arid 
  surface. In the earley 22nd century it became the first planet to be terraformed. It was given an 
  atmosphere and its deserts were turned to fertile soil. However agriculture was never very 
  important to Mars - its main source of wealth lay below its surface in the form of gems minerals 
  and metal ores.
  Once terraformed, mars was settled by industrial cartels and their workforces, and soon becam 
  the first hive world. Mars became a centre for industrial production and reserch, and its very 
  name has became synonymous with technical expertise and scientific advancement. Mars 
  became the hub for further space exploration throughout the solar system.
  Today Mars has evolved into the workshop of the Adeptus. Its factory hives produce the bulk of all 
  technical equipment used by the Imperium. Space craft and other large specialised constructs 
  are fabricated in orbital factories that spin around the equatorial belt. Ships of the warfleet Solar 
  are based in these huge floating docks, and other craft from all over the imperium visit what are 
  the largest man made objects in the entire galaxy.
  As the first hives ever built, the marian factoy hives are ancient and all are at least partially 
  
  ruinious. Some areas are well maintained, and there are many new areas of building. area that 
  are no longer used are simply left to rot.
  A journey through the internal travel tubes would take a person from extremes of new 
  construction to ancient industrial wastes. The travel lines weave between shining new building 
  piles with their nets of steel bracing like rigging of a sailing ship, passing into older darker zones 
  where briken condensation traps spill their vapourous contents and enmesh speedindg tube 
  liners in a perpetual fog. Wastelands cover vast parts of the cities , deserts of broken plasteel 
  slabs and twisted girders, with the occaisional solitary tower pointing puposelessly towards the 
  pink martian sky.
  The Titan Legions
  Mars endured long centuries of isolation whila anarchy tore at the ancient world of earth. When 
  the Emperor drew mars back into the fold of the united Imperium, it had long since become a 
  society very different to that of Earth's. One of the most impotant and enduring differences was 
  the development of huge fighting machines known as Titans. These vast constructions were 
  unlike anything ever seen on Earth, massive humaniod shaped weapons of destruction powered 
  by fission reactors and bristling with mighty cannons. On a world as barren as Mars the titans 
  could stride effortlessly over the hostile landscape where mere troopers would be engulfed in the 
  poisenous wastes of the choking dust of the Martian deserts.
  A titan is a gargantuan land-battleship powered by advanced technology. Its armored carapace is 
  capable of withstanding heavy damage whilst its armaments can level whol cities. The titans are 
  one of the most potent weapons in the arsenal of the Imperium. Within each Titan a crew of 
  dozens or even hundereds of individuals scrurry about their tasks, propelling, refueling and 
  maintaining the giant machine, manning its mighty weapons and guiding it over the battle field.
  The Crew of a Titan
  When the Emperor led mankind on the Great Crusade the Titan Legions of the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus marched alongside he Space Marines. As the Imperium Expanded the Adeptus 
  mechanicus took many worlds for themselves, planets which they settled and turned into 
  mechanicus forge worlds. These became bases for the Titan Legions throughout the galaxy, so 
  that today the Titan Legions are spread throughout the Imperium, where they defend the 
  scattered forge worlds of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
  The Quest For Knowledge
  The adeptus Mechanicus is driven by the quest for knowledge. This quest takes many forms, 
  including research and exploration, but the ultimate embodiment is the search for the ancient 
  STC systems.
  STC systems were created during the scientific high point of Dark Age of Technology. During this 
  time thousands of human colonies were founded on distant worlds. Many of these colonies failed 
  to survive, some were lost, and of those that survived most only achieved a subsistence level 
  economy. Yet almost all of these colonies managed to retain a high level of tech nology thanks to 
  a huge base of computerised imformation carried from Earth. This massive computerised 
  databank was known as the Standard Template Construct (STC) system.
  The STCs are often said to embody the sum total of human knowledge. This is probably true as 
  far as technological accomplishment goes . Although most colonists required little more than 
  designs for agricultural machinery, programs were included for all sorts of advanced 
  constructions such as nucleur power grids and fission reactors. However , the earley colonists's 
  needs were simple and were met by conventional energy forms and relitivly low level technology.
  Today there are no known surviving STC systems, and only a very few examples of first 
  generation print - out on some worlds information about the ancient STC is regarded as holy and 
  design copies are guarded as secret and sacred texts, housed in the inner sanctums of temples.
  For thousands of years the Adeptus Mechanicus has pursued all information about STC . It is their 
  lost bible, holy grail and cup of knowledge. Any scrap of information is eagerly sought out and 
  jealously hoarded. Any rumour of a functional system is followed up and investigated.
  By their efforts much information has been retrieved or can be reconstructed by the vigourous 
  analysis and comparison of copies. Yet the most technically - advanced knowledge eludes the 
  Adeptus Mechanicus, for the early colonists were mostly simple folk whose needs were practical. 
  Only rarely did anyone bother to take copies of the theoretical and advanced work which the STC 
  contained.
  
  +++Adeptus Custodes+++
  The Adeptus Custodes forms the Emperor's inner guard whose duties are to serve and protect the 
  Master of Mankind. A continuous rota ensures that there are always several hundred of these 
  select warriors action within the palace, as well as a small elite of guardians who never leave the 
  Emperor's side. Their uniforms are traditional but effective, leather breeches and boots with a 
  long black cloak over naked torso. Their helmets are ancient works of art; all-enclosing and tall 
  they impart a threatening, impersonal appearance as well as providing a battery of protective 
  equipment and communicators. The weapons carried by these guards look very much like spears 
  or spear- guns, but are in fact lasers build to resemble the traditional and symbolic guardian-
  spear which has long association with the Adeptus Custodes and which appears on their banners, 
  badges and other regalia. The guards themselves never leave Earth, and only rarely leave the 
  imperial palace where their duties lie - their place is by the Emperor's side.
  +++The Adeptus Arbites+++
  The Adeptus Arbites are the keepers of the great book of Judgement, the legal code of the 
  imperium, painstakingly collated over the centuries and embodying every decree passed by the 
  high lords of terra as the millenia pass the great book grows heavier . Indeed it has long since 
  expanded beyond the confines of being a single volume. Its most ancient decrees are written 
  upon parchments of human skin, enscribed in unknown tounges by nameless functionaries of a 
  forgotten age.
  The Adeptus Arbites are commonly called the Judges and their organisation represents the 
  martial arm of the priesthood - the soldiers and police of the Adeptus Terra. Although planets are 
  mainly self- governing and self-policing this arrangement sometimes breaks down, or proves 
  unsatisfactory for one reason or another - rebellious Commanders may be tempted to plot 
  treason against the Imperium, or rivals may overstep the bounds of petty feud. There is still an 
  important role for a universal law-enforcing agency, and the Judges fill that role ruthlessly. Their 
  duties usually fall between those of the Assassins, who may be obliged to deal with a single 
  troublemaker, and the Army, which would be called in to wage outright war. Without mercy and 
  utterly dedicated, the Judges are feared throughout the galaxy - for they are the agents of a 
  harsh law, where failure and incompetence are crimes, and the only punishment is death. Judges 
  are empowered to act as judge, jury and executioner - citizens have no rights, only members of 
  the priesthood or Inquisition could claim anything so elaborate as a trial. Judges work from their 
  headquarters on Earth, but their very nature takes them all over human space (and beyond). 
  Often a small Judge squad might be placed upon a planet to work with an Imperal Commander 
  (sometimes to keep a close watch on his activities). Their uniforms are basically black leather 
  breeches and jacket, with extra padding at the elbows, knees and shoulders - this helps to 
  emphasise their already considerable bulk. Heavy gloves and boots protect the hands and feet, 
  whilst the head is encased within a simplified and practical version of the helmet worn by the 
  Adeptus Custodes. The uniform conceals an undervest of mesh armour, although some Judges 
  may wear carapace or even powered armour instead. A cloak is worn as part of the full uniform 
  but is often dicarded in action. Always carried and displayed prominently is the Judge's badge - 
  his symbol of office and power. Standard weaponry comprises of either a laspistol or bolt pistol, 
  the ammunition for which is carried around the waist.
  +++The Assassins+++
  The very size of the Imperium means that planetary government is frequently left to its own 
  devices, often for centuries. The imperial administration may call in perhaps only every ten or 
  twenty years to collect taxes or tithes. Sometimes even this becomes impossible due to warp 
  
  storms, or pressing business elsewhere. As a result planetary government sometimes breaks 
  down, or a planetary governor may start to think he can do without the protection of the 
  Imperium, sometimes standard anti-psyker routines are allowed to slip, and imperial taxes are 
  forgotten. Bringing wayward planets back into the imperial fold can be achieved in many ways. 
  Outright war is one (much favoured) method, extermination is another. At the other end of the 
  scale it may sometimes be beneficial to court a governor by diplomatic means, perhaps support 
  his rivals or infiltrate anti-govemment, pro- imperial organisations. If a planet can be restored to 
  the Imperium by clever diplomacy an expensive, troublesome and destructive war will be 
  avoided. Imperial agents are fully versed in all the tricks of diplomacy, including clandestine ones 
  such as bribery, popular agitation, economic sabotage, terrorism, torture, murder and 
  assassination.
  The Assassin is one of the most useful of these diplomatic agents. His job is simple, he is there to 
  eliminate key individuals among the opposition. Sometimes a rebellion centres around a single 
  personality, and a planet can be brought to heel by that person's death or disappearance. If done 
  cleverly, a rebel leader can be quietly slain and replaced by an exact duplicate. Assassins may 
  even provide such a duplicate themselves, as they are able to change their physical appearance 
  using the shape changing drug polymorphine. Assassins are masters of disguise, and can assume 
  almost any human shape as well as that of some aliens. They are trained to use the protective 
  black syn-skin, the synthetic skin layer that protects the Assassin from the environment as mall 
  as feeding sense enhancing chemicals into his body.
  Assassins are recruited from the feral worlds as infants and undergo ten years extensive training 
  at the school of Assassins on Earth, from then on they continue to live at and operate from the 
  secret headquarters of the Assassins said to lie somewhere on the imperial planet. This is one of 
  the Imperium's better known 'secret' divisions of the Adeptus Terra. Here the prospective 
  Assassin is put through a decade of gruelling tests, receiving psychic implants to heighten senses 
  and strengthen resolve, as well as sub-muscular acoustic surgery to enable him to survive the 
  use of the shape-altering drug polymorphine. Every Assassin must master the weaponry and 
  equipment of his trade, he must know how to drive and maintain all kinds of vehicle from a bike 
  to a spaceship, he must be a technological expert, and he must have professorial knowledge of 
  the Imperium's history, organisation and languages. This is a tall order by anybody's standards, 
  and not all young recruits survive their training.
  Navigators are sometimes recruited into the Assassins and there is a 5% chance of an Assassin 
  being a Navigator.
  Organisation. The Assassins are based at their secret headquarters somewhere on Earth. Their 
  leader is the Master of Assassins, a mysterious figure, never seen by ordinary members of the 
  priesthood, but rumoured to have personal access to the High Lords of Terra, if not the Emperor 
  himself. His loyalty to the Emperor must be beyond doubt, for he single-handedly controls an 
  organisation that could feasibly topple even the Imperium should he so wish. The organisation 
  includes a number of ancillary staff, as well as Astropaths, Navigators and other servants. 
  Although not Assassins as such, these characters live entirely within the organisation, and have 
  no contact with the outside world. The Assassins themselws are stratified into Lord Assassins who 
  are no longer involved directly in their work, but plan, organise, research and watch over 
  missions for the younger Assassins. The bulk of Assassins are unranked, although some are 
  obviously more experienced agents than others.
  Equipment. Assassins have access to all equipment. Jokaero digital weapons are much favoured, 
  polymorphine and syn-skin are almost mandatory. Armour is not usually worn because it is 
  inappropriate to most of the situations in which an Assassin operates. Where needed, armour is 
  available.
  Camaru, and Her Two Companions
  A typical Assassin. Camaru was taken from her parents at the age of three, and now only vaguely 
  recalls her early life amongst the stone-age hunters of the Cristo system. Distinguishing herself 
  amongst her fellow would-be Assassins, she quickly progressed to the full status of a trained 
  Assassin, undertaking her first mission at the age of sixteen. She was part of a three-man hit 
  squad aboard an imperial transport.
  Their mission was to make sure the craft disappeared, taking with it certain junior members of 
  the priesthood suspected of being under alien domination. Thanks to Camaru's quick thinking 
  and fast reactions, all three of the Assassins managed to escape the spacecraft once it was 
  
  discovered that a Vampire was on board and all the crew were under its evil influence. Taking to 
  a life raft only moments before exploding a melta-bomb, the trio drifted helplessly in space for 
  almost a month before being picked up. Only self-induced hibernation saved their lives. Camaru 
  is tall, well muscled and, like all Assassins, extremely strong and athletic. She is pictured here as 
  she appeared before the rebellious Lord of Okku, a treacherous Imperial Commander who was 
  selling his subjects to the Ork stellar-slavers for personal wealth. The Lord of Okku did not benefit 
  from the meeting, his tongue cut from his head, he was the last Okkurian to be sold to the Ork 
  slavers. Camaru wears black syn-skin, around her waist she has wound a scarlet sash concealing 
  a knife, bio-scanner, communicator, sufficient phials of polymorphine for 3 uses, syn-skin solvent, 
  and a garrotte. She carries ten Jokaero digital weapons (1 on each finer); 3 flamers, 3 needlers 
  and 4 lasers. The needlers are all loaded with deadly poison. Around her head Camaru wears a 
  white scarf secreting yet another garrotte.
  +++Venenum Assassin+++
  The Venenum Temple of the Officio Assassinorum emphasizes the use of poisons and non-
  technical weapons to kill their foes. They use poisoned swords, daggers, and projectiles fired from 
  weapons using highly-compressed air to be silent. They are masters of disguise and stealth, and 
  they are masters at hand to hand combat. They are especially chosen for agility and their ability 
  to stay totally silent when needed but also to have the ability to mimic the mannerisms and 
  characteristics of others.
  The Venenum temple stresses subtlety and cunning. The silent kill is always the best kill. The 
  unknown Assassin is always the most effective Assassin. They shun weapons that cause noise or 
  that leave easily traced evidence. They strike from the unknown and they disappear again into 
  the unknown.
  All the Assassins of the Venenum temple are trained in the use of Polymorphine, and only the 
  Callidus approach their mastery of this drug. The Venenum Assassin may masquerade as any 
  humanoid they choose, from a beautiful woman to a crippled old man, to aliens such as Orks and 
  Eldar. They are the masters of disguise and mimicry. In addition to Polymorphine, they use a 
  range of implants created by the Medicus Adeptus of the Imperium to change their size, shape 
  and physical appearance. They also have implants that will allow them to mimic the sound and 
  speech patterns of those they are replacing. It is only when they are injected with Polymorphine 
  that these implants react to stimulants within the drug and transform the Assassin to mimic the 
  encoded shapes needed to take the place of those they choose to replace.
  The Venenum Assassin will be landed behind enemy lines to take the place of a trusted underling 
  of their intended target, and then they will only reveal themselves when they attack their target 
  at the crucial moment of battle.
  +++The Adeptus Astra Telepathica+
  ++
  The Adeptus Astra Telepathica are commonly known as Astropaths - their role within the 
  Imperium is one of communication. As the Imperium is so vast the only practical means of 
  communication is by telepathy, and telepathy over interstellar distances can be achieved only by 
  the Astropath.
  Psykers are vigorously controlled by the Imperium, some may escape detection, but the vast 
  majority are fated to serve the Imperium in one way or another. Many are given up to the 
  Emperor as sustenance, whilst countless others are executed because they are too dangerous to 
  live. The remainder are recruited into the imperial organisation in some way, but only a tiny 
  proportion of the very best are judged strong enough to survive without some form of psychic 
  protection. So psykers can be found throughout the Adeptus Terra, the Inquisition, the Legiones 
  Astartes, the army and the fleet. However, over 90% of psykers in imperial service are members 
  
  of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, known commonly as Astropaths. Astropaths are created from 
  those psykers who have considerable powers, but who are not mentally strong enough to 
  withstand the attentions of psychically attuned warp creatures. Were they simply allowed to 
  develop without interference they would quickly find themselves in serious trouble, endangering 
  the rest of humanity as well as themselves. However, the Imperium has a use for them. An 
  Astropath is an Astro-telepath, an individual capable of communicating with others of his kind 
  over vast interstellar distances. In the Age of the Imperium, where worlds are light-years apart, 
  this is the only practical means of communication. For this reason the network of Astropaths is 
  very important to the Imperium, and every spacecraft, research station, outpost, etc, has its own 
  Astropath. Even small planets need hundreds of these useful servants, while large worlds may 
  have thousands and Earth itself is home to tens of thousands. 
  All Astropaths undergo a special process which moulds their powers and at the same time 
  strengthens them against pyschic danger. This is called the soul-binding ritual and only the 
  Emperor has the power to perform it. It takes place in the great palace, where the psykers are led 
  before the Emperor one hundred at a time. Knelt before the Emperor they must endure several 
  hours of agony whilst the Emperor uses his powers to reshape their minds - mingling a little of his 
  immeasurable power with their own. Unfortunately, the Emperor's mind is so powerful that not all 
  candidates survive the ritual. Some are driven insane, and all have their personalities altered to 
  some extent. The raw energy of the Emperor's will also has another effect, so powerful are the 
  forces involved that many of the more delicate nerves can be damaged, especially the optic 
  nerves. Consequently all Astropaths are blind, whilst many may also lack any sense of smell, 
  touch or hearing. 
  SPECIAL:
  1 An Astropath is psychically strengthened to withstand the attentions of warp creatures. Most of 
  the psychically parasitic creatures can only warp into normal space through a non-protected 
  psyker. This is indicated in the creature's description. Astropaths are psychically protected and 
  thus cannot be utilised by creatures in warp space. They can, however, still be harmed by psychic 
  attacks made from normal space. 
  2 Astropaths are blind but have a form of near-sense which allows them to sense normally visible 
  objects within 20 metres. Up to this distance they may shoot, fight etc. normally. 
  Organisation
  The Adeptus Astra Telepathica is a vast organisation whose central administrative core is based 
  upon Earth. It exists purely to serve the needs of the Imperium, its leaders have no task to 
  perform other than ensuring the network operates as smoothly and efficiently as possible. 
  Because of their very nature, Astropaths often work in cooperation with the other branches of the 
  Adeptus Terra, the Inquisition, fleet, army and Imperial Commanders. Every priesthood temple 
  would have its own staff of Astropaths, relaying and receiving the messages of their masters, 
  gathering and disseminating information throughout the galaxy. 
  Equipment
  Astropaths carry no equipment as a rule - their ability to use most types of equipment is hindered 
  by the fact that they are blind, but they do carry a long white stick or staff. One of the abilities 
  gained during the soid-binding is near sense - an awareness that allows the Astropath to detect 
  nearby objects, to sense (if not exactly see) the world about him. Some Astropaths have 
  mechanical eyes connected directly into their brains, but this is not common - few Astropaths 
  have the money or influence to restore their sight. 
  Uniforms
  Astropaths wear a hooded robe or habit, belted at the waist. Personal possessions are kept in a 
  sling bag, often omamented with religious motifs. The colour adopted by Astropaths as a symbol 
  of their status is green, although a robe will often incorporate several shades of the colour, 
  ranging from pale near-grey to almost black. Astropath Abilites. Astropaths have psychic 
  abilities in exactly the same way as other psykers. In addition they have between 1 and 5 other 
  abilities conferred during the soul-binding. Astropadis always have the Astrotelepathy ability with 
  a 50% chance of having 1-4 other abilities as shown on the following chart. Note that many of 
  these abilities relate to spacecraft and warp travel. They are given here toillustrate the sort of 
  powers available to these powerful psykers. 
  Astrotelepathy
  This is an extremely long-range telepathy that permits Astropaths to receive and transmit 
  
  messages over distances up to 50 thousand light years. The use of this ability is successful only 
  50% of the time. Messages are often distorted or lost. 
  Locate Warp Gate/Portal
  This ability allows the Astropath to locate the position of any warp gate/portal within 10 light 
  years. Within warp space this ability can be used to locate warp portals through to real space 
  10% of the time. Otherwise the ability is always successful, assuming a gate/portal is present. 
  Psychic Beacon
  An Astropath with this ability is able to broadcast a psychic beacon similar to the Astronomican 
  but far less powerful. The range of the signal is a 10 light year radius around the position of the 
  Astropath. Within this sphere of space a Navigator can guide a ship even without access to the 
  Astronomican, beyond the galaxy for example. The ability cannot be used from inside warp 
  space, so an Astropadi on board a spacecraft is unable to provide a signal (although if two ships 
  were making alternate jumps it would be possible for each to derive coordinates from the other). 
  Warp Space Trail
  This ability allows an Astropath to place a psychic homer into the mind of a member of a 
  spacecraft crew. It doesn't matter which crewman is affected, the victim wouldn't even be aware 
  of his predicament. The homer can only be placed from a short distance away (up to 1000 
  kilometres in clear space, but as little as 10 kilometres in a busy spaceport). Once placed the 
  homer lasts for 5-10 days and its signal can be detected within 1000 kilometres by the Astropath. 
  If during this time the ship makes a warp jump the Astropath will be able to sense its destination. 
  Of course, to successfully trail a ship through warp space the trailing craft must remain within 
  1000 kilometres in real space, otherwise the signal will be too weak to follow.
  +++Navigators+++
  Navigators are mutants of a very special kind, and although their appearance can vary a great 
  deal they always have the power to navigate through warp space. Although this is a psychic 
  ability, navigators never have other psychic powers and are no more vulnerable to psychically 
  attuned warp creatures than any normal human. The origin of navigators goes back to the Dark 
  Age of Technology, to a time of genetic experimentation when many kinds of mutants were 
  engineered to fulfill roles envisaged by their creators. Whether navigators were created 
  deliberately or by accident matters little in the Age of the Imperium, they are a fact of life and an 
  important resource.
  The mutation is a consistent one and is passed down from generation to generation. The gene is 
  only transferable when both parents are navigators, so navigators tend to intermarry, forming a 
  number of powerful and influential navigator families. These families are mostly resident on 
  Earth. These is no imperial control over navigators, and many pursue civilian careers as traders. 
  Most gravitate into the ranks of the imperial network however, for these families have a long 
  history of service to humanity. Many past Masters of the Adeptus Terra have come from their 
  ranks, and they occupy positions throughout the Imperium as members of the priesthood, 
  Inquisition, army, fleet, etc. It is in the fleet that their powers can be put to full use, working 
  aboard spacecraft as warp pilots.
  The physical appearance of navigators can vary a great deal, although families tend to resemble 
  each other. Some are identical to ordinary humans and cannot be told apart. However, there is a 
  tendency for navigators to be tall and spindly, and their flesh may have a peculiar transparent 
  quality which is rather disturbing. Eyes may be extremely large and may lack the iris, while other 
  facial features are often small and under developed. Hands and feet can appear ridiculously large 
  and are frequently webbed. Body hair is commonly absent altogether. only an extreme form of 
  navigator would exhibit all of these characteristics, but most have some traits.
  As well as the standard personality types, navigators may also be Space Marines.
  Navigators never have psychic powers.
  Organisation. Navigators are more of a sub-species than an organisation, and they can be found 
  throughout the Adeptus Terra and other imperial bodies. However, each family is very close (and 
  often very large), and different families are often allied by marriage. As such the family 
  organisation can be very important - and a navigator may feel entitled to call upon a relative to 
  'pull a few strings' where possible. Conversely, some families are deadly rivals and open 
  
  hostilities (away from Earth) are not infrequent.
  Equipment. Navigators are individuals, and the equipment they carry will reflect their personal 
  fortune and success as much as anything. Navigators from the more influential families would be 
  on the whole more wealthy and better equipped. Those in imperial service would be equipped 
  accordingly of course.
  Navigators wear civilian clothes, but, as they spend a great deal of time in space, often wear a 
  sealed suit. Their weapons reflect their environment too - powerful blasting weapons could easily 
  damage a spacecraft and are generally avoided. The most convenient weapon to carry, and thus 
  a weapon typically used by the navigator, is the laspistol. Navigators are not usually fighters by 
  inclination.
  A Typical Navigator. The lot of the independent navigator is typified by our friend Lustram 
  Locarno. Lustram has been travelling the spaceways for a decade. Although only 27 he looks far 
  older (years of deep space travel often causes premature ageing). Like most spacers he wears a 
  sealed suit, the helmet of which is fully equipped with auto-senses. He packs a standard laspistol 
  in a conspicuous holster, and another one less obviously tucked into his right boot. His remaining 
  boot is home to a knife. Aside from the communicator built into his helmet, he has another in one 
  of his suit pockets.
  +++Rogue Traders+++
  The Rogue Traders fulfill a vital role within the Imperium as freelance explorers, conquistadors 
  and merchants. A Rogue Trader is a trusted imperial servant, he is given a ship, a crew, a 
  contingent of marines and carte blanche to roam the worlds beyond the Imperium. 
  The Imperium is a vast, scattered realm, extending over almost the entire galaxy, impinging itself 
  upon the more compact areas of alien settled space. The Imperium contains a million inhabited 
  worlds, but even this is but a tiny fraction of the galactic whole. Then there is the eastern fringe, 
  the remote area of the galaxy where the Astronomicon does not reach, and where the only 
  human settlers are renegades or pioneering groups whose ancestors were forgotten millennia 
  ago. Most of the galaxy remains unexplored, unknown and dangerous. 
  The potential of new worlds, alien civilisations and unimaginable resources has stimulated the 
  growth of free-ranging imperial agents known as Rogue Traders. Licensed and equipped by the 
  priesthood, the Rogue Trader is free to explore the far regions of the galaxy, the areas where the 
  Astronomicon does not reach, and those areas within its range as yet unvisited. Rogue Traders 
  have even attempted to cross the void of inter-galactic space, but over such distances even the 
  Astropaths' powers of communication are useless, and whether such missions have succeeded is 
  unknown. Operating in isolation from the central authority of the Imperium, the Rogue Trader 
  must decide how to react to alien cultures, new discoveries and threats. If he judges a race 
  potentially dangerous he may attempt to destroy it, or gather as much information about it as he 
  can so that others may do so. If he decides a race may be of use to humanity he may attempt to 
  make contact and establish relations. If merely technologically or minerally rich, a planet may be 
  plundered, and the Rogue Trader will return to Earth laden with the treasure of space; alien 
  artifacts, rare and precious minerals and undreamed of technology. 
  Needless to say, the Rogue Trader requires a fair compliment of spacecraft, troops and other staff 
  if he is to complete his mission. His total responsibility may extend to a dozen spacecraft, often 
  huge, lumbering cargo vessals crammed with a small army, a full crew of technicians and 
  volunteer settlers to establish colonies on new worlds. Most important, however, are the fighting 
  troops, for it is they who will have to deal with any potential threat. 
  Profile. Rogue Traders are individuals who have reached a position of power within the imperial 
  hierarchy. They come from the ranks of the Adeptus Terra, the Inquisition, army or fleet - a few 
  are influential civilians, amongst whom the navigator families are the most famous. Politics 
  sometimes obliges this course, for free of imperial command the Rogue Trader is also 
  conveniently out of the way, beyond the centre of real power. Rogue Traders have a reputation 
  as outcasts, many are people whom the priesthood deems better kept at a safe distance; 
  vociferous Space Marines leaders, influential Navigators, liberal-minded Inquisitors and rebel 
  Imperial Commanders. A Rogue Trader is an experienced individual. 
  Rogue Traders are frequently possesed of psychic powers, 30% are psykers compared to 5% of 
  
  normal human characters. Non-psychic Rogue Traders may be Navigators, there being a 5% 
  chance of this. 
  Organisation. The Rogue Trader works under instruction from the priesthood - but his is a wide 
  one. Furthermore, once contact with Earth has been lost, the Rogue Trader is effectively 
  independent. 
  Equipment. Equipment can be of any type, often alien or otherwise unavailable within the 
  Imperium. In battle a Rogue Trader would typically appear in powered armour and some sort of 
  armour energy field. Weaponry carried at all times would be at least one pistol weapon, usually a 
  bolter, and a power sword or chainsword. Digital weapons are regarded with high favour too. 
  A Rogue Traders personal equipment is likely to be extensive. The equipment abord ship would 
  include almost all possible things, including vehicles. 
  A typical Rogue Trader. Jan Van Yastobaal enjoyed a successful career in the Administratum 
  before reaching the supreme position of High Lord of Terra. It was old age that finally spurred this 
  tireless warrior into the outer galaxy, where he quickly gained a reputation of being particuarly 
  successful at finding and plundering alien worlds. His suit of powered armour is worn underneath 
  a sleeveless tabard. His helmet is moulded into a horned skull. He carries a stasis field and 
  refractor field defences, and his weaponry includes a bolt pistol, autopistol, laspistol, power sword 
  and three Jakaero digital weapons (1 each of laser, needler and flamer). Additional equipment 
  includes a communicator, bio-scanner, nose filters, photochromatic eye drops, an immune 
  injector, infra-vision contacts, chemicals for the Jakaero needler, a rad-counter, a stimulant 
  chemical, a sys-skin applicator and sufficiant chemical for 3 uses, 3 suspensers and web solvent.
  Retinue. Rogue Traders do not take to the empty voids of space alone - each commands a small 
  fleet, a contingent of warriors, settlers, and all manner of support personnel. With them go 
  supplies to last for several years, vehicles, prefabricated research stations, housing, transport, 
  weaponry, etc. A typical retinue would be an entire company of Space Marines (100 warriors) plus 
  two companies of ordinary imperial troops all with the standard vehicles and auxiliary equipment.
  >>The Galaxy of the 41st Millenium
  +++Worlds of the Galaxy+++
  The galaxy is a vast spiral, ninety thousand light years across and fifteen thousand light years 
  thick, containing four hundred billion stars. Only a fraction of the stars have habitable planetary 
  systems, and only a tiny fraction of these have been investigated by humanity or any other 
  spacefaring race.
  The initial human colonisation of the galaxy lies in the distant past, separated from the present 
  by twenty thousand years of regression and rebuilding. Human worlds are scattered throughout 
  the galaxy but their distribution is not even. The greatest density of human worlds is in the 
  galactic west, close to Earth. In the galactic east, in the area known as the Eastern Fringe, human 
  worlds are few and often far apart.
  Many human worlds benefit from mutual contact and a comparable level of technology. Others 
  have become primitive and barbarous, often as a result of periods of isolation. New human worlds 
  are being discovered all the time, and there remains an unknown number which have been 
  isolated and forgotten for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
  THE IMPERIUM
  Stellar empires cannot really be reckoned in terms of the spatial areas they occupy, but only in 
  terms of the star systems under their control. The Imperium is the largest such empire in the 
  galaxy. The million or more worlds that lie under its dominion are spread throughout the entire 
  galaxy with the exception of the Eastern Fringe. It extends to the limits of the Astronomican, the 
  beacon which its fleets rely on for -navigation. Of course the Imperium does not control all of the 
  star systems within this vast area, nor even the majority of the inhabited systems within its 
  borders. The, galaxy also contains many alien races ruling smaller empires of their own.
  
  The Imperium is ruled from Old Earth. It is governed by a vast bureaucracy known as the Adeptus 
  Terra sometimes referred to simply as The Priesthood. The Adeptus Terra governs the Imperium 
  in the name of the Emperor of Humanity, the Undying Master of Mankind.
  Most of the information about spaceships and space travel in this article refers to the fleets of the 
  Imperium. For more information on the vast, complex and fascinating Empire of Man, see the 
  Warhammer 40,000 rulebook.
  THE EASTERN FRINGE
  The Eastern Fringe lies beyond the Astronomican and so beyond the easy reach of Imperial 
  forces. It is known to contain human planets settled in ancient times as well as many alien worlds. 
  Some of these planets have populations which are feral or barbarous but many shelter highly 
  advanced cultures. Most worlds are self-governing or belong to small independent human or alien 
  empires. Agents of the Imperium are continually exploring the Eastern Fringe, spying out 
  dangers, recruiting allies, and fighting wars beyond the borders of the Imperium itself.
  THE EYE OF TERROR
  The Eye of Terror lies on the edge of the galaxy to the north-west of Earth. It can be plainly seen 
  as a swirl of stars swirling very much like an eye. The Eye of Terror is also the centre of a huge 
  and dangerous warpstorm. It is in fact one of file few places in the galaxy where real space and 
  the warp actually overlap. Following the wars known as the Horus Heresy which were fought at 
  the dawn of Imperial history, rebel forces allied to Warmaster Horus fled into the Eye of Terror 
  after their defeat at the hands of the Emperor and loyal human troops. Their descendants still 
  rule the Eye of Terror. Their prolonged contact with the warp and its inhabitants has changed 
  them utterly: they are no longer human nor wholly sane. They remain amongst the most deadly 
  enemies of the Imperium and humanity.
  WILDERNESS SPACE
  Most of the stars in the galaxy remain unexplored. Whole areas of the galaxy are embroiled 
  within warpstorms and are therefore inaccessible from other areas. Other stars are simply remote 
  and await mapping and codification by the Imperial exploration teams. These largely unknown 
  zones are known as wilderness space or wilderness zones. As warpstorms abate, old wilderness 
  areas are explored, uncovering ancient human settlements as well as alien races and empires. 
  Wilderness zones are spread throughout the galaxy.
  ALIEN WORLDS
  Humanity is but one of many races in the galaxy. However, none are so widely distributed or so 
  numerous as humans. Most occupy only a single world or a small group of worlds. The majority of 
  aliens are comparatively primitive, peaceful or powerless, and of little interest to humanity. Only 
  a few alien races are powerful, aggressive and possess technology which rivals that of the 
  Imperium. Of these, the most common are the Orks, Eldar and Tyranids.
  ORKS
  The Orks are the degenerate descendants of a once-sophisticated spacefaring race. They are 
  brutal and warlike, but retain some of the technological knowledge invented by their forebears. 
  Orks are naturally anarchic and aggressive, fighting constantly amongst themselves as well as 
  against other races. Ork worlds are spread throughout the galaxy in a similar way to those of 
  humans, testifying to a past age of superior technical knowledge.
  Ork Warlords represent a constant and dangerous threat to humanity. Individually they control 
  only a few ships, but there are so many of these petty tyrants that the Imperium is in constant 
  danger from their raids. Their craft are crudely designed and constructed but effective for all that 
  and easily a match for Imperial ships of a similar size.
  ELDAR
  The Eldar are an ancient race that live on giant spacecraft called Craftworlds. These Craftworlds 
  drift through space at sublight speeds. The Eldar travel through space by means of an intricate 
  system of warpgates and tunnels, closed routes through warpspace leading from a Craftworld to 
  either a point in space or a planet. Some gates are quite small and allow an Eldar to literally walk 
  from his Craftworld to another part of the galaxy. Other gates are large, and every Craftworld has 
  at least one warpgate that is large enough to enable spacecraft to enter. It is by this means that 
  Eldar ships travel between the stars - they have no warp drives in the human sense.
  TYRANIDS
  The Tyranid hive mind is an alien entity, a great creature that is formed from countless billions of 
  creatures, a mind that is many linked minds. The Tyranids have travelled to the Imperium in a 
  
  hive fleet from an unimaginably distant galaxy. The hive fleet is a great dark swarm of many 
  millions of individual spacecraft, each a gigantic living thing, a creature fashioned from organic 
  tissue by means of sophisticated genetic manipulation of which the Tyranids are masters.
  The Tyranid Hive Mind hungers for fresh gene-stocks that can be used to create new bio-
  construct creatures and organic machines. Their own galaxy is exhausted, its creatures long 
  since absorbed into the Hive Mind, their flesh turned to machine like purposes or discarded as 
  useless. The Imperium, with its countless billions of humans and other creatures, offers the 
  Tyranids an almost inexhaustible supply of flesh and genes which will invigorate the hive mind 
  and enable it to embody itself in new forms.
  The hive fleet has reached the outer part of the Imperium and the entire south-eastern spiral arm 
  of the galaxy now lies under its dominion. A thousand human worlds have already fallen to the 
  invader, their populations consumed or enslaved by the Tyranids.
  Now the Imperium prepares for war. The weapon shops of Mars turn out ever-more potent 
  machines of death, new spaceships sail from the shipyards of Necromunda, Space Marine 
  chapters muster their fleets and begin the long battle to counter the hive fleet, the vast resources 
  of the Imperial Guard gradually swing into action as millions of men prepare to embark on a war 
  for humanity's very survival.
  INTERPLANETARY TRAVEL
  Hereditary rulers called Imperial Commanders govern the worlds of the Imperium. The Imperial 
  Commander holds his planet on behalf of the Emperor. In return for his oath of loyalty and 
  regular planetary tithes, he controls the planet as if it were his own. The Imperial Commander is 
  free to administrate and defend his planet as he sees fit. Most worlds maintain fleets of 
  interplanetary spacecraft - ships built to operate within their home system and lacking the warp 
  engines needed for travel between stars.
  Interplanetary ships are common on all technically advanced worlds. Even on medieval and feral 
  worlds the planet's governor and his associated staff and warriors would have access to such 
  spacecraft - the general population would remain either ignorant of or completely in awe of 
  spacecraft and technology.
  The Imperial Commander of each system administers interplanetary shipping. Some Imperial 
  Commanders keep a tight leash on all space travel, others are far more lax and allow 
  independent bodies to organise and maintain spacefleets to serve the system. Similarly, while 
  some Imperial Commanders police their systems very thoroughly, others find it impossible or 
  impractical to enforce controls on independent operatives. Some Imperial Commanders 
  undoubtedly collude with anarchic and piratical organisations, trading off the control of planets or 
  asteroids, mining or transport rights, or even defence and policing concessions, in return for 
  personal profit. These Imperial Commanders may maintain that this is the only way they can 
  control their worlds.
  Each planet is responsible for its own defence. Imperial Commanders are obliged to build ground-
  based defences, spaceports, and what defence fleets that can. The number of weapons and ships 
  in any individual system will vary, depending on the enthusiasm of its governor as much as the 
  possible danger. In addition to ships under the control of the Imperial Commander, planets lying 
  in vulnerable positions or having a history of trouble may also have an Imperial Fleet base. 
  Although Fleet ships are independent of those of the Imperial Commander, both would be ready 
  to meet an emergency. Fleet ships may also be stationed in one system so that they can patrol a 
  number of nearby star systems.
  +++Galactic Civilisation+++
  Despite the use of faster than light warp drives, the enormous size of the galaxy means that it 
  remains almost entirely unexplored. Even the Imperium of Man, by far the largest of all stellar 
  empires, contains a very small number of the galaxy's stars. New star systems are constantly 
  being discovered and investigated along with their native creatures, natural resources and alien 
  civilisations. Even so, there is no possibility of humans exhausting the galaxy's potential to 
  provide new worlds for habitation and exploitation.
  
  The spiral arms of the galaxy contain recent stars and gas clouds where new stars are born. It is 
  within these arms that 'he majority of the galaxy's habitable worlds lie, between ten and forty 
  thousand light years from the galactic centre. Earth lies approximately 30 thousand light years 
  from the galactic core in the main western spiral arm.
  Not all human-settled worlds are global conurbations like the Earth. Some are relatively sparsely 
  settled. Different worlds have different social structures, different economies, and different levels 
  of technology. The same is true of alien worlds, although as most aliens are less mobile than 
  humans their worlds tend to be self-supporting and less specialised.
  IMPERIAL COMMANDERS
  Worlds belonging to the Imperium are ruled by a planetary governor called an Imperial 
  Commander. The Imperial Commander may be appointed and replaced by the ruling body of the 
  Imperium, the Administratum, but in almost all cases he is a hereditary ruler whose family was 
  appointed to the governorship hundreds or thousands of years ago. The Imperial Commander is a 
  feudal ruler. He holds his world for the Imperium - in return he must meet his feudal obligations.
  These obligations vary from planet to planet depending on the arrangement made when the 
  ruling family was installed. Common to all these conditions are certain obligations. Imperial 
  Commanders must always help and co-operate with Imperial officials and Inquisitors. They must 
  maintain the rule of the Imperium over their domain. They must provide troops for the Imperial 
  Guard as required by the Departmento Munitorium. They must control psykers within their 
  domain and provide a levy of psykers for the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. And they must pay the 
  tithes set by the Administratum. In other respects Imperial Commanders are free to govern their 
  worlds exactly as they please.
  ISOLATIONISM
  A major factor in the social, economic and technical development of human and alien worlds is 
  the relative isolation of each solar system. Interstellar travel is not rare, but the vastness of the 
  galaxy means that most worlds are distant and sometimes difficult to reach. The continual threat 
  of warpstorms sometimes results in worlds being cut off for indeterminate periods of time and 
  sometimes for good. In the Imperium, interstellar shipping remains the preserve of the Adeptus 
  Terra. Imperial Commanders ultimately rely upon the Imperium for external contact. Due to all of 
  these factors most settled worlds are insular. Their inhabitants may well acknowledge the 
  existence of the Imperium, but this is hardly apparent in their daily lives.
  TYPES OF SETTLEMENT
  Civilised Worlds
  The majority of human and advanced alien worlds may be described as civilised - although the 
  term refers to their urban landscapes rather than to any pretence of social decorum. These are 
  worlds with large but balanced populations centred in large cities. They are self-supporting 
  worlds where factories turn out the majority of their needs, and carefully managed farms produce 
  sufficient food to feed the inhabitants.
  Agricultural Worlds
  These are little more than farming planets where most of the world's surface is given over to 
  producing food. The food they produce is shipped to the hungry hive worlds and the 
  technological materials they require are imported in return. These worlds are difficult to protect 
  from food pirates and interstellar raiders. It has been known for rival Imperial Commanders to 
  raid and steal grain and cattle barges from each other. The resulting skirmishes sometimes break 
  out into hill-scale war.
  Industrial Worlds
  These are factory planets given over to manufacture or mining. They are sparsely populated as 
  most functions are accomplished mechanically. Only worlds possessing quantities of rare 
  material are really worth developing in this way. Like agricultural worlds, they are difficult to 
  defend.
  Hive Worlds
  Hives are huge urban conglomerations which can stretch across continents and which may reach 
  miles into the sky. A planet may comprise many individual hives divided by areas of polluted 
  waste - in some cases the world is completely built-up forming a single planet-wide hive. Hive 
  worlds have huge, unmanageable populations and rely upon constant recycling to produce food. 
  Such planets are usually rife with anarchic and destructive forces and as a result provide the 
  richest source of fighting men for the Imperial Guard.
  
  Medieval Worlds
  Many re-discovered human worlds have regressed to a social and technological status usually 
  described as medieval. When these worlds are absorbed into the Imperium they do not change 
  much. There is little point in bringing technology to a society which is getting on perfectly well 
  without it.
  Feral Planets
  Feral planets contain long-isolated populations where society has declined into complete 
  savagery. Feral planets have a technological basis which is sub-medieval and often stone age. 
  The Imperium regards the populations of such worlds as harmless but useless. The worlds may be 
  explored and exploited for mineral wealth or settlement potential, in which case the natives may 
  have to be controlled or exterminated.
  Death Worlds
  These are planets which are simply too dangerous to support human settlement. They vary a 
  great deal in type. Typical worlds may be world-wide jungles which harbour man-eating plants 
  and carnivorous animals, or barren rockscapes strewn with volcanoes and wracked by nuclear 
  storms. These worlds are impossible to settle but must be properly explored which necessitates 
  the provision of outposts and other facilities.
  Research Stations
  Worlds which contain no significant sentient population are often used by research units where 
  dangerous experiments can be conducted into new aspects of technology. Perhaps the most 
  common type is a Breeding Unit where local wildlife undergoes domestication and evaluation for 
  food potential.
  PLANETARY DEFENCE
  Each planet is responsible for its own defence. Imperial Commanders are obliged to build ground-
  based defences, spaceports, and what defence fleets that can. The number of weapons and ships 
  in any individual system will vary, depending on the enthusiasm of its governor as much as 
  possible danger.
  In addition to ships under the control of the Imperial Commander, planets lying in vulnerable 
  positions or having a history of trouble may also have a Fleet base. Although Fleet ships are 
  independent of those of the Imperial Commander, both would be ready to meet an emergency. 
  Fleet ships may also be stationed in one system so that they can patrol a number of nearby star 
  systems.
  Ships built by Imperial Commanders are pure interplanetary craft with no warp drives. Fleet patrol 
  ships would of course be interstellar ships with warp drives but they'd also have many small 
  interplanetary ships operating from the launch bays built into their hulls.
  In times of war or danger, fleet ships from all over a sector may be diverted from their normal 
  duties to form a Battlefleet. Rarely is it necessary to divert ships from other sectors, nor would it 
  be worth moving vast numbers of ships just to defend a solitary world. A common Imperial ploy is 
  to let a world fall, knowing that it can easily be retaken once sufficient craft can be mobilised. 
  This is not a popular tactic with the populations of such planets, but spacecraft are valuable and 
  difficult to replace whereas humanity is prolific.
  SUB-STELLAR SHIPS
  The vast majority of spacecraft in the Imperium are sub-stellar ships which travel only within the 
  confines of their own star system. The laws governing the ownership and operating of sub-stellar 
  ships are the concern of the Imperial Commander of each system. The Imperial authorities take 
  no great interest in what happens on this, galactically-speaking, tiny level.
  Sub-stellar ships divide into many kinds, from warships to industrial craft.
  Warships
  Most space warfare centres around planets, installations and other important targets within a 
  solar system. It is therefore sensible to maintain sub-stellar craft in the proximity of vulnerable 
  systems. These craft may be Fleet vessels operating out of a fleet base, or they may be vessels 
  belonging to the Imperial Commander of the system.
  Cargo Ships
  If a system has several inhabited planets it will need cargo ships of one kind or another. These 
  may be owned and run by the planetary government or by private individuals, cartels or 
  companies. Most systems would have both government-controlled and privately-owned craft.
  Industrial Ships
  
  These include all manner of ships used for maintenance, manufacture and mining, owned by 
  governmental or private groups in the same way as cargo ships.
  Research Ships
  Very few systems are fully explored - there are always parts of a solar system which are 
  uninvestigated. The exact nature of research or exploration varies from system to system. A 
  common ship of this type is the mineral prospecto which investigates potential mining areas.
  Space Stations
  It is not always possible to build bases or docking facilities on planets or asteroids, so space 
  stations may be constructed instead. These are huge craft which provide all the facilities normally 
  available on a planet.
  Beacons
  Beacons are small space stations. They serve three functions. Firstly they act as navigational 
  beacons by broadcasting a local signal. Secondly, they monitor passing spacecraft, sending 
  information regarding size, course and registration signal. Thirdly, they act as emergency refuges 
  where the crews of crippled ships can survive until they can be rescued. Beacons usually have a 
  small crew, although some are entirely automated. The position and number of beacons in a 
  system varies from none at all to hundreds.
  +++Interstellar Travel+++
  Without space travel mankind would have died millennia ago in the poisoned desolation of 
  earth's sterile deserts. Today, interstellar spaceships form a frail lifeline enabling humanity to 
  survive amongst the stars. The defence of the Imperium, trade, communications and transport 
  are each dependent upon interstellar travel and ultimately upon interstellar spaceships.
  Interstellar spaceships are equipped with warp drives enabling them to travel between the stars. 
  A few of these craft are owned by Imperial Commanders, Navigator families or other independent 
  organisations or individuals. The vast majority belong to and are controlled by the 
  Administratum, the administrative branch of the Adeptus Terra. All legally operating human 
  ships, whether owned by the Imperium or not, are registered and policed by the Administratum.
  THE WARP
  An understanding of interstellar travel requires some knowledge of the warp. The material 
  universe is just one aspect of reality. There is a quite separate and co-existing immaterial 
  universe. This is commonly known as the Warp or warpspace, also known as Chaos, the 
  otherworld, the ether, the empyrean, the void and the immaterium. The study and exploitation of 
  the warn is the aim of warp technology, the most important achievement of which is warp travel.
  Warpspace may be explained in terms of an endlessly broad and infinitely deep sea of raw 
  energy. This energy carries within it the random thoughts, unfettered emotions, memory 
  fragments and unshakeable beliefs of those who live in the material universe. In this sense it is 
  the collective mind of the universe itself. It would be overly simple to claim that this is all there is 
  to the warp, but the image is a useful mental tool which helps us to understand it.
  THE PRINCIPLE OF WARP TRAVEL
  A spacecraft drops into the warp by activating its warp engines. As a ship leaves the material 
  universe it enters a corresponding point in warpspace. The ship is then carried along by the tides 
  and currents of the warp.
  After travelling in this fashion for an appropriate time, the ship uses its warp engines to drop back 
  into real space. Because the material universe and the warp move relative to each other, the ship 
  reappears in a new position several light years from its starting point. This process is called a 
  jump or hop and the process of entering or leaving warpspace is known as a drop or shift. 
  Journeys are undertaken in short jumps of up to 4 or 5 light years. Longer jumps are 
  unpredictable and dangerous. The tides of warpspace move in complex and inconsistent patterns 
  and ships attempting longer hops often end up wildly off course.
  this limitation to apply to all warp travel then humanity wOirId not have spread throughout the 
  galaxy as it has. It is misible to make long jumps of many light years by steering a within the 
  warp itself - sensing, responding to and exploiting its currents and thereby directing the craft 
  towards corresponding point in the material universe. Only the wige human mutants known as 
  Navigators can pilot a craft through the warp in this way.
  
  Some people are sensitive to the movements of warpspace. They can, for example, sometimes 
  tell that a spacecraft is approaching even 'before it drops back into the material universe. This 
  human sensitivity to the warp is not generally well developed. However, in a minority of people 
  this sensitivity is far more finely tuned. These people are known as psykers and they are able to 
  consciously control and use the energy of the warp to affect the material universe. Navigators are 
  powerful psykers of a specialised kind who can use their powers to steer spacecraft in the warp.
  THE ASTRONOMICAN AND THE WARP
  The Astronomican is a psychic homing signal centred upon the Earth. It is powered by the 
  continuous mental concentration of thousands of psykers. The Astronomican cannot be detected 
  in the real universe but only in the warp. It is by means of this signal that Navigators can steer 
  their spaceships over long distances.
  The Astronomican's signal is strongest close to Earth and gets increasingly weaker further away. 
  It extends over a spherical area with a diameter of about 50 thousand light years. Because the 
  Earth is situated in the galactic west, the Astronomican does not cover the extreme eastern part 
  of the galaxy. Nor is the extent or strength of the signal constant - it can sometimes be blocked 
  by localised activity within the warn itself. Such activity may be compared to the hurricanes or 
  storms of a terrestrial weather system and is known as a warpstorm. Warpstorms may be so had, 
  and so long-lasting, that entire star systems are isolated for hundreds of years at a time.
  A warpstorm not only obscures the signal of the Astronomican, it is also dangerous for spacecraft 
  travelling nearby. No spacecraft can venture within a warpstorm and expect to survive, although 
  there are tales of miraculous escapes and of ships being thrown tens of thousands of light years 
  off course. Warpstorms are not the only dangers within the warp. There are sentient energies and 
  other immaterial life-forms that inhabit it: creatures formed from (and part of) the shifting stuff of 
  the warn. Few are friendly and many are hostile. They are known to mankind as daemons.
  TIME DISPLACEMENT
  The time differences between real space and warpspace are quite drastic. Not only does time 
  pass at different rates in both kinds of space, but it also passes at very variable rates. Until a ship 
  finishes its jump, it is impossible for a ship's crew to know exactly how long their journey has 
  taken. Time passing in real space is referred to as real time. Time passing on board a spacecraft 
  is referred to as warp time. For example, a 100 light year jump will seem to take from 234 to 934 
  hours to a spaceship's crew, but between 3 days and 3 weeks will have passed in real space. 
  These times do not include journey times out to and from jump points on the edge of the star 
  systems. It takes from days to weeks of travel at sub-light speeds to reach a drop from the 
  spaceship's starting planet, and a similar time to re-enter the destination system.
  The Imperium is approximately 75 thousand light years from edge to edge. A journey of this 
  length would take between 75 and 300 days in warp time, and between 6 years and 40 years real 
  time.
  WARP NAVIGATION
  Once a spacecraft activates its warp drives it is plunged into a dimension very different from our 
  universe. It is convenient to imagine warpspace as consisting of a relatively dense, almost liquid, 
  energy which is devoid of stars, light and life as we know it.
  Once within warpspace a ship may move by means of its main warp drives, following powerful 
  eddies and currents in the warp, eventually reaching a point in the warp corresponding to a 
  destination in real space. The most difficult aspect of warp travel is that it is impossible to detect 
  the movement of warpspace once a ship is in the warp. The ship can only blindly carry on, its 
  crew trusting that it is going in the right direction. The longer a ship remains in warpspace the 
  greater the chances of encountering some unexpected current that can turn it unknowingly off-
  course.
  Navigation of warpspace can be achieved in two ways: the calculated jump and the piloted jump.
  All warp-drives incorporate navigational mechanisms. When the ship is in real space, these 
  monitor the ever shifting movements of the part of the warp corresponding to the ship's current 
  position. By observing these movements in the warp it is possible to calculate a course, 
  corrective manoeuvres, and approximate journey time to a proposed destination. Calculation 
  relies on the assumption that the 'warp-currents observed from real space don't change 
  significantly during flight. This method is known as a calculated jump. It is not safe to make a 
  calculated jump of more than four or five light years at one go. The longer the jump, the greater 
  the chances of a significant change in warp current movement.
  
  The second, and more efficient, form of warp-navigation is the piloted jump. This method relies 
  upon two factors: the human mutants known as Navigators and the psychic beacon called the 
  Astronomican. The Astronomican is centred on Earth and is not only controlled by, but is directed 
  by, the psychic power of the Emperor himself. The Astronomican is a beacon that, because it is 
  psychic, penetrates into warpspace. A Navigator on board a ship in the warp is able to pick up 
  these signals and can steer a spaceship through warpspace, compensating for current changes 
  as he does so. A piloted jump can safely cover a far greater distance than a calculated jump. 
  5,000 light years would be the normal maximum jump, but longer jumps have been made.
  IMPERIAL SPACESHIPS
  The whole structure of the Imperium is founded upon the craft that transport its armies and 
  officials across the galaxy. It is the fleets that carry vital food to the starving hive-worlds, and 
  which bring technology and equipment to the agricultural planets. Without its fleets the Imperium 
  would soon collapse and humanity would perish in many parts of the galaxy.
  Interstellar craft may be privately owned but most operate on behalf of one of the Imperial 
  organisations. Of these, the Imperial Fleet is the largest, numbering tens of thousands of 
  warships and hundreds of thousands of cargo vessels of varying sizes. In addition to its 
  spacecraft, the Fleet maintains military spaceports, space stations, mining and factory ships, 
  various orbital research stations and countless unmanned orbiting spaceships that serve as early 
  warning, exploration and research satellites.
  So vast is the Imperium that the Fleet is divided into five main sections, each functioning as an 
  independent administrative unit (although they co-operate whenever it's necessary). Most of the 
  higher levels of Fleet command come directly from the ranks of the Priesthood - principally from 
  the Administratum. The overall fleet commander is also a High Lord of Terra and resident on 
  Earth.
  The Priesthood also maintains a small number of its own ships. Some of these reside permanently 
  on the Imperial planet, whilst others are scattered throughout the galaxy, transporting Imperial 
  servants on missions of the greatest importance or secrecy. A further corps of ships lies under the 
  direct control of the Adeptus Arbites, the Judges, to he used for transportation and war.
  The Space Marines have their own interstellar transports and battlefleets. Although not large in 
  numbers these are manned by the most ferocious and highly-trained warriors in the galaxy. Each 
  Space Marine chapter has sufficient ships to act as a spacebound home base, including 
  equipment transports and landing craft Space Marine Commanders are at liberty to purchase 
  craft or capture enemy craft and use them how they will. Individual chapters use their own colour 
  schemes and markings and their ships are immediately identifiable.
  Other interstellar craft form a minority. The small exploratory fleets of the Rogue Traders may 
  number as many as two hundred ships at one time, but are scattered beyond the fringes of 
  human space. Other Imperial organisations, such as the Officio Assassinorum, also have access to 
  interstellar craft, but the details of these ships are well-guarded secrets.
  Interstellar ships in private hands make up a fairly small fraction of the total. In addition there are 
  space stations, mines and factory craft also owned by individuals, corporations or mercantile 
  families but these are a rarity. As far as interstellar travel is concerned, the Imperium is all-
  powerful and ships not controlled by the Imperium are only permitted to exist because their 
  owners are co-operative and useful.
  The most noteworthy privately-owned ventures are the great mercantile families of Navigators. 
  Even the largest of these owns a relatively small number of craft, but in terms of real wealth this 
  represents a huge investment. Most of these ships are ancient - family possessions nurtured and 
  maintained over die millennia - but they are generally large and well built.
  THE SEGMENTAE MAJORIS
  The Imperium is divided into five fleet zones known as the Segmentae Majoris. Although intended 
  for purposes of fleet administration and shipping controls, the Segmentae have evolved into 
  administrative divisions of the Adeptus Terra.
  All shipping is supervised within the jurisdiction of one of the five Segmentae. Each Segmentum 
  has an orbital headquarters called a Segmentum Fortress which forms the base of fleet actions 
  within the Segmentum. The Segmentum Fortress is controlled directly by a high-ranking official of 
  the Administratum known as the Master of the Segmentum.
  Zone Segmentum Fortress
  Central Segmentum Sola Mars
  
  North Segmentum Obscurus Cypra Mundi
  South Segmentum Tempestus Bakka
  East Ultima Segmentum Kar Duniash
  West Segm&ntum Pacificus Hydraphur
  Sectors
  Each Segmentum is divided into sectors. The size of a Sector varies according to local demands 
  and stellar density. A typical sector might encompass 7 million cubic light years, equivalent to a 
  cube with sides almost 200 light years long.
  Sub-Sectors
  Sectors are divided into sub-sectors, usually comprising between 2 and 8 star systems within a 
  10 light year radius (some may encompass more systems - others only 1). This size is governed 
  by the practical patrol ranges of spaceships. Because sub-sectors are divisions of worlds (rather 
  than volumes of space) there are vast numbers of star systems within each sector which do not 
  fall within a sub-sector. These are referred to as inter sectors - and are commonly known as 
  wilderness zones, forbidden zones, empty space and frontier space. Inter-sectors may contain 
  gas or dust nebulae, inaccessible areas, alien systems, unexplored systems, uninhabited systems 
  and uninhabitable worlds.
  THE FLEET
  The Imperium's interstellar ships comprise merchant vessels, warships, civil craft and several 
  other specialised types. These are organised into specific fleets: merchant fleets, warfleets, and 
  civil fleets. Each of the Segmentae Majoris has its own merchant, civil and warfleets. So for 
  example, the Warfleet Solar is the Warfleet of the Segmentum Solar, the Merchant Pacificus is the 
  merchant fleet of the Segmentum Pacificus, the Civilis Tempestus is the civil fleet of the 
  Segmentum Tempestus and so on.
  THE MERCHANT FLEETS
  The combined merchant fleets comprise almost 90% of all interstellar spacecraft in the Imperium. 
  Each fleet is based in one of the five Segmentae Majoris, and its administrative staff operate from 
  the Segmentum Fortress. For example, the Solar fleet is based on Mars, while the fleet of the 
  northern zone -the Segmentum Obscurus - is based on Cypra Mundi. Although these fleet bases 
  are huge ports equipped with docks, shipyards and repair facilities, their main function is to 
  administrate the fleets operating within their area. Only a small proportion of ships ever travel to 
  the Segmentum Fortress where they are theoretically based.
  Each merchant ship serves its fleet under an arrangement called a merchant charter. Not all 
  charters are the same - some confer more power and responsibility to the ship's captain than 
  others - but all types take the form of a feudal oath sworn to the fleet authorities on behalf of the 
  Emperor. A captain may not register his vessel with the fleet authorities until this oath has been 
  sworn and a record of it entered at the Segmentum Fortress for that zone and on the Segmentum 
  Fortress on Mars.
  CIVIL FLEETS
  Although the vast majority of interstellar spacecraft are part of the merchant fleets, there are 
  several thousand ships registered to individuals, families or trading cartels. All privately owned 
  interstellar craft operate along routes licensed to them by the fleet authorities responsible for 
  shipping within that Segmentum. These route licences must be bought, and must be renewed 
  after a fixed time, usually a hundred years. This means few privately-owned ships like to risk the 
  effects of time dilation on long journeys. A licence may run out before the ship has completed its 
  journey!
  Civil fleets vary in size from a single vessel to several dozen. One of the largest is that of the 
  Navigator family Redondo, numbering 47 registered interstellar ships. Most ship owners have 
  only a single vessel.
  +++The Astronomican+++
  The Astronomican is the psychic homing beacon that allows Navigators to traverse warpspace. It 
  is the duty of the Adeptus Astronomica to maintain the Astronomican. To this end the 
  organisation recruits a proportion of the young psykers collected by the psychic levy of the 
  Adeptus Astra Telepathica. This is the main source of recruitment for the Adeptus Astronomica 
  
  and consequently the vast majority of its senior members are psykers. A smaller proportion of its 
  staff are not psykers, but are drawn from the ranks of those slave-families which have provided 
  menial workers for the Adeptus for thousands of years.
  The Adeptus Astronomica is a small organisation based in a remote complex known as the 
  Forbidden Fortress. Uninvited access to the Fortress is not permitted - even Judges and Inquisitors 
  must seek permission before they can enter.
  The Forbidden Fortress is built in a sheltered crag near the tip of a vast mountain range in a land 
  once known as Nepal. To outside appearances the mountains remain unchanged by the hand of 
  man but in fact the Forbidden Fortress extends deep down into the rock and throughout the 
  entire mountain range.
  The leader of the Adeptus Astronomica is the Master of the Astronomican. His task is to oversee 
  the organisation and to represent it on the Senatorum Imperialis as a High Lord of Terra. The 
  object of the Adeptus Astronomica is to teach and train young psykers so that they can serve in 
  the Astronomican.
  The organisation is really a vast teaching institution controlled by a class of older members 
  known as Instructors. Some Instructors are accorded the title High Instructor and entrusted with 
  the guardianship of certain aspects of the organisation's teaching. Its day-to-day affairs such as 
  maintenance and provisioning are taken care of by a body of administrative functionaries.
  Young psykers are initiated as Acolytes. They are taught how to control and use their powers in 
  much the same way as psykers taken by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, but in addition they are 
  introduced to the Lore of the Astronomican. They learn the value of their lives, study philosophy 
  and are gradually brought to an inner understanding of the universe and the nature of the warp.
  Only those who achieve this mystic state can become members of the Chosen, those who will 
  give their psychic energy to the Astronomican. The rest, those whose studies fall short of this 
  ideal, remain within the organisation and become Instructors or are absorbed as administrative 
  functionaries of the Forbidden Fortress.
  THE CHOSEN
  The pinnacle of an Acolyte's existence is to be selected as one of the Chosen. This is a considered 
  a great honour. The Chosen are regarded as occupying a unique and rarefied level of existence 
  far beyond that of the Instructors or even the Master of the Astronomican. The Chosen's head is 
  shaved and he wears yellow robes and the scarlet badge of the Chosen. The rest of his life is 
  spent in prayer and contemplation, until he is called to serve in the Chamber of the 
  Astronomican.
  THE CHAMBER OF THE ASTRONOMICAN
  The Chamber of the Astronomican is a huge hollow sphere carved from a single mountain peak. 
  Its outward form is a giant dome, the lower half of the sphere being buried under the rock. Ten 
  thousand multi-tiered seats cover the entire inner surface of the sphere. Each seat faces the very 
  centre of the sphere where a raw ball of psychic energy dances in space.
  This ball of energy is created by the Chosen as they release their powers into the Astronomican. 
  In this way their psychic power is drained into the energy-ball and then through the warp, 
  directed by the mind of the Emperor himself. As the energy of the Chosen is drained away they 
  slowly fade and die. The average psyker lasts for about three months - about 100 die every day 
  and their places are taken by new Chosen.
  +++Stellar Fleets+++
  The Imperium's interstellar ships comprise merchant vessels, warships, civil craft and several 
  other specialised types. These are organised into three specific fleets: merchant fleets, civil fleets 
  and warfleets. Each of the Segmentae Majoris has its own merchant, civil and warfleets.
  So for example, the Warfleet Solar is the warfleet of the Segmentum Solar, the Merchant Pacificus 
  is the merchant fleet of the Segmentum Pacificus, and the Civilis Tempestus is the civil fleet of 
  the Segmentum Tempestus.
  SEGMENTAE REGISTRATION
  All interstellar spacecraft are registered as belonging to one or more of the Segmentae fleets. 
  Registration allows a ship to be identified, and permits the fleet authorities to record and 
  administrate shipping within each of the Segmentae.
  
  A ship which is not registered in a Segmentum may only travel to that Segmentum with the 
  special permission of the fleet authorities. This is purely an identification measure. An 
  unidentified and unregistered ship is assumed to be hostile, and would be attacked and 
  destroyed.
  MERCHANT CHARTERS
  Each merchant ship serves its fleet under an arrangement called a merchant charter. The 
  different types of charter are described below. They all take the form of a feudal oath sworn to 
  the fleet authorities on behalf of the Emperor. A captain may not register his vessel with the fleet 
  authorities until this oath has been sworn and a record of it entered at the Segmentum Fortress 
  for that zone and on the Segmentum Fortress on Mars.
  Hereditary Free Charter
  This is the most coveted and most highly honoured form of captaincy. It is also the most ancient. 
  A hereditary free captain nominates his successor, and that successor swears the oath of 
  allegiance and thereby becomes the new captain of the ship when its current captain dies or 
  retires.
  The captain is 'free' in that he may trade freely within the Segmentum where his fleet is based. 
  Many of these old captaincies are based in all five of the Segmentae Majoris. Although the 
  hereditary free captain is theoretically an Imperial servant, his obligations are few. The ship may 
  trade where and how it pleases within the confines of its charter.
  Hereditary Charter
  Hereditary captains may pass their ships to favoured, or related, successors as described above. 
  As well as inheriting a ship, the captain inherits a route or routes, and can only carry cargo and 
  passengers along this route. Some routes are more profitable than others and so are more highly 
  regarded.
  Free Charter
  Free captains are appointed to command individual vessels by fleet officials. They are usually 
  established fleet officials themselves, having worked their way up the ranks to a position of 
  responsibility. Free captains may trade as they wish within the Segmentae, except they are 
  usually forbidden from trading along established routes. Instead, they roam the less-densely 
  populated sectors, areas where regular services are either not needed or would be too costly to 
  run.
  Fleet Charter
  A fleet captain is appointed to his position in exactly the same way as a free captain, but plies 
  fixed routes like the hereditary captain. This is the least prestigious level of interstellar captaincy, 
  and is also the least secure. A fleet captain may be deprived of his command and given a shore 
  posting at anytime, his ship reassigned to someone else.
  A Typical Charter
  A typical example of a merchant charter is the cargo ship Amaranthus which has been captained 
  by the Sorensen family over the last nine thousand years. It is one of the oldest ships in the 
  Merchant Ultima fleet, with a hereditary free charter registered in the 32nd millennium. The ship 
  has undergone several major rebuilds since that time, the last being two hundred years ago. The 
  Sorensen family has amassed a considerable fortune in its time, and now owns a number of 
  interstellar craft.
  CIVIL FLEETS
  The civil fleets contain privately-owned interstellar craft operating along routes licensed by the 
  fleet authorities. Civil fleets usually bid for route licences as they come up, the route going to the 
  fleet prepared to pay the most for it. This system enables the Imperium to maintain routes which, 
  for whatever reason, it finds inconvenient to service from its own craft. It is also a good way of 
  raising revenue. As well as route voyages, the fleet administration also issues one-off licences for 
  single trips. Many of the smaller fleets manage to survive entirely in a hand-to-mouth fashion 
  reliant upon one-off licences.
  Exactly who captains a civil ship is entirely up to the owners. In many cases the owner is the 
  captain. With the larger fleets, the owners appoint a captain who is effectively an employee.
  FLEET ORGANISATION
  The three fleets of each of the Segmentae Majoris are organised and administered by the fleet 
  authorities in that Segmentum. This organisation is part of the Administratum -the great 
  bureaucracy of Earth and government of the Emperor. The officials of the individual fleets are 
  
  responsible in their turn to Segmentae fleet officials, who are responsible to the administration of 
  the Segmentum as a whole. The highest official in each Segmentum is its Lord Commander and 
  of these the Lord Commander of the Segmentum Solar is the foremost, often taking his place as 
  one of the High Lords of Terra.
  The following list briefly outlines the important ranks in the organisation of a Segmentum's 
  warfleet (often also known as the naval fleet).
  Warfleet Commander
  The highest ranking of the military officers is the Warfleet Commander. He is in charge of the 
  entire naval contingent of a Segmentum, numbering many thousands of warships. There are only 
  five Warfleet Commanders, one for each of the Segmentae Majoris. They rank equally, although 
  command of the Warfleet Solar is generally regarded as the most prestigious position.
  The Warfleet Commander formulates the naval fleet strategy throughout the entire Segmentum, 
  overseeing repair schedules, supervising construction programs and ensuring the general space-
  worthiness of the fleet. His personal staff is divided into armament, maintenance, design, 
  construction and a thousand other working committees.
  Space Commanders
  Under the Warfleet Commander are individual Space Commanders responsible for naval 
  operations within each sector. The Space Commander is based at the Sector Fortress, along with 
  other sector-level administrative staff of the Administratum and other branches of the Adeptus 
  Terra. He must answer not only to his naval superior, the Warfleet Commander, but also to the 
  Adeptus Sector Commander in overall charge of the sector.
  The Space Commander has direct command of a portion of the Segmentum's warfleet. A typical 
  command comprises about 50 interstellar ships, although the number would obviously vary 
  depending upon the needs of the sector. Fifty ships is very few when you consider that a typical 
  sector has between 30 and 40 thousand stars forming a cube with sides approximately 200 light 
  years long!
  These warships are divided up into patrol vessels, ships on permanent station in one star system 
  and the reserve fleet. The reserve fleet is usually stationed at the Sector Fortress.
  Group Commanders
  Group Commanders are in charge of a portion of a sector's fleet. They are sometimes based 
  around the Sector Fortress or, more often, on one of the permanently-manned docking stations in 
  one of the sub-sectors. Group Commanders are responsible for patrolling and keeping order 
  within sub-sectors and inter-sectors around their base.
  A typical command consists of a sub-sector base, non-combatant staff and a couple of squadrons 
  of ships. One squadron is usually a patrol squadron, while the other is held in reserve to meet 
  specific threats.
  Group commanders often serve as Battlefleet Commanders when the need arises. The Battlefleet 
  is a temporary force, summoned to meet a single crisis or defeat a particular enemy. It usually 
  consists of spaceships from only two or three neighbouring sub-sectors at most. The Battlefleet 
  Commander is generally the most senior of the Group Commanders whose warships are involved 
  in the battle.
  Squadron Commanders
  A Squadron Commander is in charge of a squadron of spaceships. He is also a ship Captain and 
  leads his squadron from the bridge of the ship he commands. A typical squadron might be three 
  spacecraft of which the Commander's ship is one.
  While the Battlefleet Commander dictates the overall tactics of the force, the Squadron 
  Commander's task is to make decisions about the formation and manoeuvres of the spaceships 
  he leads.
  Captains
  Captains are in charge of individual ships. In terms of fleet organisation, they are the lowest 
  ranking officers - on their own ships, they are absolute commanders. On a spaceship that is vast 
  beyond belief, crewed by tens of thousands of men and women, the Captain's position is one of 
  huge prestige and honour. To the spaceship's crew, far distant from the higher organisation of 
  the fleet, their Captain is the voice of the Emperor and the symbol of supreme power in their ship-
  bound lives.
  ILLEGAL SHIPPING
  The Imperium is large - large enough to hide in if you really want to! The Administratum has a 
  
  great deal of control over interstellar shipping one way or another but, even so, there are 
  illegally-operating interstellar craft. These ships are owned and operated by unregistered 
  merchants, smugglers and even by pirates. They are taking a grave risk, because any 
  unregistered ship is automatically assumed to be hostile by naval forces.
  All illegal ships are at a considerable disadvantage compared to registered vessels. Navigators 
  are, on the whole, loyal citizens. They are also quite rare. Interstellar travel without a Navigator is 
  relatively slow because the maximum distance a ship can jump is only four or five light years 
  compared to five thousand. There are navigators who will work on board illegal ships, but they 
  are few and far between. The vast majority of illegal interstellar shipping is therefore locally-
  based, usually operating within a group of close sub-sectors or from peripheral inter-sectors.
  UNREGISTERED SHIPS
  There are many reasons why a captain may be tempted to run an illegal ship Planets all have 
  local laws governing what can and can't be imported and exported. Some planetary governments 
  also charge an import duty or have complex quarantine laws. The cargoes and passengers of 
  official ships are always carefully checked and recorded. Many routes are the property of 
  hereditary captains or are operated exclusively under a fleet charter.
  There are all sorts of people, including Imperial Commanders, who may wish to circumvent one or 
  other of these obstacles. Even registered ships may be tempted to break the law occasionally if 
  the price is right, but they run a far greater risk because their craft are very easily identified and 
  traced.
  A typical unregistered ship operates out of a hidden supply dump near the solar-system's jump 
  point. It would be foolish for the captain to bring his ship into the solar system itself, so cargoes 
  are ferried to the supply dump by sub-stellar ships. The location of die ship's dump must be kept 
  secret, and it is often necessary for a captain to change the base's location every few months. An 
  Imperial Commander may take a lax attitude to illegal shipping if it suits his purposes to do so. 
  The illegal trader's greatest enemy is treachery!
  PIRATE SHIPS
  Interstellar pirate ships operate in a similar way to unregistered traders, but their intentions are 
  far more sinister. Few Imperial Commanders will tolerate pirates in their System, so most pirate 
  bases are within otherwise uninhabited Systems. Some pirates operate exclusively against 
  registered shipping, others are indiscriminate in their choice of victim. Pirates and unregistered 
  traders often collaborate, sharing information and sometimes using the same facilities.
  pirate's usual mode of operation is to lie in wait just inside a system's jump point. If the target is 
  leaving the system, the chances are that any accompanying sub-stellar craft will have turn back 
  by now. The pirate leaps upon the craft, aiming to board and remove the cargo before the ship 
  jumps. Although a pirate could attack and destroy a cargo vessel, little would be accomplished 
  doing so.
  ENEMY RAIDERS
  Mm are interstellar craft belonging to enemy forces. Of ~m, exaedy whose enemy they are 
  depends on whose side m Ut on! Imperial Commanders are prone to quarrel with their 
  neighbours. In these quarrels one side may be prepared to hire illegal ships, even pirates, to 
  attack and destroy a rival's shipping. Such fights are common, but are directed mainly against 
  sub-stellar craft belonging to the foe. It would be extremely stupid for an Imperial Commander to 
  attack Imperial fleet vessels - to do so would invite immediate and uncompromising retribution. 
  Needless to say, mistakes do happen, and Imperial Commanders often find themselves on the 
  wrong end of an Imperial Planetary Assault unit.
  The other enemy raiders encountered by Imperial fleets are those of alien races, foremost 
  amongst which are the Orks, Eldar and Tyranids. Most battles with aliens are relatively small-
  scale conflicts with only a few spaceships on either side. Sometimes a major war will break out 
  with large battles fought between powerful fleets. The war may spread across several 
  neighbouring star systems and might take years or decades to resolve.
  By far the largest war currently underway is against the Tyranid Hive Fleet Kraken. The Tyranid 
  fleet threatens every race in the galaxy as it literally consumes the populations of the planets it 
  conquers in its insatiable progress. Already the south-eastern arm of the galaxy has fallen to the 
  Tyranids.
  Also within the category of enemy raiders are the Chaos fleets. These are manned by the Traitors 
  who fled to the Eye of Terror at the end of the great civil war known as the Horns Heresy. For ten 
  
  thousand years, the degenerate remnants of those banished from the Imperium have fought a 
  constant war against mankind. They regularly launch raids into Imperial space and, less 
  frequently, larger invasions.
  +++Warfleets+++
  Each of the five warfleets serves within one of the Segmentae Majoris and is responsible for 
  protecting shipping within it.
  Most space battles take place around installations or planets, most of which can he defended 
  efficiently by means of sub-stellar craft and planet-based defences. Even so, it is impossible to 
  provide total defence for every Imperial world. The warships of the Imperial Fleet are highly 
  mobile and extremely potent weapons, able to gather to meet large threats where necessary.
  Warship captains are Imperial servants like their merchant brethren. However, all warship 
  captains are appointed by the administrative officers of the Segmentum, and have no rights of 
  ownership regarding their vessels. The organisation of the fleets is far more rigid than that of the 
  merchant fleet, with a hierarchy similar to that of the land-based armed forces of the Imperium.
  BATTLEFLEETS
  Imperial space is so vast, with so many star systems and areas of Wilderness Space to be 
  patrolled, that even the many thousands of spaceships in the warfleets must he spread thin, with 
  individual ships and squadrons set out on their own assignments. The Imperium cannot maintain 
  permanent fleets ready to respond to invasion or rebellion. Nor would it make sense to do so - it 
  would take so long for a fleet to get from its base to the war zone that the enemy would surely 
  have moved on by the time it arrived.
  Instead, temporary battlefleets are gathered together whenever they are needed. Warships 
  within a relatively small area are summoned to join the Battlefleet. It is rare for ships more than 
  50 light years from the battle zone to be included in the fleet and more commonly only those 
  within 10 or 20 light years are summoned. Even with ships this close to the battle, it will take at 
  least days and more often weeks for them to arrive.
  Only during the very largest of wars, lasting for many decades, does the Imperium bring 
  battlefleets together and dispatch them en masse to a warzone. Such a war is currently underway 
  in the galaxy's south-eastern spiral arm. Here the Tyranid Hive Fleet Kraken is inexorably 
  advancing, conquering and consuming the planets in its path. A massive campaign involving 
  millions of men, thousands of ships and whole chapters of Space Marines is being fought against 
  the Tyranid invasion. Fleets are being mustered in all the Segmentae to begin the long journey to 
  the warzone. The journey will take decades in some cases and many of the crew will never see 
  the battles they are heading towards - but the Imperium knows all too well that in mere decades 
  the Tyranid threat will be as strong as even
  ENEMIES OF THE IMPERIUM
  The battlefleets of the Imperium must combat many enemies -Ork raiders, Eldar pirates, the 
  Tyranid Hive Fleet and other alien invaders. It must also fight forces from within the Imperium 
  itself. Most of these battles are small-scale and involve only sub-stellar craft in skirmishes with 
  smugglers, brigands and rebels. But occasionally larger conflicts occur when whole systems or 
  groups of systems must be brought into line. Sometimes these systems- have their own fleets 
  and the Imperium must send its largest battleships and cruisers to crush the enemy. In these 
  circumstances an Imperial Battlefleet will be facing an enemy containing ships exactly like its 
  own - the enemy will also be using ships like Gothic Cruisers, Firestorms, Dictators, Cobras and so 
  forth.
  These rebellions most often happen when an area of the Imperium is cut off by a warpstorm. 
  Warpstorms are common occurrences and systems frequently lose contact for a few years - when 
  the storm passes, contact is re-established and little has changed. Sometimes storms last for 
  decades, even centuries, and systems that are cut off for this long can stray far from Imperial 
  authority. Once the warpstorm has died down and travel to the system is feasible again, the 
  Imperium may be rebuffed by an independent federation or find itself in the midst of a local war. 
  A Battlefleet will be assembled to return the system to Imperial control and Imperial spaceships 
  will find themselves facing ships that perhaps once served alongside them in other wars.
  It is also not unknown for squadron or fleet commanders to rebel and turn against the Imperium. 
  
  using the awesome power they command to carve out their own petty empires on the fringes of 
  Imperial space. The most infamous rebellion in the Imperium's long history is that of Warmaster 
  Horus when fully half of the Imperial forces turned against the Emperor and mankind was divided 
  in a terrible civil war. Only the death of Horus himself and the banishment of the rebels to the Eye 
  of Terror brought peace to the Imperium. Even now, a constant vigil is kept around the Eye of 
  Terror where the Chaos fleets remain, often launching small raids and occasionally major 
  incursions into Imperial space.
  SPACESHIPS OF THE IMPERIUM
  Most spaceships are old - open space, the most hostile environment to man, preserves the 
  plastics and metals that spacecraft are made from. Space gives them with the power to endure 
  through generations of men. The Imperial fleets number many thousands of ships, the majority of 
  which are at least a thousand years old. Some are as old as the Imperium itself, a full ten 
  thousand years. A very few claim a pre-Imperial origin. It is difficult for those born under the 
  claustrophobic sky of a planet to appreciate the great dignity which is inherent in all old 
  spacecraft.
  The spaceships of the Imperium are vast constructions that take many decades to build. Each 
  craft represents a huge investment of time and resources. But once completed, fitted out' armed 
  and commissioned, a spaceship continues in service for centuries, even millennia. After that, it 
  may be refilled. modernised, reconstructed and live on practically indefinitely. Barring a major 
  accident or destruction in battle, a ship is immortal like a great city, its population and fabric 
  existing in a constant state of decay and renewal.
  Throughout this time there is a constant process of rebuilding and renewal. Hulls are damaged by 
  battles, asteroid storms and the ravages of the warp. Mechanical parts inevitably wear down. 
  Electrical components fuse. Engine housings crack or melt under the immense pressure and heat 
  created by plasma and warp drives. To combat this constant process of decay, every interstellar 
  spaceship has a maintenance crew of hundreds or thousands of dedicated craftsmen, 
  continuously striving to repair and refit the ship. Inside a large Imperial warship there are 
  factories and workshops, huge forges and plasma furnaces, even small refineries and ore 
  smelting plants to provide raw materials for the work of reconstruction.
  Interstellar spaceships are powered by plasma and warp drives. Plasma drives are used to move 
  through star systems at sub-light speeds. They burn with the fierce energy of a star, converting 
  their fuel into a super-heated gas plasma to create the immense thrust needed to propel these 
  gargantuan craft through space. As a large interstellar spaceship moves out of orbit towards the 
  edge of a star system ready to jump into the warp, the fiery arc it traces across the night sky can 
  clearly be seen from the planet it's leaving. It appears to be a great comet streaking through the 
  heavens - on many worlds, the arrival or departure of a spaceship is read as an omen, a divine 
  harbinger of joy or doom.
  Warp drives are altogether more esoteric and terrifying understood by few even among a 
  spaceship's crew. When the spaceship reaches the jump point at the edge of the star system it's 
  leaving, its plasma drives are turned off and its warp drives engaged. These hurl the spaceship 
  out of real space and into warpspace, propelling it through the warp to a destination light years 
  away. If a spaceship's warp drives were switched on while it was still within a star system. the 
  huge rent in the very fabric of space that they create would be catastrophic for the population 
  and planets of the system. The spaceship itself would be torn apart as the massive pull of the 
  star's gravity reacted unpredictably with the energies released by the warp drives.
  Fully one-third of a spaceship can be taken up by its engines with their huge thruster ports, 
  cavernous combustion chambers, generators surrounded by massive protective cladding and the 
  miles of pipes, tunnels, corridors and ducts needed for the control mechanisms, fuel supply and 
  access by service crews.
  The living areas of a spaceship contain the thousands, often tens of thousands, of men that serve 
  aboard. These areas are often built up from the ship's hull into huge domes and spires that rise 
  hundreds of metres into space. On some ships, they seem like the heart of a mighty city, 
  immense towers rising to touch the stars, their sides glittering with lights bridges spanning the 
  void between them. On others they resemble a gigantic cathedral, the towers colonnaded and 
  sculpted. Vast carved figures of legendary heroes recede into the darkness of space - huge 
  horned gargoyles leap and leer from the highest pinnacles in mockery of the tenors of warpspace 
  - golden domes blaze with the light of stars.
  
  On freighters and merchant vessels, the rest of the ship is taken up by holds containing the ship's 
  precious cargo. On warships this space is filled by the colossal power generators that drive their 
  weapon systems. These towering structures hum and crackle with the monstrous energies 
  bounded inside. They are housed within deep shafts which disappear from view into a darkness 
  that is broken only by the crackling blue arcs of lightning which leap from the generators. When a 
  laser battery is fired with a titanic unleashing of energy, its power well is filled with a furious roar. 
  In battle, a warship echoes with the thunder of its weapons, its decks shuddering with the recoil 
  of their furious discharges. 
  +++The Galaxy+++
  The Imperium of Mankind is spread across almost the entire galaxy and consists of more than a 
  million worlds. Although this is a huge number of planets it is as nothing when compared to the 
  immense size of the gallaxy. The Imperium is actually spread very thinly across space: its worlds 
  are dotted through the void and divided by hundreds, if not thousands of light years. It is 
  therefore wrong to think of the Imperium in terms of a territory which extends across the gallaxy. 
  The truth is far more complex. Within the galaxy are countless alien civilisations, many Ork 
  empires, and vast areas occupied by the Tyranids or given over to Chaos. Most of the galaxy 
  remains unexplored. Who knows what secrets lie undiscovered amongst the stars? Undoubtedly 
  there are other advanced civilisations, lost human colonies, and the ruins of long dead races 
  waiting to be explored.
  The pattern of human settlement throughout the gallaxy undoubtedly owes much to the nature of 
  space travel. All interstellar travel is undertaken using power warp drives which lanuch a 
  spacecraft into the alternative dimension of warp space. Within warp space a ship can cover the 
  equivalent of many thousands of light years within a relatively short time, dropping back into real 
  space far away from its starting point. Because of the unpredictable and turbulent nature of warp 
  space, some parts of the galaxy are harder to reach than others. Some zones are eternally 
  isolated by violent currents of movement within warp space. Other areas are difficult to get to or 
  can only be reached during periodic lulls inthe warp. More bizarre still, some part of warp space 
  act like power vortices, pulling or sucking helpless spacecraft to their doom. Only the spaccraft of 
  the Imperium can fully exploit the medium of warp space to travel from one side of the galaxy to 
  another. Other races, such as Orks, can only travel short distances through the warp and this 
  limits the size of thier individual empires and prevents them becoming united. It is only this factor 
  which enables the Imperium to function as a whole.
  THE TIDES OF THE WARP
  The reason why spacecraft of the Imperium can move quickly over the entire galaxy, while other 
  races suffer more restrited ans slower spaceflight, is a combination of three factors. The first is 
  the maintenance of the ancient technology by the Adeptus Mechanicus - the Tech Priests of Mars 
  who preserve the lore of ancient science on the behalf of the Adeptus Terra. Without the 
  technological advantage of efficient warp engines it would be impossible for the Imperium to 
  defend its scattered planets. The second factor is the existence of human mutants known as 
  Navigators - a race apart which traces its origins to uncertain times of the Dark Age of 
  Technology. Only a Navigator can pilot a ship within warp space. His swollen cranium house a 
  mind which is to the tides and currents of the warp, enabling him to guide his ship through warp 
  space to its eventual destination. Otherraces must rely upon guesswork and endless corrective 
  manoeuvres to travel even short distances through the warp.
  The third factor which makes warp travel possible is the immeasurably powerful psychic beacon 
  called the Astronomican. Broadcast by a choir of psykers from Earth, the Astronomican reaches 
  out through warp space, guilding spacecraft to their destination. Only a Navigator can sense the 
  guiding light of the Astronomican, and only he can follow its psychic signal. It is the Astronomican 
  which allows a Navigator touse his powers to the full; without it not even the most powerful 
  Navigator could pilot his ship over the immense distances which separte the worlds of the 
  Imperium.
  PERILS OF THE WARP
  Warp space is a alternate dimension composed of energy as opposed to physical space of the 
  marerial universe. There are dangers within the warp which can wreck spacecraft and carry them 
  
  off course, unexpected turbulence, warp storms, and loops that can trap a ship for eternity. These 
  dangers, though considerable, are nothing compared to the greater and unimaginable dangers 
  that lurk in warp space.
  To understand these dangers it is important to realise two important facts about the nature of the 
  warp. Firstly, warp space is composed entirely of psychic energy. It is this psychic energy which a 
  human psyker draws upon to use his powers, to send telepathic messages hurtling through the 
  warp from world to world, or to propel a psychic bolt of energy against a foe.
  Secondly, warp space is not empty but inhabited by many strange and dangerous creatures, the 
  most dangerous of which are the Great Gods of Chaos and their legions of daemons.
  Daemons lust after the flesh and blood of living creatures. They want only to destory mankind, to 
  drag the souls of men back to their shadowy realm, to obliterate the material universe and engulf 
  it within the energy of warp space. Fortunately this is not easy to accomplish. Daemons cannot 
  exist for long in the material universe and they need to find psychic gateways in order to leave 
  the warp. Such gateways exist but they are rare. The most vulnerable gateways of all are the 
  mind of psykers. A psyker's power open up a path between reality and the warp, a path which a 
  daemon may find and follow to the mind of the psyker himself.
  Such are the dangers of the warp - at once a boon and protector, and an unimaginable horror. 
  Without the ability to travel throughout warp space the Imperium would certainly collapse and 
  mankind would fall victim to the thousand perils that threaten to destory it. Without psykers the 
  whole system of astro-telecommunication would be non-existent, and it would be impossible to 
  guide the Imperium's armies and fleets against its many enemies. For these reasons at least warp 
  space is essential to the Imperium's very existence. Yet at the same time warp space harbours 
  terrors so great, dangers so profound, that much of the Imperium's efforts are spent in combat 
  against them.
  +++The Link between the+++ 
   +++ Warhammer World+++ 
  +++and the 40k Universe +++
  In the incalculably distant past, the World was visited by the starfaring race known as the Old Slann. Their degree of 
  scientific advancement caused some of the species they met with to worship them as gods, while others reviled them as 
  demons. The Old Slann performed many scientific experiments on the World, and although the knowledge of their 
  presence is lost in the present day, many of the races which inhabit the World found their origin in these experiments. 
  The Old Slann travelled by means of interdimensional gateways, spanning the distances between the stars by travelling 
  through "warpspace," a parallel dimension which connects all points in the material universe. One of their first tasks upon 
  arriving on the World was to set up a pair of gateways, one at each pole of the planet, to allow them to come and go as 
  they pleased.
  Warpspace, however, was not an empty void, but was composed of a form of power wholly alien to the material universe. 
  It was inhabited by entities who were equally alien. As their great ships travelled through Warpspace the Old Slann 
  protected themselves with powerful enchantments, but eventually something went wrong.
  Precisely what happened can now only be guessed. Perhaps the protective enchantments broke down, or the beings that 
  lived in Warpspace found some way to overcome them. Or perhaps the gateways broke down under the strain of the 
  magical forces that cycled continually through them. Whatever the cause, the gateways collapsed. Both poles were 
  destroyed, and permanent dimensional tunnels were created between the World and the void of Warpspace.
  Among the matter sucked through into the World is warpstone, a substance formed of the condensed and solidified 
  essence of Chaos. Warpstone dust rained down upon the World at the time of the catastrophe, twisting many races into 
  strange and horrible shapes and leading to the creation of many new species. 
  Seven thousand years later, the battle between Law and Chaos still rages across the face of the World, with most of its 
  mortal inhabitants caught helplessly in the middle. The dimensional openings at the poles change constantly, shrinking 
  with the ascension of Law, and growing as Chaos gains the upper hand. All the while, a constant stream of raw Chaos 
  floods through from the void.
  For millennia, the tide of Chaos has ebbed and flowed across the face of the World. The worst incident in recent history 
  was the great Incursion of Chaos 22 years ago, when Norsca was completely overrun and the Chaos hordes ravaged the 
  northern parts of the Old World.
  This tide is, however, only a single aspect of Chaos. And in warpspace, the primal void of Chaos, the beings of Chaos still 
  
  wait and spread their taint across the Imperium and the universe. Warp creatures hover around the vulnerable psykers of 
  humanity, seeking a path into existence through an unprotected mind. Every psychic is a potential gateway from the void 
  of the Warp, an unwitting agent of Chaos to be filled with a terrible power. Only the vigilence of the Emperor's 
  Inquisition protects humanity from the threat within itself.
  And even within the Imperium there are the foolish and weak-minded who turn to the darkness. By embracing the power 
  and the horror of Warpspace, all that they desire will come to pass...
  The Warhammer World is bound by storms of magic so that it remains isolated from the other worlds of the human 
  galaxy. Elsewhere, the forces of the Imperium tenaciously fight the influences of Chaos, so that the open agression of 
  Chaos Champions and their forces is restricted to zones not controlled by the Imperium. On worlds where Champions of 
  Chaos attain daemonhood or death there are monoliths to their memory just as on the Warhammer World. Cosmic 
  monoliths are tablets, flat stones, or death caskets that float through space itself. They can celebrate a Champion whose 
  mortal life ended while battling an engagement between space fleets. Often they orbit a world, transmitting their 
  inscriptions to passing craft or projecting their image directly into spaceships.
  Space Hulks are huge space wrecks that float through space, often phasing in and out of the warp, appearing and 
  disappearing in unpredictable and mysterious ways. They usually comprise [sic] many wrecks fastened together, and are 
  inhabited by a variety of deep-space creatures who use the hulks to travel the galaxy. The forces of Chaos sometimes use 
  the hulks themselves, and many are so large that they are virtually worlds where conflict between rival Chaos Warbands 
  and other inhabitants are inevitable. Chaos monoliths are built to Champions who die or attain daemonhood on these 
  space hulks. Imperial Marines raiding a space hulk often find these monuments to Chaos still intact, a shuddering 
  reminder of the omnipresence of the Chaos threat
  +++DANGEROUS PLANTLIFE+++
  CATACHAN BRAINLEAF
  This plant is unusual in that it is possessed of what appears to be animal-like intelligence, albeit 
  of a fairly low, instinctual level. The plant itself is a small tree, not particularly conspicuous 
  amongst the other flora of Catachan, the plant's home planet. What makes this plant remarkable 
  is its ability to detach its leaves, which are capable of flying through the [air] for many meters, 
  propelled by a wing-like undulation. Each leaf is a macro-cell, and part of the plant's overall 
  intelligence. Equipped with rasping hooks and intrusive nerve bundles, a leaf aims to attach itself 
  to a living creature, injecting fibres which grow throughout the host's nervous system until it 
  becomes a mere tool of the plant. Whilst incapable of high intellect, a Brainleaf can direct its 
  victims in a sensible and rational way, enabling them to use weapons and equipment...
  CREEPERS
  Creepers are plants possessed of an animal-like ability to move their long, sinuous limbs. This 
  response is not consciously exercised, but is a basic reaction to the presence of animals. A likely 
  victim will be seized, dragged towards the immobile main part of the plant and crushed to death 
  by its powerful limbs. There the body will quickly rot, dissolved by powerful enzymes secreted 
  from the trunk.
  GAS FUNGUS
  This is a fairly widespread type of fungus, occuring in various unrelated but essentially similar 
  forms throughout the galaxy. It generally appears as a mushroom and is often quite large and 
  may reach over 2 meters in height....Should an animal approach too closely (6 meters) the 
  fungus releases a store or poisonous gas. This store is built up withing the plant's tissues and 
  once released takes several hours to regenerate. The gas persists for about an hour, leaving the 
  fungus unprotected only for a short time. The gas itself is deadly although the specific toxicity 
  varies from species to species.
  SPIKER
  The Spiker is one of the most dangerous plant forms in the entire galaxy. A Spiker can be of any 
  size, but tends to be man-sized, about 2 meters tall and upright. They have a vaguely cylindrical 
  shape, and are covered with a thick layer of hair-like leaves, out of which protrude countless thin, 
  sharp spikes. These spikes are what make this plant dangerous. Piercing the skin of an animal, 
  they release a genetically intrusive chemical that literally starts to reform the victim's body tissue 
  into that of a Spiker. A human taking a spike in the arm will soon find his arm become hairy and 
  immobile, and within a short time his whole body will be covered in spikes. Although the victim 
  remains mobile for some time, the physiological changes destroy the mind, so that the victim 
  wanders aimlessly. Eventually all mobility is lost and another Spiker will have been created.
  
  +++The Galaxy, Space Travel+++
  +++and The Astronomican +++
  The galaxy contains some four hundred thousand million stars of various types. Of these only a 
  fraction are presumed to have habitable planetary systems, and only a fraction of these have 
  been investigated. Most are situated within the spiral arms between ten and forty thousand light 
  years from the galactic center. 
  The very size of the galaxy means that, despite the use of faster than light warp drives, most of it 
  remains unknown. Even the human controlled Imperium, by far the largest and most widely 
  distributed of all stellar empires, contains only a tiny fraction of the galaxy's stars. New worlds 
  are constantly being discovered and investigated, along with their attendant civilizations, 
  creatures and resources. Even so, there is no possibility of either humans or aliens exhausting 
  the galaxy's potential to provide new worlds for habitation and exploitation.
  Warp space is the medium through which faster-than-light spacecraft travel between the stars. It 
  is, in a sense, an alternate reality or parallel dimension in which the laws of time and space are 
  different from those of our own universe. Movement within warp space bears a distinct 
  relationship to distance traveled in normal space, and this relationship can be manipulated to 
  make faster-than-light travel possible. It is not strictly true to say that distances in warp space are 
  'shrunk' compared to those of normal space. A more accurate analogy would be to think of warp 
  space as a dense fluid medium which is subject to constant movement, currents, undertows, etc. 
  This is not perceptible in warp space itself of course, because the fluidity is only relative to our 
  own reality. A spacecraft can exploit this phenomenon by entering warp space, allowing itself to 
  be shifted along by its natural flow, and then re-entering normal space a distance away from the 
  starting point. A metaphor commonly used to explain how warping works is that of the fast 
  flowing stream. The stream represents warp space, moving rapidly along its motionless banks, 
  representing real space. A leaf dropped into the water upstream will move along, floating on the 
  surface of the water. The leaf does not move relative to the water, but is merely carried by it until 
  it lodges at some point downstream from its original location. This is a useful metaphor as far as 
  it goes, but it must be remembered warp space is far more complex in its movements than the 
  linear stream, for it can move in all sorts of convoluted and bewildering patterns. Spacecraft are 
  also able to make corrective movements in warp space and can enter or leave warp space at a 
  chosen moment. Even so, warp travel is never totally predictable, either in its duration or 
  eventual destination. 
  Warp Storms 
  Warp space is an extremely volatile medium, and can represent a dangerous one for spacecraft 
  within it. Occasionally, the normal current movements of warp space become amplified into 
  raging storms of savage and destructive ferocity. Such storms may last for only a few moments, 
  or they may last for many years. At best, a warp storm might throw a ship off course or delay it, 
  at worst a warp storm can make warp travel impossible in some parts of the galaxy. Storms are 
  constantly forming and dying down, at any time at least 10% of the galaxy's solar systems will be 
  inaccessible because of storms. Half of these systems are cut off for less than a year, but many 
  remain isolated for many years or even centuries. Indeed, some systems have always been 
  isolated, and show no sign of becoming otherwise. 
  The Human Navigator
  Unlike the closely packed empires of other races, the Imperium is flung wide across the entire 
  galaxy, its worlds are often hundreds if not thousands of light years distant. Normally it would be 
  impossible to maintain such a vast area of space as a single political entity. What makes it 
  possible to do so is the existence of human Navigators. Navigators are a sub-species of humanity 
  some of whom resemble humans so closely that they are indistinguishable, others are so 
  physically alien that the relationship is hardly apparent. All navigators are capable of entering a 
  trance-like dream state in which they are able to mentally steer a spacecraft through the medium 
  of warp space. 
  Under the intuitive guidance of the Navigator, a ship is able to traverse distances of tens of 
  
  thousands of light years in a single jump. Perceived journey time is 1-4 days per thousand light 
  years, equivalent to 1-6 months of real time. Even so, a journey from one edge of the galaxy to 
  the other would take between 85 and 510 months of real time. For these reasons, worlds remain 
  self-governing even within the Imperium. 
  The Astronomican 
  In order to guide their spacecraft through warp space, Navigators require a signal to steer by; a 
  sort of real space reference point which can be perceived from warp space. As only psychic 
  signals penetrate both real and warp space, this signal has to be a psychic one. Some psychics 
  are capable of broadcasting a short range signal of this type (10 light years) but the principal 
  signal is centered upon Earth and is called the Astronomican. Further details about the 
  Astronomican and the psykers who maintain it (the Adeptus Astronomica) are discussed later. For 
  the moment it is only important to bear in mind that the Astronomican permits navigators to 
  utilize their powers. The range of the Astronomican is far greater than 10 light years although it is 
  not infinite. Warp storm activity can also affect the total range, but about 50 thousand light years 
  is the usual distance. As the galaxy has a diameter of about 85 thousand light years, with Earth 
  approximately 30 thousand fight years from the center in the galactic west, this means that the 
  Astronomican does not cover the eastern fringe of the galaxy at all. The Astronomican marks the 
  effective boundaries of human space: human groups existing beyond it are rare, isolated and 
  comprise an unknown quantity. 
  +++Navis Nobilite+++
  The Navis Nobilite - also known as the Navigator Houses - is an institution which predates the 
  Imperium by many thousands of years. It is the most ancient of all human organisations. It was 
  founded sometime in the Dark Age of Technology and survived through the Age of Strife to the 
  present day.
  Over this period of approximately 30,000 years, the fortunes of the Navis Nobilite have constantly 
  waxed and waned, but its power has never been broken. Today it thrives as a vital part of the 
  Imperium.
  The Navis Nobilite is divided into many individual Houses or Great Families. Each House is a large 
  related family, but it is also a literal house, a fortified mansion where the House leader - or 
  Novator - lives together with his immediate kin and retainers. This mansion is regarded as the 
  seat of the entire Great Family, even though it is only the hereditary ruling family that lives there.
  The Great Families of the Navis Nobilite are uniquely composed of a particular form of human 
  mutant called a Navigator. The mutation is not a spontaneous or natural one, but rather the result 
  of genetic engineering conducted in the distant past during the earliest history of the Navigator 
  Houses. This engineering created the Navigator Gene that distinguishes Navigators from ordinary 
  humans.
  The gene itself can only be preserved by intermarriage, as it is lost when a Navigator breeds with 
  an ordinary human. This factor has led to the development of the closely-related Navigator 
  families.
  NAVIGATORS
  The genetic creation of Navigators has a single purpose: to endow a human with the ability to 
  steer a spacecraft through warpspace. Only Navigators can do this - no other human or machine 
  has the ability to navigate warpspace in this way. It is this ability that allows human spacecraft to 
  travel so quickly compared to alien craft.
  Without Navigators to steer its ships, the Imperium would quickly fragment into thousands of 
  separate stellar empires, each only a few dozen light years across, whose spacecraft would be 
  obliged to use tiny and dangerous blind jumps to cover interstellar space.
  The physique of Navigators is unusual. The feature which distinguishes all Navigators is the Third 
  or Warp Eye situated in the centre of their forehead. Nearly all young Navigators traditionally 
  work in space as pilots. Over the years they gradually increase their familiarity with the warp and 
  their powers become stronger.
  This mental maturation may take as many as fifty or a hundred years of space flight, but as 
  Navigators can live for three or four hundred years this is not a great proportion of their lives. As 
  they grow more experienced they also change physically. The white and iris of the Third Eye 
  
  gradually vanished leaving a single black pupil. The eye itself hardens, and the eyelids shrink 
  leaving a single staring orb.
  Often the Navigator continues to grow more massive as he ages and his ribs enlarge, becoming 
  prominent as internal gills develop in the chest cavity.
  THE HEIRS APPARENT
  The most powerful Navigators in each of the Great Families are called Heirs Apparent This 
  signifies that they may one-day contend for the position of Paternova, the ruler of all the Navis 
  Nobilite. The Paternova may come from any of the Great Families and from any social level within 
  thern.
  The Heirs Apparent are usually the oldest Navigators, although not all develop in this way and 
  some Navigators live out their entire lives without undergoing the physical changes described.
  The Heirs Apparent are often bitter rivals who will even go as far as to try and eliminate each 
  other if they get the chance. This sometirnes leads to protracted personal vendettas or even 
  family feuds between two Navigator Houses. The Adeptus Terra is fairly tolerant of minor 
  skirmishing of this kind, although open hostilities between Houses are discouraged as much as 
  possible.
  Unfortunately, this keen rivalry sometimes draws Heirs Apparent into marginally unlawful or even 
  outright illegal practices. Their personal ambition makes them vulnerable to all sorts of 
  dangerous influence, from collaboration with aliens to dealings with the daemonic. These 
  deviants are a minority - most Heirs Apparent conduct their rivalries without courting such 
  dangers.
  THE PATERNOVA
  The Paternova is the leader of all Navigators and the most powerful of all his kind. The Paternova 
  may live for up to a thousand years. When he dies all the existing Heirs Apparent begin to change 
  - they begin to grow even larger and stronger. Their gill structure becomes fully functional 
  allowing them to survive in hard vacuum as well us underwater or in normally poisonous 
  environments. Most important, they start to fight.
  They are drawn to combat with each other, building up a pitch of aggression that eventually 
  overrides all other considerations. As Heirs Apparent are killed those who survive change even 
  more until finally only one remains alive. It is this vastly changed and extremely powerful 
  individual who becomes the new Paternova.
  The Patenova lives in the Palace of the Navigators which lies on Earth in the centre of the zone 
  held by the Navis Nobilite. Following his accession, the Paternova never leaves the palace. The 
  existing staff, soldiery and other retainers of the palace are replaced by those drawn from the 
  Patemova's own House. The chief amongst his servants is the Paternoval Envoy who becomes a 
  High Lord of Terra and sits on the Senatorum Imperialis.
  The role of the Paternova is an obscure part of Navigator biology although no-one doubts its 
  importance. The Paternova is described as the guiding father whose powers transcend the warp 
  itself.
  During the interlude between the reign of one Paternova and another, all Navigators other than 
  Heirs Apparent suffer a considerable reduction in their powers. Their ability to navigate the warp 
  is impaired, warp journeys become longer, ships are unexpectedly lost, and younger Navigators 
  may lose their abilities completely. As soon as the new Paternova is installed the powers of 
  Navigators are restored. However, not all are restored to the same degree. Navigators belonging 
  to the same House as the Paternova find their abilities enhanced, as if their blood relationship 
  were enabling the Paternova to transmit his powers more effectively. Navigators belonging to the 
  House of the old Paternova lose this benefit, and so individuals may find their powers impaired.
  THE NAVIGATOR'S WARP EYE
  The unusual feature shared by all Navigators is the Third Eye or Warp Eye. Navigators normally 
  keep this eye covered with a bandanna or covering which is itself often decorated with an eye. 
  This has led many humans to doubt the existence of this Third Eye.
  In fact the Third Eye is the focus of the Navigator's power. The eye enables the Navigator to see 
  the shifting currents of warpspace and so to guide his spacecraft within the warp.
  It is said that a Navigator can always see the warp even when he is in the material universe, and 
  that it is this constant exposure to the unnamed horrors of Chaos that leads to their strange 
  physical changes. It has been known for Navigators to react suddenly and violently to invisible 
  things in the warp, and to collapse, lose their sanity or even die as a result.
  
  The eye has other powers too, although these are employed far more rarely and are the subject 
  of some mystique. These powers develop with the Navigator's experience of the warp, so that 
  they are most developed of all in the Heirs Apparent. The uncovered stare of a Navigator can kill 
  a man, and that of an Heir Apparent is said to ward off even the daemonic creatures of the warp.
  Rival Navigators sometimes fight using the power of their eyes to blast each other - such open 
  conflicts are rare but spectacular. It is also said that the eye of a Navigator has prophetic powers 
  and that it can literally see into the future. Navigators are very reluctant to talk about their 
  powers and it may well be that only the Paternova understands the full potential of a Navigator's 
  abilities.
  +++Adeptus Mechanicus+++
  Mars is the planetary realm of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the home and domain of the Tech Priests 
  of the Cult Mechanicus. The Red Planet is acclaimed as one of the wonders of the galaxy, the 
  workshop of the Imperium, the forge-world, the maker of ships, and the guardian of secrets. It is 
  the Adeptus Mechanicus that furnishes the technical knowledge of the Imperium, that preserves 
  the scientific secrets of former times, and which explores the new sciences of the 41st 
  Millennium.
  THE CULT MECHANICUS
  The Cult Mechanicus, or Cult of the Machine, acknowledges the Emperor as Master of Mankind 
  but does not recognise the authority of the official Imperial Cult or the Ecclesiarchy. Instead, the 
  Adeptus Mechanicus follows its own dark and mysterious strictures.
  According to the strictures of the Adeptus Mechanicus, knowledge is the supreme manifestation 
  of divinity, and all creatures and artefacts which embody knowledge are holy because of it. The 
  Emperor is the supreme object of worship because he comprehends so much. Machines which 
  preserve knowledge from ancient times are also holy, and machine intelligences are no less 
  divine that those of flesh and blood. A mans worth is only the sum of his knowledge - his body is 
  simply an organic machine capable of preserving intellect.
  RANKS OF THE ADEPTUS MECHANICUS
  The Adeptus Mechanicus controls the entire governmental, industrial and religious affairs of Mars 
  and is thus very diverse and complex in its organisation. In its broadest terms the population is 
  divided into two parts. The greater mass of Martians are worker-slaves called Servitors. Servitors 
  are not really fully human, but half-man half-machine creatures whose minds have been partially 
  programmed to perform specific duties. The Servitors are slaves to the ruling priesthood of Tech 
  Priests who form a hierarchy of technicians, scientists and religious leaders. The Tech Priests 
  provide the Imperium with its engineers and technical experts.
  The leader of the Adeptus Mechanicus is the Fabricator General of Mars. The Fabricator General is 
  also a High Lord of Terra and one of the most powerful members of the Senatorum Imperialis. He 
  is also the head of the Cult Mechanicus in his capacity as the Magos Mechanicus.
  THE QUEST FOR KNOWLEDGE
  The Adeptus Mechanicus is driven by the quest for knowledge. This quest takes many forms, 
  including research and exploration, but its ultimate embodiment is the search for ancient STC 
  systems. 
  STC systems were created during the scientific high-point of the Dark Age of Technology. During 
  this time thousands of human colonies were founded on distant worlds. Many of these colonies 
  failed to survive, some were lost, and of those that survived most achieved only a subsistence 
  level economy. Yet almost all of these colonies managed to retain a high level of technology 
  thanks to the huge base of computerised information carried from Earth. This massive computer 
  databank was known as the Standard Template Construct (STC) system.
  The objective of the STC systems was to provide all the technical information needed to construct 
  anything that settlers might need. The user simply asked how to build a bolter, tractor, house or 
  whatever, and the computer supplied the details for fabrication. STC systems would calculate the 
  constructional loads placed on locally-available materials, work out the depths of foundations, 
  define the means of manufacture and assembly, and present the most efficient ways of achieving 
  what it was the settler asked. The systems were designed to be practically idiot proof, so that 
  even the least technically-accomplished person could build a vehicle, aircraft or weapon given 
  
  time.
  One result of the STC system and its pivotal place in human colonisation is that human material 
  culture is very similar, even on worlds which are many thousands of light years apart.
  The STCs are often said to embody the sum total of human knowledge. This is probably true as 
  far as technical accomplishment goes. Although most colonists required little more than designs 
  for agricultural machinery, programs were included for all sorts of advanced constructions such 
  as nuclear power grids and fission reactors. However, the early colonists' needs were simple and 
  were met by conventional energy forms and relatively low-level technology.
  Every original colony had at least one STC system. With the passage of time these gradually 
  failed, and passed out of use. Some colonies were forward-thinking enough to make drawings or 
  hard copies of some designs, which were in turn copied repeatedly with varying accuracy. Some 
  STC systems became corrupted and useless, and were eventually destroyed.
  Today there are no known surviving STC systems, and only a very few examples of first-
  generation print out. On some worlds information about the ancient STC is regarded as holy and 
  design copies are guarded as secret and sacred texts, housed in the inner sanctums of temples.
  For thousands of years the Adeptus Mechanicus has pursued all information about the STC. It is 
  their lost bible, Holy Grail and Cup of Knowledge. Any scrap of information is eagerly sought out 
  and jealously hoarded. Any rumour of a functional system is followed up and investigated.
  By their efforts much information has been retrieved or can be reconstructed by the vigorous 
  analysis and comparison of copies. Yet the most technically-advanced knowledge eludes
  the Adeptus Mechanicus, for the early colonists were mostly simple folk whose needs were 
  practical. Only rarely did anyone bother to take copies of the theoretical and advanced work 
  which the STC contained.
  ALIEN KNOWLEDGE
  The technical achievements of non-humans, such as Eldar and Orks, and isolated human 
  civilisations, such as Squats, are of almost as much interest to the Adeptus Mechanicus as 
  rumours concerning the STC. Indeed, non-human knowledge is often more useful and usually far 
  easier to obtain.
  Members of the Adeptus Mechanicus always accompany Imperial exploration teams, Rogue 
  Traders and Space Marine chapters, and so are ideally placed to investigate the technical abilities 
  of other cultures. Even extinct civilisations are vigorously investigated and their technology 
  recorded.
  BIOLOGY AND BEYOND
  The Adeptus Mechanicus is not only interested in technical achievement, but also in biological 
  and natural science. Thus, the flora and fauna of a newly-discovered world will be recorded, and 
  samples returned to Mars for classification. Weather systems and subterranean morphology will 
  be mapped, atmospheres analysed and all aspects of the natural ecosystem studied.
  Such studies are vital for further colonisation. Dangerous animals and plants must be considered, 
  useful species may be studied for potential domestication. Weather and geographic stability must 
  be determined and sometimes stabilised. Thanks to their in-depths knowledge of such things the 
  Adeptus Mechanicus has the ability to mould a world's climate and ecology to meet human 
  needs.
  +++WARPSPACE AND PSYKERS+++
  The material universe is but one aspect of reality. There is a quite separate and co-existing immaterial universe. This is 
  commonly known as the warp or warpspace, although it is also known as Chaos, the otherworld, the ether, the empyrean, 
  the void and the immaterium. Warpspace may be explained in terms of an endlessly broad and deep sea of raw energy. 
  This energy carries within it the random thoughts, unfettered emotions, memory fragments and unshakeable beliefs of 
  those who live in the material universe - it is the collective mind of the universe itself. 
  All living creatures exist in warpspace as well as in the material universe, although most are not conscious of the fact. 
  Just as a man's body inhabits the material universe, his soul inhabits that of the warp. The body is part of the universe and 
  made of matter: the soul is part of the warp and is made from the stuff of raw Chaos. Human sensitivity to the warp is not 
  generally well developed. The soul itself is not aware: it is simply a coherent lump of Chaos energy maintained whole by 
  its anchor to the material body. However, in a minority of people this sensitivity is far more finely tuned. These people 
  are psykers and they are able to consciously control and use the energy of the warp to affect the material universe. There 
  
  are many kinds of psykers, not all of them Human, some of whom are tolerated or encouraged within Human society 
  while others are regarded as dangerous and are actively persecuted and destroyed.
  PSYCHIC POWERS
  As power from the warp flows into realspace, it splits into eight parts, each perceived by those with psychic awareness 
  (often called the second sight) as a separate colour. Just as the warp comprises tides and currents of emotion that over the 
  millennia have melded together to form the great Powers of Chaos, so in realspace each of the colours of psychic power 
  draws on a certain type of emotion or energy from warpspace. This gives each colour its own distinctive effects when 
  used by a psyker. A small amount of raw energy from the warp leaks through into realspace all the time. Those with 
  psychic powers see this energy as layered mists of colour, building into boiling, turbulent clouds and multihued storms 
  where the barrier between the warp and realspace is particularly tenuous.
  To cast a psychic attack, the psyker pulls energy of one colour into himself, draining the surrounding area as he 
  concentrates and focuses the colour. When he uses his powers, he further weakens the distinction between warpspace and 
  realspace, allowing more power to flow through, providing additional impetus to his attack and replenishing the mist of 
  colour that surrounds him. To those with psychic second sight, it appears that the psyker is the centre of a maelstrom as 
  fragments of colour whip and twist around him. As he gathers all the energy of one colour, the storm dies for a brief 
  moment and he stands at the calm centre of the boiling clouds - he moulds the power into his chosen form, turning it with 
  his mind from raw energy into potent weapon of attack or a shield of defence. Then he releases the pent-up energy, 
  hurling it at his enemy or pushing it out to form an impenetrable shell around him.
  Those with the second sight see psychic attacks in many ways. Each psyker interprets what he sees according to his 
  understanding of the warp: some as a dance of pure colour; others as a strange geometry of mystical symbols drawn from 
  the arcana; many as images of power and destruction taken from the mythologies of their homeworld. Where one may see 
  bolts of startling colour, others will see the talons of huge beasts grappling with their enemies or strange forms with a 
  Daemonic glint in their eyes ripping and tearing. For some, skeletal hands reach out of the darkness with the touch of 
  death where others see all-consuming hellish fires burning with the souls of the damned. One will see spiders and beetles 
  whose eyes glow with an uncanny radiance and whose feet send out sparks as they skitter along faint webs of colour to 
  reach with thin feelers into the minds of their victims. Another will see pools of darkness that spread from the caster to 
  consume everything they meet with the insatiable hunger of the warp. 
  Even those without the second sight see flickering shadows, or catch a sight of something from the corner of their eyes, 
  bringing a moment's dread apprehension before the psyker's attack bursts upon them with its full energy, surrounding 
  them with deadly fires or a hail of coloured bolts that strike down all in their path.
  As well as using the power of the warp by drawing it into realspace, the psyker can reach out within the warp itself to 
  clutch the soul of an enemy and break the thread that connects it to a living body. For a second the eyes of his victim will 
  go blank and any who look into them will feel drawn in, sucked by the black emptiness of death, before the victim 
  crumples to the ground in silence - only his soul, torn apart by the psyker, screams unheard with the agonies of 
  annihilation. The links of those who are weak are easily broken; the psychically strong are anchored to their souls with 
  adamantine chains and only the most powerful of enemies can threaten them. As they feel the presence of animosity in 
  the warp, they can concentrate their power into the chain, setting it aglow as if just pulled from the fires of a furnace, 
  throwing back the assailant with a white psychic heat that bums any who approach.
  PSYKERS IN THE IMPERIUM
  Most Humans do not have psychic powers, although all Humans have at least a limited potential for psychic activity. 
  However, a small but growing minority of Humans do develop tangible powers. These people are called psykers by the 
  Imperial authorities - on their own worlds they may be known by many names: warlock, witch, necromancer, spirit 
  walker, exorcist, speaker in tongues, shaman. Psykers are dangerous individuals whose powers can only be tolerated when 
  safely harnessed within the Imperial organisation: the psychic universe is the universe of Chaos and therefore perilous. It 
  is a universe inhabited by Daemonic aliens that care nothing for living creatures and wish only to use and destroy 
  Humanity. All psykers, even the most powerful, offer these aliens a potential means of entering and affecting the material 
  world.
  Every planet in the Imperium is bound by law to control its psychic population. Persecutions or witch-hunts are an 
  everyday part of life on most worlds. The same laws oblige rulers to set aside a levy of young and relatively promising 
  psykers for transport to Earth by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica.
  The Adeptus Astra Telepathica
  The Adeptus Astra Telepathica is dedicated to the recruitment and training of psykers for service throughout the 
  Imperium. The headquarters of the organisation is on Earth, but its ships travel the Imperium and its offices extend over 
  most of Human space. The institution is divided into a teaching body called the Scholastia Psykana and a recruiting body 
  known as The League of Blackships. These two are united under the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica and his 
  advisory council of several hundred senior officials drawn from the main divisions.
  The League of Blackships
  The League consists of a substantial fleet based throughout the Imperium. The ships visit each world every hundred years 
  or so. As the fleets approach their destination, the ruling Imperial Commander is instructed to prepare the customary levy. 
  On many planets, this is a holy time - a time for rejoicing as the young hopefuls gather for their chance to be taken to the 
  stars and serve the unseen Master who rules them all. Once the levy has been collected, the Blackship Captains make an 
  
  initial evaluation of their cargo before proceeding to the next world in their circuit. When the holds are full, the 
  Blackships turn towards Earth. It is common for Inquisitors to travel on board these ships, as this gives them a good 
  opportunity to investigate a planet's potential for psychic corruption and other heresy.
  The Scholastia Psykana
  The Scholastia Psykana is a vast teaching institution dedicated to the training of psychics. Most recruits are drawn from 
  the levy collected by the Blackships, but a minority are handed over by the Inquisition, the Judges or through other 
  channels. The role of this institution is to teach young psychics how to develop and control their powers. The future of 
  each psyker depends on his abilities and character. Initial evaluation divides the levy into several groups depending on 
  their innate psychic power and their willingness to serve the Emperor.
  The Chosen 
  Those whose powers and strength of character are sufficient to resist possession and Daemonic taint under normal 
  circumstances are chosen to serve in an elite capacity. They are often known as primary psykers or the Chosen and they 
  will learn to serve the Imperium in many ways throughout the galaxy. The very young may be indoctrinated into the 
  Space Marines as Librarians; the most talented may become Inquisitors or Grey Knights. Even these chosen psykers are 
  not invulnerable to the powers of Daemons and psychic aggressors, but their training gives them a fighting chance against 
  all but the most potent of these creatures.
  Astropaths 
  Astropaths are selected from the second ranking of psykers, those whose powers are considerable but inadequate to resist 
  the dangers of possession or Daemonic corruption. Astropaths undergo basic training coupled with a thorough study of 
  telepathy. They are taught how to use the Emperor's Tarot, how to cast horoscopes, and the practices of cheiromancy and 
  augury of all kinds. Once they have been prepared in this way they undergo the unique Binding Ritual which gives them a 
  little of the Emperor's strength.
  Sacrifices 
  The psychic levy inevitably includes many whose powers are too random and whose minds are too vulnerable. If left 
  unrestrained they would soon perish and their doom would lead to further deaths - maybe even to the destruction of entire 
  Human worlds. In a teeming universe their loss is of no great matter but even in death they can serve, for the Emperor 
  must feed upon raw psychic energy if he is to survive as the protector of Humanity. They become sacrifices to the 
  Emperor, their souls leached from their bodies to sustain the Father of Mankind.
  LIBRARIANS 
  A Marine chapter's Librarium is both its command and communications centre, and the repository for centuries of 
  wisdom and history, culled from the reports, treatises and memoirs of the chapter's greatest warriors and finest minds. 
  Because interstellar communications are achieved by psychic means, sending messages through the warp rather than 
  through realspace, most of the Marines who work in the Librarium are psykers. Known as Librarians, they are recruited 
  from among the youngest and most promising primary psykers trained by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. Librarians also 
  have potent psychic powers which they use on the battlefield to augment the conventional weaponry of their brother 
  Marines.
  Librarians hold a functionary rank, describing their role as well as their position. The four battlefield ranks of Librarian, 
  in ascending order of importance, are Lexicanian, Codicier, Epistolary and Chief Librarian. Each of these enters battle 
  ready to support his brothers with a range of psychic attacks and defences. They are fielded in many different situations, 
  especially when Marines of the chapter face psychic opponents such as covens containing Rogue Psykers or followers of 
  the Chaos Powers.
  In addition to their duties as warriors, each performs an auxiliary role. The Lexicanian prepares a report of each battle for 
  the chapter's records. The Codicier evaluates the reports of Lexicanians and provides a strategic overview of campaigns. 
  The Epistolary is a more powerful Librarian - his role is that of chief psychic communications officer. He transmits and 
  receives psychic messages on the battlefield. 
  The most important of all fighting Librarians are the Chief Librarians, superior in rank and psychic power. They report 
  directly to the chapter's commander and hold overall responsibility for the maintenance of communication lines. They 
  also scrutinize their subordinates' battle reports and give recommendations for honor awards, drawing on their intimate 
  knowledge of the chapter's glorious past to appraise a Marine's valorous actions.
  HYBRID PSYKERS
  All Genestealers are psychic. They share a limited form of telepathy that lets the members of a brood communicate. They 
  also use their power to hypnotize their victims before striking to implant their seed, lulling them into submission and then 
  erasing the event from their minds. Only when the much-loved firstborn of such a victim arrives does the truth become 
  apparent - by then the victim is ensnared, bonded to his Hybrid child by chains of parental love, strengthened by the pull 
  of the Hybrid's latent psychic power. From this beginning, a brood of Hybrids and followers will grow, owing allegiance 
  to their founder and Patriarch.
  The psychic power of a brood is shared between all the members and is focused on the Patriarch. The Patriarch has the 
  strongest soul and the greatest ability to draw power from the warp. He is a mighty psyker and his attacks can be 
  devastating - to those unprepared to face him, it may seem as if the very gates of hell have opened when he unleashes his 
  full power. He also passes on part of this power to his children, feeding and directing currents of warp energy towards 
  them and strengthening their own psychic abilities. In Purestrain Stealers, this psychic power is latent. In many cases, 
  
  however, Hybrids of the 3rd and 4th generation are able to direct their psychic power, casting psychic attacks to 
  annihilate their enemies or shielding themselves and their kin from harm. Like other Stealers, they draw their power from 
  the brood's shared presence within the warp; each Hybrid benefits from this presence, having a greater ability as part of 
  the brood than he would alone. Because they draw power from the brood's strongly-bonded souls, the abilities of Hybrid 
  psykers vary less than those of their Human counterparts. Even so, some Hybrids are gifted with much greater talents than 
  others - it is one of these who will rise to the exalted position of Magus, standing at the right hand of the Patriarch, second 
  only to him in power, and interpreting his will to the Human and other cult followers of the brood.
  +++Adeptus Astra Telepathica+++
  The Adeptus Astra Telepathica is dedicated to the recruitment and training of psykers for service 
  throughout the Imperium. The headquarters of the organisation is on Earth9 but its spaceships 
  travel the Imperium and its offices extend over most of human space. Its chief responsibility is to 
  train psykers to serve as Astropaths.
  HUMAN PSYKERS IN THE IMPERIUM
  Most humans do not have psychic powers, although it is generally accepted that all humans have 
  at least a limited potential for psychic activity. A small but growing minority of humans develop 
  tangible powers - these people are called psykers.
  Psykers are dangerous individuals whose powers can only be tolerated when safely harnessed 
  within the Imperial organisation. After all, the psychic universe is the universe of Chaos and 
  therefore perflous. It is a universe inhabited by daemonic aliens that care nothing for living 
  creatures and wish only to use and destroy humanity. All psykers, even the most powerful, offer 
  these aliens a potential means of entering and affecting the material world.
  Every world in the Imperium is bound by law to control its psychic population. Persecutions or 
  witch-hunts are an everyday part of life on most worlds. The same laws oblige rulers to set aside 
  a levy of young and relatively promising psykers for transport to Earth by the Adeptus Astra 
  Telepathica. It is from this levy that the Adeptus Astra Telepathica divides those who will live and 
  serve from those who will be sacrificed to the Emperor.
  THE ORGANISATION OF THE ADEPTUS ASTRA TELEPATHICA
  The institution is divided into a teaching and a recruiting body, called the Scholastia Psykana and 
  the League of Blackships respectively. The two are united under the Master of the Adeptus Astra 
  Telepathica and his advisory council consisting of several hundred senior officials from the main 
  divisions.
  THE LEAGUE OF BLACKSHIPS
  The League consists of a substantial fleet based throughout the Imperium. The ships travel 
  around a huge circuit, visiting each world every hundred years or so. As the fleets approach their 
  destination, the ruling Imperial Commander is instructed to prepare the customary levy.
  Once the levy has been collected the Blackship Captains make an initial evaluation of their cargo 
  before proceeding to the next world in their circuit. When the holds are full, the Blackships turn 
  towards Earth.
  It is common for Inquisitors to travel on board these ships, as this gives them a good opportunity 
  to investigate a planet's potential for psychically-based corruption.
  THE SCHOLASTICA PSYKANA
  The Scholastia Psykana is a vast teaching institution dedicated to the training of psychics. Most 
  recruits are drawn from the psychic levy collected by the Blackships, but a minority of recruits are 
  handed over by the Inquisition, the Judges or through other channels. The role of this institution is 
  to teach young psychics how to develop and control their powers. The future of each psyker 
  depends on his abilities and character.
  Primary Psykers
  Those whose powers and strength of character are sufficient that they can resist possession and 
  daemonic taint under normal circumstances. Primary Psykers are chosen to serve the Imperium 
  only if they are young, intelligent and willing to learn. After five years of basic psychic training in 
  the Scholastia Psykana they are ready to join any of the Imperial organisations in a suitable 
  capacity. The very young may be indoctrinated into the Space Marines as Librarians, the most 
  talented of all may become Inquisitors or Grey Knights. Primary Psykers are not invulnerable to 
  
  daemons and other psychic aggressors, but their training gives them a fighting chance against all 
  but the most potent of these creatures.
  Astropaths
  Astropaths are selected from the second ranking of psykers, those whose powers are 
  considerable but inadequate to resist the dangers of possession or daemonic corruption. Like 
  Primary Psykers, they must be young, vigorous and willing. Astropaths undergo basic psychic 
  training before they assume their role of telepathic communicators throughout the Imperium. 
  They are taught how to use the Emperor's Tarot, how to cast horoscopes, and the practices of 
  cheiromancy and augury of all kinds. Once they have been prepared in this way they undergo the 
  unique Binding Ritual which gives them a little of the Emperor's strength.
  The Adeptus Astronomica
  Some Primary and Secondary Psykers are reserved for the Adeptus Astronomica. They are 
  handed over to complete their training under the auspices of that organisation.
  Sacrifices
  The psychic levy inevitably harvests many whose powers are to4 random and their minds too 
  vulnerable. If left unrestrained tiw~y would soon perish, and their doom would lead to further 
  deaths and maybe even to the destruction of entire worlds. In a teeming universe their loss is of 
  no great matter, but even in death they can serve - for the Emperor must feed upon raw psychic 
  energy if he is to survive as the protector of humanity. These sacrifices are fed into the Emperor's 
  Golden Throne so that the Emperor and the Imperium itself can continue.
  The Tainted
  Thanks to the vigorous checks of the Blackship Captains few tainted psykers get as far as Earth. 
  Those who do are weeded out and destroyed on account of the daemons they harbour or the 
  destructive powers they possess. Yet despite these vigorous precautions a few of the Tainted do 
  get through. In the past important members of the Imperium, even High Lords, have been 
  psykers of this kind. Who knows how many individuals have slipped past the checks and become 
  important officials without their true nature being discovered?
  ASTROPATHS
  Astropaths are extremely important within human society because they offer the oflly means of 
  communicating over interstellar distances. Astropaths are capable of sending telepathic 
  messages across space and they can receive messages sent by other Astropaths if their minds 
  are correctly attuned. Telepathic messages travel through the warp and so travel faster than 
  light, although not instantaneously.
  The need for Astropaths is enormous. They are a common sight in the Imperium and are easily 
  distinguished by their green robes. Astropaths serve in the Fleet as ship-board and shore-based 
  communicators. They serve in the Imperial Guard, the Inquisition, the Adeptus Ministorum, the 
  Space Marines and throughout the Adeptus Terra.
  The Imperial Commanders of distant worlds must have Astropaths if they are to communicate 
  with the rest of the Imperium. Similarly, Astropaths are an essential part of civilian life, working 
  for commercial shippers and anywhere where interstellar communication is needed. This vast 
  body makes up a network covering the entire Imperium thus facilitating the transfer of 
  information from one end of the galaxy to the other.
  THE SOUL BINDING
  No ordinary psyker could transmit a message through the warp, nor could he receive a telepathic 
  message over such vast distances. Astropaths only gain this ability as a result of their many 
  years training, culminating in a special ritual which combines some of the Emperor's own power 
  with their own. This ritual, known as Soul Binding, brings the mind of the psyker close to the 
  psychic greatness of the Emperor. In the Process, some of the Emperor's vast energy is 
  transferred to the Astropath.
  The transference of energy is traumatic for the psyker - not all survive despite years of 
  preparation, and not all those that survive retain their sanity. Even the survivors suffer damage to 
  the sensitive nerves of the eyes, so that almost all Astropaths are blind. In fact their increased 
  psychic skills tend to make up for this loss of sight, so that they would not appear blind were it 
  not for their distorted, sunken and empty eye sockets.
  Soul Binding is said to affect Astropaths in other ways, and it is commonly claimed that once an 
  Astropath's mind has touched that of the Emperor he gains a new understanding and insight into 
  
  the nature of the universe.
  >> Imperial History
  +++The Emperor+++
  The Master of Mankind, the Emperor of the Imperium, has sat upon the Golden Throne of Earth 
  for ten millennia. His body is kept alive by means of ancient technology and sheer effort of will, 
  for the Emperor is the greatest psyker of all, an almost bottomless repository of psychic energy. 
  He is no ordinary man - in many respects he is a god, and is worshipped as such by untold 
  billions. Ultimately, the Emperor has absolute power within the Imperium. 
  The Emperor of the Imperium, Master of Mankind, Lord of Humanity and God of the human race, 
  has ruled his vast spacial realm for longer than any living man can remember. Countless 
  millennia ago he was born to mortal parents, growing into manhood little realising the fate 
  awaiting him. As a youth he began to manifest strange powers, powers which intensified and 
  multiplied as he grew older. Not least amongst these powers was that of longevity - a virtual 
  immortality that gave him time to develop his abilities fully. For long ages he lived secretly 
  amongst mankind, as empires grew and fell, and mankind discovered how to control and exploit 
  the Earth. As his powers evolved he learned of the dangers beyond his own world, of the 
  psychically attuned creatures that roamed the voids inbetween space, hungering and clawing for 
  the life-stuff of living creatures. For countless ages he hid within humanity, nurturing his powers 
  and waiting. At last, over ten thousand years ago he began his struggle, for he knew that 
  humanity was on the verge of a revolution, a genetic revolution which would create a new 
  psychically aware race, a race of which he was the first and most powerful. Without his guidance 
  he realised the emerging race of psychics would fall prey to the dangers he had already faced, 
  the perils of entities that fed upon psychic energy, or who used that energy for their own horrific 
  purposes. So, the Emperor emerged from long hiding, creating the Age of the Imperium over ten 
  millennia ago in a series of wars now remembered by none save their victor. His rule has been a 
  long and harsh one, for there is much at stake - the life of humanity itself. The strain of his 
  constant vigilance has taken a heavy toll upon the man that was once human, for now his body 
  can no longer support life, and his shattered carcass remains intact only because it is held by a 
  spirit itself sustained by the strangest of machinery - ancient artifacts constructed by the 
  Emperor in an elder age. 
  It is ironic that this creature, whose will extends to over a million worlds, is now unable to leave 
  the life-giving machinery of his imperial throne, unable to so much as lift a shrivelled finger or 
  twitch a shrunken eye. The living carcass of the Emperor is immobile, held fast within the bio-
  machine that sustains his spirit. The mass of this machine is contained within the imperial palace; 
  room upon room of twisted technology, pulsing with a life and will of its own - living, breathing, 
  reproducing and writhing like a giant, mindless organism. Held within this perversion of science 
  lies the Emperor himself, or rather what now remains of his carcass, the seat of his omnipotent 
  will. 
  The Emperor understands the dangers that face his race, and has assumed the role which seems 
  preordained for him, that of its guardian. Perhaps he is a freak, or perhaps nature created him as 
  the protector of her metamorphosis. Either way, the Emperor is now the custodian of his race, 
  and he alone bears the knowledge of its fate. To this end the Emperor maintains strict control 
  over the development of humanity and contributes directly to its survival by utilising his powers. 
  He plays a vital role in space travel within the Imperium. in order to steer a craft over great 
  distances, a human navigator uses a mental homing signal, a sort of psychic beacon to guide him 
  through warp space. To provide a mental signal throughout human controlled space would not be 
  possible to any ordinary psyker. However, the Emperor is no ordinary psyker - his powers go 
  beyond those of mortals. Even so, the strain of transmitting a continuous signal would prove far 
  too strenuous, and he merely concentrates his powers on directing a signal created by others. 
  These are the imperial servants known as the Adeptus Astronomica, psykers whose bodies and 
  
  souls are leeched of energy. This energy is projected by the mind of the Emperor in the form of 
  the psychic beacon known as the Astronomican. The sheer quantity of mental energy is vast, and 
  only the mind of the Emperor is sufficient to handle so much raw power. 
  The fate of the Adeptus Astronomica is a sad one, for their efforts soon reduce them to empty 
  husks of bone and dry flesh. Many die every day. They are not the only psykers who are asked to 
  make the ultimate sacrifice, for the Emperor cannot eat as men eat, or drink fluids or breathe air. 
  His life has passed beyond a point where such things can sustain him. For the Emperor the only 
  viable sustenance is human life-force - soul - and he has a great and insatiable appetite. Nor will 
  just any human suffice for this purpose, for the soul-donor must be a very special person in their 
  own right, someone with psychic powers. The Inquisition scours the Imperium in a tireless search 
  for emergent psykers, individuals too vulnerable to be left alone. Some of these men and women 
  will be recruited into the Adeptus Terra (especially the Adeptus Astronomica and Adeptus Astra 
  Telepathica) but many more will serve their Emperor in a more gruesome way. Given up to the 
  weird machinery that surrounds the Master of Mankind, their souls will be graduary leeched from 
  their bodies to feed the Emperor's spirit. Hundreds must die in this way every day if the Emperor, 
  the Imperium and humanity are to survive. 
  It would be simple to think of the Emperor as an evil corruption of nature. Yet, as the Adeptus 
  Terra teach, the sorrow and slaughter that feeds his divine corpse is a trifling price to pay for the 
  survival of the race. Without the Emperor there would be little space travel and no protection in a 
  hostile universe. Left uncontrolled, the emerging race of psychic humans would become the 
  unwitting vehicle of humarnity's destruction. For there are many foil aliens which not only feed 
  upon the life-force of other races, but which use that life-force as a means of opening portals in 
  warp space, infiltrating populated planets via the poorly protected minds of inexperienced 
  psykers. The master of Mankind knows that to protect his race he must survive, must live forever 
  if necessary, or until such time as psychic humans have evolved sufficient strength to withstand 
  the dangers they face. If thousands much endure pain and death for his sake, how considerable 
  must be the agony of a creature whose body is all but destroyed, whose mind is encased inside a 
  rotting shell and whose every thought is enslaved to the task of serving his race. 
  +++The Age of Apostasy+++
  Path to Damnation
  The power of the Ecclesiarhy spread into every facet of Imperial life. From humble miners and 
  clerks, through Imperial Guard and Navy officers to planetary Governors and the High Lords of 
  Terra themselves, everybody was an adherent to the Imperial Creed, in theory at least. 
  Frequently the High Lords would take their lead from the views of the Ecclesiarch, believing that 
  he was the mouth of the Emperor; a belief the Ministorum did nothing to contradict. Soon the 
  Ecclesiarchy was indirectly dictating Imperial law, organising armies, deciding which threats 
  gained priority and where to direct Imperial resources. 
  As the grip of the Ecclesiarchy grew, elements of the Imperium railed against such control. In the 
  High Lords' councils the Fabricator General of the Adeptus Mechanicus opposed the will of the 
  Ecclesiarchy, and the Chapter Masters of the Space Marines also viewed Imperial orders with 
  doubt. Following their lead, the Administratum began to fight against the pervasive force of the 
  Ecclesiarchy. 
  Angered by their loss of control, the Administratum began to re-establish itself as the 
  commanding, binding power within the Imperium. So began a feud that has lasted 7,000 years to 
  the present. The Administratum exercised its influence in a number of ways, undermining the 
  authority of the Ecclesiarch, influencing votes in the council of the High Lords and positioning its 
  own loyal followers in powerful posts. From the late 34th to the early 35th millennium, the power 
  of the Ecclesiarchy waned. Following the election of a series of disastrously weak and 
  incompetent Ecclesiarchs, the Administratum managed to wrest much of its control back from the 
  Ministorum. As time passed the Administratum gained dominance once more. To the populace at 
  large the Ecclesiarchy was as mighty, all-seeing and powerful as ever, but behind the scenes the 
  Administraum was dictating the agenda of the Holy Synod. 
  In an attempt to escape the clutches of the High Lord of the Administratum, Ecclesiarch Benedin 
  IV moved the Holy Synod and the upper echelons of the Adeptus Ministorum to the planet of 
  
  Ophelia VII in the Segmentum Tempestus. This had been Benedin's diocese as a Cardinal and 
  was possibly the richest planet after Terra and Mars. 
  The Ecclesiarchal palaces on Ophelia covered nearly 90,000 square miles and soared 4,000 
  metres into the sky.They were only rivalled by the Imperial palace on Earth. Separated from the 
  designs of the Administratum by sheer distance, the power of the Ecclesiarchy grew again. With a 
  succession of punishing increases in tithes, the resources of the Ministorum reached its height. 
  The Cardinals of different dioceses competed with each other to erect the most magnificent 
  monuments, to build the largest and most ostentatious temples and cathedrals. The purges of so-
  called heretical cults increased singnificantly, as any opposition to the word of the Ecclesiarch 
  was ruthlessly crushed. 
  Separated from the Administratum, the Ecclesiarchy began to form its own fleet of interstellar 
  ships and armies. The Frateris Templars, as these forces came to be known, numbered many 
  commercial transports and warships, and dozens of fighting armies each of which rivalled an 
  Imperial Guard regiment in strength. All the while, the Ministorum buildings on Earth were left to 
  ruin and crumble. 
  In the middle of the 35th millennium, nearly three hundred years after the move to Ophelia VII, 
  Greigor XI was elected to the position of Ecclesiarch. A deeply spirtual man, Greigor was seen as 
  the next step in the Ecclesiarchy's growth: a fresh outlook to spur on what had increasingly 
  become a stagnant Holy Synod. However, the Cardinals were totally unprepared for what would 
  come next. Greigor announced that the Adeptus Ministorum would return to Earth. Although this 
  was vigorously opposed both within and outside the Ecclesiarchy, Greigor felt that the true centre 
  of the Faith should be Terra, the home world of humanity. 
  None could dissuade him from this course, and though it took him twelve years to organise the 
  return, with the time needed for marshalling his resources and the physical requirements of warp 
  travel, the doors of the Ecclesiarchal palaces on Earth were finally opened once more. The 
  refurbishment of the palaces took a heavy toll on the already thinly stretched resources of the 
  Ecclesiarchy. Their funds depleted by the extremely expensive business of relocating to Terra, 
  the Ecclesiarchy had to increase tithes even further to balance the costs of the rebuilding. 
  As the rebuilding progressed, Greigor XI began laying the groundwork for other changes within 
  the structure of the Adeptus Ministorum, changes that were seen as radical by many of his peers 
  within the Holy Synod. Again, he refused to bow to opinion, but before his innovations could be 
  put into action, Greigor died of food poisoning. Tears were wept at his funeral (it is said that six 
  million followers filed past his open-topped casket) and the Cardinals spoke of a great man that 
  had been taken from them too soon. However, no sooner had the tears dried and Greigor's body 
  been interned in the great Mausoleum of Remembrance than a new, more conservative 
  Ecclesiarch was elected and the Ministorum continued as it had done before.
  Descent into Anarchy
  Fuelled by the growing demands of the Cardinals, Ecclesiarchy tithes were increased once more. 
  Unfortunately, much of the populace was already stretched to breaking point and this further 
  increase was seen by many as unnecessarily exorbitant. Across many worlds of the Imperium the 
  populace openly rebelled againts the Ecclesiarchy and refused to pay. Even Planetary Governors 
  spoke out against the excesses of the Ministorum, but they went unheeded. 
  The Ecclesiarchy responded with a vengeance, sending its armies to crush any sign of revolt and 
  executing higher officials as heretics. Alexis XXI used the Officio Assassinorum to eliminate 
  several Governors who redirected their tithes to pay for their own Planetary Defence Forces, and 
  is quoted as saying, ''They had forsworn the Emperor's protection for their own worldly gains.'' 
  The tithes were used to build ever larger temples, to line the highways of planets with statues of 
  past Ecclesiarchs and to decorate the Ecclesiarchal palaces with the rarest metals and gems.The 
  unrest continued, massive uprisings spreading across the Imperium, only for the Frateris 
  Templars of the Ecclesiarchy to arrive and quell any insurgencies. All those who defied the rights 
  of the Ecclesiarchy were decried as heretics and suitably punished. Some thought the 
  Ecclesiarchy's bloody methods of control were excessive, but it was nothing compared to what 
  was to come. 
  Even as the Imperium struggled to survive amidst bushfire wars and a lack of true leadership 
  from Earth, further disasters befell humanity. In the early 36th millennium the incidence of warp 
  storms started increasing. Travel between all but the warp soon became a tumultuous mass of 
  roiling tempests and storms. Navigation became difficult everywhere and hundreds of systems 
  
  were totally isolated. With the resources of the Administratum and Ecclesiarchy turned towards 
  their power struggle, much of the Imperium devolved into anarchy. In those few worlds still 
  accessible by starships, the power of the Ecclesiarchy was brutally enforced by the Frateris 
  Templars and any slight deviation from the holy decrees was marked as heretical, with the 
  burnings and hangings which attend that crime. 
  Seeing the turmoil wracking the Imperium, Chaos raiders poured forth from the Eye of Terror to 
  attack and despoil their ancient foes. Ork Warlords rampaged across vast tracts of the galaxy and 
  there was nobody who could halt them. On the planets cut off from Terra, Chaos and Genestealer 
  cults rose in rebellion and overthrew their governments, damning entire worlds to slavery and 
  slaughter. Those worlds are not overun by alien attackers strove to retain what they could. As 
  time passed even the most advanced worlds were brought to their knees. As before, with no 
  central guidance from the Adeptus Ministoeum even the worship of the Emperor began to 
  devolve into a series of cults and sects, and in the trying times of those centuries those who were 
  once brothers under the light of the Emperor fought against each other to assert their religious 
  ideals. 
  Much of the Imperium was under the malaise of a preapocalyptic gloom. Crazed zealots 
  denounced the Ecclesiarchy and claimed the Emperor was displeased with their greed and 
  excesses- sending the warp storms as a test to judge the truly faithful and set them apart from 
  heretics and sinners. Spurred on by these statements, citizens turned to flagellation and self-
  mutilation to prove their belief and faith. Whole populations became seething masses of despair-
  laden cults, each trying to outdo the other in their tortuous devotion to the Emperor. Strange 
  splinter groups grew in power, preaching extreme causes. Bloodthirsty pogroms eradicated many 
  innocents as the populace tried to stem the wrath of the God-Emperor. In some communities any 
  small deviation from what deemed normal brought instant death to a child and its family. Whole 
  populations were enslaved or slaughtered, deemed heathens for some real or suspected 
  deviancy.
  High Lord Vandire
  The name most infamously connected with the Age of Apostasy and the architect of the Reign of 
  Blood was Goge Vandire, 361st High Lord of the Administratu. Vandire had a hard reputation and 
  was a staunch opponent of the Ecclesiarchy's dominance. It was rumoured he used Assassins and 
  blackmail to achieve the rank of High Lord, and none within the Administratum dared oppose 
  him. Shortly before his ascendancy to the vaulted rank of High Lord, Vandire was instrumental in 
  the election of Ecclesiarch Paulis III, a degenerate inccompetent who was easily controlled by 
  Vandire and his followers. 
  Once he had established his position within the Administratum Vandire moved in to take over the 
  Ecclesiarchy. While other High Lords had manipulated the Adeptus Ministorum covertly, Vandire 
  personally led a handpicked contingent of Imperial Guard officers into the Ecclesiarchal palace 
  and overthrew Paulis III in what can only be called a military coup. Declaring Paulis to be a traitor 
  to humanity he had the Ecclesiarch summarily shot and took upon himself the dual role of High 
  Lord of the Administratum and Ecclesiarch. 
  Shaken and terrified, the Holy Synod could do nothing to oppose Vandire as he set about 
  eradicating any within the Ministorum who opposed him. As Vandire's wrath fell upon the 
  Cardinals all those not already fleeing elected to return to Ophelia VII to escape the High Lord's 
  clutches. However, fate thwarted them and as their ship entered the warp it was engulfed by a 
  huge storm and they were never seen again. Vandire claimed it was the will of the Emperor; 
  evidence of his divine right to reign over the Imerium in the Emeror's name. 
  Vandire elected Cardinals of his own choosing to fill the mahogany benches of the Holy Synod 
  chambers. He chose a calculated mix of weak-willed fools and brilliant geniuses with just the right 
  amount of cruelty to ensure they would enforce his will without any qualms. The High Lord now 
  had total, unopposed control of both the Ecclesiarchy and the Administratum. The Imperium was 
  about to face its darkest time since the Horus Heresy.
  The Reign of Blood
  Vandire was insane: a paranoid megalomaniac who saw plots and intrigue everywhere. His mind 
  was twisted in every way and he delighted in torturing his victims, declaring he was purifying 
  their souls for the Emperor. He expected his every word to be recorded for posterity and was 
  constantly accompanied by a plethora of scribes whose job was to note down anything he said or 
  any particularly innovative tortures he inflicted in the converted catacombs beneath the 
  
  Ecclesiarchal palace. His mood would swing violently, laughing one moment and murderously 
  angry the next. 
  Vandire would often fall into a trance-like state, during which he would argue with himself in a 
  mumbling voice and on other occasions he would shout out loud for no apparent reason. He 
  claimed he was receiving messages from the Emperor. These meditative periods would always be 
  followed by bouts of excessive violence. He had a huge tri-d map of the Imperium installed in is 
  audience chamber, with a constant relay of current warp strom activity. As soon as a world was 
  reachable, he would dispatch a war fleet to establish control. 
  The Reign of Blood affected the whole Imperium. Sycophantic Army and Navy officers were only 
  too ready to execute Vandire's orders: virus bombing the hive world of Calana VII without reason; 
  invading the farmlands of Boras Minor and enslaving every female child under twelve years of 
  age; using the orbital batteries of Jhanna to melt the planet's ice caps, drowning nearly 4 billion 
  people in the resultant floods. The list goes on and on, meticulously recorded by Vandire's 
  scribes. Vandire would dictate long speeches bemoaning the wretched state of the Imerium, 
  demanding justice object of hate.
  Daughters of the Emperor
  Early in the Reign of Blood Vandire's extensive network of spies notified the High Lord of a 
  particular sect which had previously eluded the attention of the Ministorum. It was a small cult, 
  perhaps only 500 members in total on the little known agri-world of San leor. Vandire was furious 
  when he first heard of the group, but as his agents continued to explain the nature of the cult, his 
  interest swerved from homiccidal intent to covetousness. The sect, known as the Daughters of 
  the Emperor, contained only female members and devoted itself to worship of the Emperor 
  through inner purity. The Daughters of the Emperor studied the ancient arts of war using a taxing 
  learning process to clear their minds of all worldly considerations, honing their skills over their 
  entire lives. His interest piqued, Vandire ordered a ship to prepare immediately for a journey to 
  San Leor and announced he would honour the world with an Ecclesiarchal visit. 
  With an entourage of nearly a hundred thousand servants and soldiers, Vandire on San Leor. As 
  the miles-long procession made its way to the temple of the Daughters of the Emperor, Vandire's 
  agents moved ahead of the Ecclesiarchal train, forcing the meager population of the farms and 
  towns to line the streets and show due respect. Those who failed to cooperate were executed as 
  heretics, regardless of their reasons. Even newly-born babes and ancient elders were dragged 
  from their homes to witness the arrival of the Ecclesiarch. The crowds were supplied with laurels 
  and gifts to present to Vandire, showering him with scented flowers and crying their praise at gun 
  point. Holo-vids of the various creemonies performed by Vandire were spread throughout the 
  accessible Imperium and the propaganda was used to further enforce the power of the 
  Ecclesiarch. 
  Upon reaching the temple, Vandire found the gates barred against him and was informed by a 
  young Daughter of the Empecting that the order did not recognise his authority. Expecting the 
  customary explosion of rage and destruction, Vandire's terrified functionaries feared for their 
  lives. However, Vandire had anticipated such an insolent response and had already considered 
  the solution. He ordered the Daughters of the Emperor to witness a feat that would prove he had 
  the favour of the Emperor.With a small bodyguard of men, Vandire entered the temple and was 
  conducted to the main hall. Before the assembled order Vandire knelt in supplication to the 
  Emperor, praying for his protection, clutching the Ecclesiarch's Rosarius in both hands. Standing 
  again, he ordered one of his guards to shoot him with his laspistol. The officer refused at first, 
  begging with Vandire not to endanger himself. Vandire's response is quoted as, ''there is no 
  danger, I have the Emperor's protection. Do you doubt that?'' The officer had no answer to such a 
  question, loaded as it was subtle malice and the threat of punishment. He duly raised his pistol, 
  aimed at the Ecclesiarch's chest and pulled the trigger. 
  As the bolt of energy struk Vandire there was an explosion of light, blinding all who stood in the 
  hall. As they recovered their senses, they saw Vandire standing totally unharmed in the centre of 
  the chamber, leaning on his bone walking cane. Almost as one, the Guardsmen and Daughters of 
  the Emperor fell to their knees in worship. As he later boasted to his scribes, Vandire had 
  gambled that the isolated Daughters of the Emperor would have never heard of a Rosarius or the 
  conversion field generator it contained. 
  Taking oaths of fealty from the Daughters of the Emperor, Vandire elevated the sect to the 
  position of Ecclesiarchal bodyguard and took them back to Terra with him. From then on, the 
  
  warrior women became his personal retinue of soldiers and companions, and Vandire renamed 
  them the Brides of the Emperor. They were trained by the best teachers in the Imperial Guard to 
  combine their own skills with the modern weapons of war and world of their dedication to the 
  protection of Vandire spread through the Imperium. They were his constant guardians and his 
  silent executioners, who would kill with a word from their lord. 
  The Brides not only served as Vandire's bodyguard, but also as servants and companions. They 
  tasted the High Lord's food, fed him when he fell weak with illness, nursed his frail body and 
  entertained him with singing, dancing and other, more exotic, skills. For all their gaiety on 
  occasion, the Brides of the Emperor were still hardened fighters, and when the Holy Synod tried 
  to have Vandire assassinated a few years later, the Brides went into the meeting chambers, 
  locked the doors and emerged an hour later carrying the severed heads of every Cardinal 
  present.
  Sebastian Thor
  The violent repression and wanton slaughter continued for seven decades after Vandire's 
  ascension to the Ecclesiarchal palace.The resources of the Adeptus Ministorum were directed 
  towards bloodthirsty pogroms and the building of immense new monuments to the Emperor and 
  Vandire. However, Vandire's insanity was ever directed outwards, and thogh distant planets 
  boasted mile-high spires and cathedrals, the Terran palace itself was allowed to fall into decay 
  once more. Whole wings of the sprawling building collapsed from the weight of centuries, and the 
  immense chandeliers and incense burners of the audience chamber were allowed to gutter and 
  die. 
  While the rest of the Imperium glowed with the radiance of gold and platinum and sparkled with 
  the light of millions of rare gems, Vandire's own domain became a dark lair of shadows and dank, 
  chilling winds. Dust lay knee-deep in places, the ancient relics were tarnished and stained, 
  tapestries became torn and mildewed and rats and other vermin left their trail across the 
  priceless rugs and carpets. Occasionally just a single candle would be lit in the enormous 
  expanse of the great hall, with only the odd footfall betraying the presence of the Brides of the 
  Emperor in the darkness. Even during the day, the patina of grime and filth on the stained glass 
  windows let through only a trickle of sunlight. When sweeping rains cleaned the outside of the 
  windows a shaft of brighter light might play about the floor of the great hall, but at these times 
  Vandire would retire to his chambers and sit for days on end in complete silence. The High Lord 
  fell into long, nightmare-ridden sleeps, crying out in hysterical screams. His ancient body was 
  pumped full of drugs and elixirs to keep the inevitable diseases and depredations of age at bay. 
  However, with the guns of the Brides of the Emperor always ready to obey his will, the crippled 
  High Lord still commanded with an iron fist. In his more lucid moments, the ailing Vandire could 
  be heard muttering about the light, and the writings of his scribes recorded that his fear of light 
  seemed to grow with every passing day. 
  It was with trepidation that a young agent appeared on Terra, coming back from the northern 
  reaches of the galaxy, around the planet Dimmamar. His report was disturbing to the High Lord's 
  advisors and caused Vandire to break into a fit of apoplectic rage. Dimmamar had denounced the 
  High Lord as a traitor of the Imperium and the ancient rites of the diocese. The name of one man 
  was heard again and again, all across the Segmentum Obscurus. His name was Sebastian Thor. 
  None on Terra knew where this man came from or what his ultimate purpose might be. The 
  puppet High Lords raged with debate for over a mouth as to what course of action to take. After 
  his initial outburst, Vandire withdrew into himself more than ever, and for most of the council 
  meeting would be seen huddled in the velvet and ebony throne of the Ecclesiarch, surrounded by 
  the ever vigilant Brides of the Emperor, his eyes staring at nothing. As more news came in of the 
  revolt, it became clear that things would have to be stopped soon. Within three months another 
  eighty systems had declared their loyalty to the Confederation of Light and only the Weight of 
  Ministorum armies and fleets in other sectors prevented similar occurrences all across the 
  northern reaches. The most trusted and loyal of the Frateris Templars were dispatched to deal 
  with the threat, and were ordered to raze Dimmamar and eradicate every living creature on the 
  world. 
  The war fleet was duly sent, but shortly after it jumped into warp space outside the Clax system it 
  was smashed asunder by a warp storm of gigantic proportions. The last astropathic transmission 
  reported white arcs of energy tearing apart the hulls of the ships, the power of the storm literally 
  twisting men and machines apart, turning soldiers inside out and disintegrating everything. The 
  
  Clax system has been cut off ever since by the swirling tempest, and it is clamed that those who 
  pass close by can still hear the screams of the dying and feel the panicked last thoughts of the 
  Astropaths echoing through the whole region. It is an area of ill omen now known as the Storm of 
  the Emperor's Wrath. 
  With this huge blow to the Ecclesiarchy's military power, the whole of the Segmentum Obscurus 
  erupted into rebellion. The Cardinal palaces were stormed by frenzied converts who tore down 
  the hangings, burned the icons and smashed the ornate stained glass windows. Through all the 
  madness, the name of Sebastian Thor still kept appearing. Who was this shadowy figure who 
  seemed intent on the destruction of the Ecclesiarchy and with that, the Imperrium itself? Perhaps 
  he was some from of vessel for the gods of Chaos, another Horus attempting to enslave humanity 
  once more. Or maybe some other alien influence controlled him, one of the many creatures of the 
  warp or one of the immensely powerful elder races, hitherto undetected. As more information 
  was relayed back by the Ministorum's agents, the High Lords were stunned by the news. 
  Thor was no daemonic entity intent on corrupting the Imperium, he was just a man, born in a 
  Dimmamar Schola Progenium habitat. Interrogations of old companions revealed that he had 
  been a devout, if somewhat introverted, follower in his early life. However, Thor recently claimed 
  to have visions of the Emperor, and warned that disaster was befalling mankind. It was claimed 
  that Thor had cast an old Preacher from the pulpit in the middle of a prayer session and 
  denounced the ways of the Ecclesiarchy. With an eloquence and charisma the informants could 
  not explain, Thor spoke to those present, reaching into their hearts and minds with his words. 
  News of the incident spread and soon thousands travelled to hear Thor's sermons and went away 
  with a new religious zeal burning in their souls, spreading the message even further. Members of 
  the heretic Confederation of Light approached declared his loyalty to the sect. Thor was brought 
  before the Imperial Commander, Gaius Welkonnen, and spoke of his visions and dreams, and of 
  his ambition to rid the Imperium of Vandire's tyranny. No one could explain what rare power was 
  held in Thor's voice, but the Governor immediately swore his loyalty to Sebastian Thor and placed 
  Dimmamar's army at his disposal, as the adept had requested. 
  As word spread, anarchy embroiled the Segmentum Obscurus, and descration, looting and 
  wanton destruction erupted. Although Vandire'sspies were exposed and driven out with startling 
  efficiency, it became clear that Sebastian Thor's 'army' had grown to over 5 million followers 
  within the space of a year, and the huge entourage was slowly making its way through the 
  Imperium towards Terra. Even some of the surviving Frateris Templars joined his forces. 
  Many legends sprang up around Thor and his long journey, and miraculous events were 
  attributed to his presence. Some of this can be explained by the oratory skills of the young adept, 
  such as the way the population of the planets he passed through would gather their resources to 
  feed and house his immense following. Others remain true mysteries, like the Navigator's tales of 
  the utter calmness of the warp as they journeyed from system to system. Though the rest of the 
  galaxy was still embroiled in the raging tempests that had engulfed the Imperium for many 
  hundreds of years, the massive fleet of the Confedertion of Light passed through the warp 
  without hindrance. The Paternova of the Navigators dubbed him Abstracta Preomnis, Master of 
  the Warp. 
  News of Sebastian Thor spread from the Segmentum Obscurus to other parts of the Imperium. 
  Distance exaggerated the message and soon Thor was being hailed as a god-like being. With 
  much of its armed might destroyed at Clax, the Adeptus Ministorum could do little to stop system 
  after system, diocese from swearing loyalty to the new wave of belief centred around Thor. 
  Despite fierce opposition from many Cardinals and Confessors who saw their power, traditions 
  and whole way of life being destroyed, Thor's creed converted millions of followers. Co-operation 
  and sacrifice became the doctrine of those who heard Thor's impassioned speeches, delivered 
  from different planets along the route to Terra. Although many opposed Thor, all across the 
  Imperium the tide had changed against Vandire. The masses had been pushed too far, and this 
  time they had a leader to unite behind.
  The Wars of Apostasy
  More disturbing news was to reach the Council of the High Lords. Until now, the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus and Space Marine Chapters had played only a small role in the Age of Apostasy. The 
  vagaries of warp travel made any long distance journeys hazardous at best and impossible in 
  some areas. Instead the Adeptus Astartes' planets and the Forge Worlds of the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus became fortresses amidst a sea of anarchy. These organisations were on the 
  
  defensive, protecting the few systems they could from the ravages of the Age of Apostasy and 
  the carnage of Vandire's Reign of Blood. Of all the Imperium, it was these small empire-like 
  enclaves which survived the whole epoch with the least harm inflicted, the guardianship of the 
  Adeptus Mechanicus and Space Marines protecting them from the worst events of that terrible 
  era. 
  With news of Sebastian Thor and the spread of the Confederation of Light, many Space Marine 
  Chapter Masters in the Segmentum Solar and the nearest sectors of the rest of the Imperium 
  began voicing their support for this movement. The Adeptus Mechanicus issued a summons for 
  the High Lords to account for themselves and to indict and execute Vandire as a traitor. Vandire's 
  response was to dissolve the Council of High Lords and order his remaining armies and fleets to 
  attack the rebellious Space Marines and Cult Mechanicus. Many officers refused such a suicidal 
  endeavour, only to be burned or hanged as heretics. They were replaced with more tractable 
  commanders, but by this time Vandire's treachery was revealed. Enraged by what he saw 
  Gastaph Hedriatix, the Fabricator General of the Adeptus Mechanicus, ordered regiments of the 
  Martian Tech-Guard to transport to Earth. These regiments were joined by the Imperial Fists, Fire 
  Hawks, Soul Drinkers and Black Templars Chapters. 
  Although much of the Ecclesiarchal palace had fallen into ruin, the central complex which housed 
  Vandire's throne room still remained an almost impregnable fortress. For months the combined 
  forces of the Tech-Guard and Space Marines tried to breach its walls, only to be constantly 
  thwarted by the Brides of the Emperor, who numbered some 10,000 fighters by this time. As the 
  huge cannons of the Adeptus Mechanicus pounded on the walls of the palace and the Space 
  Marine assault squads fought down mile-long corridors littered with dead, the attention of the 
  High Lords and Vandire was turned outwards. But it was from within that the greatest threat was 
  to come.
  The High Lord Falls
  Since the Reign of Blood started, another organisation had remained apart from the bloodshed 
  and devastation. Within the secure walls of the Imperial palace, the Adeptus Custodes continued 
  their eternal vigil over the Golden Throne. To escape the anarchy that prevailed, and to ensure 
  the protection of the Emperor himself, the Custodians had cut themselves off from the outside 
  completely. Only scraps of information passed through the sealed walls of the most holy of 
  places, and it was only when the Space Marines and Adeptus Mechanicus moved against Vandire 
  that the true extent of the treachery perpetrated by the High Lord became known to them. In 
  secret meetings with the commanders of the Space Marines, the Adeptus Custodes learnt of the 
  Reign of Blood and the Brides of the Emperor defending the traitor High Lord. The mysterious 
  order advised the Space Marines to continue their attack while they would do what they could. 
  The defences of the Ecclesiarchal palace were no obstacle to the Adeptus Custodes, with their 
  lifelong knowledge of the Imperial palace and its thousands of miles of hidden conduits and 
  secret corridors. A small contingent of Custodians, led by a Centurion of the Companions, made 
  its way into the very heart of Vandire's domain. Surfacing not far from Vandire's audience 
  chamber, they were confronted by the Brides of the Emperor. Calling for a truce and a parley, the 
  Centurion laid down his weapons and walked unarmed to meet the guardians of Vandire. For an 
  hour he made an impassioned plea for the Brides to revoke their oaths, striving to convince them 
  that they were fighting for evil, not the Emperor. However, they were not to be swayed by his 
  arguments, and the nameless Centurion had only one option left. Leaving his men as hostages, 
  the Centurion guided their leader and a bodyguard of five female warriors back into the tunnels.
  +++The Reformation+++
  The Ecclesiarchy Reborn
  Although Vandire's Reign of Blood ended with the death of the High Lord, the Age of Apostasy 
  was to continue for many centuries. Much of the Imperium was still wracked by warp storms and 
  all manner of small empires and kingdoms were being carved by Imperial Commanders and 
  Cardinals. The Sebastian Thor had begun his pilgrimage to Earth. However, with no Council of 
  High Lords and no Ecclesiarch there was little hope that the rest of the Imperium could be swiftly 
  restored to its former power. 
  The Space Marine Chapter Masters and the Fabricator General of the Adeptus Mechanicus set 
  
  about resurrecting what remained of the High Lords of Terra. The copious notes of Vandire's 
  scribes provided damning evidence against many of those who had profited from the Reign of 
  Blood, and Hedriatix was adamant that all those implicated would face a trail for their conduct, 
  sooner or later. Many of the organisations were encouraged to purge their own ranks, such as the 
  Navigators and Chartist Captains, Imperial Commanders were promoted from within the ranks of 
  those who had opposed Vandire, while other High Lords were vindicated by their peers and duly 
  kept their seats in the Council. However, there was still no Ecclesiarch.
  The Trial of Sebastian Thor
  Messages were sent to Sebastian Thor, requesting that he journey immediately to Earth. His reply 
  was simple, explaining that he had more work to carry out in the northern reaches before he 
  could continue his journey to Terra. A fast transport ship was sent to collect Thor, but again he 
  refused the invitation, insisting that he was not yet ready. Exasperated, the High Lords issued a 
  decree declaring Thor a traitor and demanding he stand trail on Terra for various seditious 
  activities against the appointed officials of the Emperor. Thor was taken into custody without 
  violence, commanding his followers to stay their hands and let the Emperor protect his 
  messenger. 
  The galleries of the huge courtroom were filled with thousands of Thor's supporters, watching the 
  proceedings with tense anticipation. The poor and wealthy alike travelled from all across the 
  Imperium to witness the trail of the Imperium's latest saviour. The Judicium Terran became a 
  focal point for the faithful and the end of long pilgrimages. Many of those who set out arrived 
  months or even years after the trial had finished, but were determined to complete their journeys 
  and show their support for Thor. 
  The prosecution of Thor was vigorously pursued by certain members of the High Lords, their pride 
  affronted by Thor's dismissive refusals. However, for every charge, there was clear and concise 
  evidence of Thor's innocence. He had not incited the people to smash the temples of the 
  Ministorum, there were documented accounts of his sermons decrying such behaviour. He had 
  not fought against the soldiers of the Imperium, and many of those who had been sent against 
  him were now numbered amongst his most loyal followers. Finally, after two months, the trial 
  came to its end. The High Lords consulted each other for three days, debating what to do with 
  this charismatic young man. 
  It was Captain-General Excelsor of the Adeptus Custodes who delivered their verdict. After 
  explaining that Thor was found innocent of all charges brought against him, Excelsor explained 
  the dire need of the Imperium for a new Ecclesiarch. Since Thor had been proved totally innocent 
  of even the most petty crime, he was an obvious candidate to fill the post in such a time of 
  spiritual need. The crowds roared their approval, thanking the Emperor in his divine wisdom for 
  sending Thor to deliver them. Speaking quietly, Thor declined the offer and the Council erupted 
  into chaos. While the other High Lords ranted at one another and at Thor's impudence, and the 
  watching supporters gasped in despair and disbelief, Excelsor took Thor aside and spoke to him. 
  Although no one truly knows what the Captain-General said to Thor, it is widely believed to have 
  been, " You will leave Terra as an Ecclesiarch, or you will not leave Terra at all..." 
  As the fell silent once more,Thor announced that he would take on the mantle of Ecclesiarch, but 
  only on certain conditions. He was to have the full backing of the High Lords whenever he needed 
  it. He would make changes to the organisation of the Ecclesiarchy and they would trust him in his 
  actions. He also wanted to continue as he had been, moving across the Imperium, preaching to 
  the people directly. It was as an orator that the Emperor had guided him, and with his sermons 
  and prayers he would unite the Imperium under the Emperor once more. Naturally, the High 
  Lords agreed Thor I was the 292nd Ecclesiarch.
  The Reformation
  There were a number of important changes to the Adeptus Ministorum after the Reign of Blood 
  and throughout the Age of Apostasy. Many of them were at the instigation of Sebastian Thor 
  himself. Although Thor strongly disapproved of the way the Ecclesiarchy had been previously run, 
  he was enough of a statesman to realise that radical changes in the Faith were not what was 
  required. There was enough instability already and what the populace was crying out for was 
  solid leadership. Although many of Thor's ideas were never fully realised during his lifetime, the 
  foundations he laid down during his time as Ecclesiarch continue to hold the Adeptus Ministorum 
  together to this day. 
  The first change executed by Thor was the formation of the Synod Ministra on Ophelia VII. 
  
  Although the Holy Synod remains on Terra and Cardinals from all over the Imperium are free to 
  gather there and discuss the issues concerning the Ecclesiarchy, the Synod Ministra acts as a 
  secondary governing body further from Terra. This has a two-fold effect. Firstly, the Synod 
  Ministra relays and disseminates the dictates of the Ecclesiarch and the Holy Synod, enforcing 
  the laws of the Ecclesiarchy. Secondly, it provides a defence against the manipulation of the 
  Ecclesiarchy by other organisations or even a single individual within the ranks of the Ministorum 
  itself. Never again will a High Lord or Ecclesiarch have total power over the Adeptus Ministorum. 
  In a similar vein, each of the dioceses was broken down into smaller areas. Again, this had two 
  effects. Each Cardinal had less personal power and controlled fewer men and resources. 
  Secondly, with more Cardinals within the Holy Synod there would be more opposition to radical 
  changes and plans and so further diluted the power held by any one individual. 
  Other transformations were at the order of the High Lords of Terra. The most important of these 
  was the Decree Passive 0001288/M36. Amongst other prohibitions on military activity, the Decree 
  Passive forbade the Ecclesiarchy from controlling any 'Men under arm'. Sebastian Thor was 
  ordered to disband the Frateris Templars of Vandire and any armies and fleets assembled by 
  other members of the Ministorum while separated from Terra. This was duly done, but for one 
  exception. Seeing that some military force would be needed, and not wishing the Ecclesiarchy to 
  be totally subservient to the will of the Adeptus Terra and the Imperial Guard, Sebastian Thor 
  kept the one army he was allowed under the Decree Passive. Due to the archaic wording of the 
  law, the Daughters of the Emperor did not break the ban. 
  Incorporating the sect fully into the Ecclesiarchy was difficult, but eventually they were renamed 
  the Orders Militant of the Adepta Sororitas. Although the High Lords were uncomforable with this 
  development, they had no legal standing to oppose Thor and his argument that the Adepta 
  Sororitas would regulate the Ecclesiarchy as much as enforce its will did not fall on deaf ears. 
  Even with these major changes, there were hundreds of other details to be seen to: the Schola 
  Progenium needed organising again, the tithes would have to flow into Ministorum vaults once 
  more, there were shrines to be refurbished and temples to be rebuilt. However, after spending a 
  wearisome decade on Terra, Thor departed the Ecclesiarchal palace and left the bulk of the work 
  to the Arch-Deacons and Cardinals. He journeyed all across the Imperium for the next eighty 
  years, quelling heresy and apostasy wherever he came across it. 
  At the age of 112 Sebastian Thor returned to Terra. He was to live for another six months before 
  finally the Emperor claimed his soul. A massive wing was built onto the Mausoleum of 
  Remembrance to contain his sarcophagus. The week after his death was declared a period of 
  mouning and over seventy million pilgrims filed past his tomb within the first year. Huge murals 
  commemorating his life and works adorn the three-mile long passageway leading up to his burial 
  chamber, and the people of the Imperium still travel to Terra to gaze upon the face of the 
  Emperor's most faithful servant.
  +++The Badab War+++
  In 901.M41, as a result of Lufgt Huron's apparent mental destabilisation, the Master of the Tiger 
  Claws and Lord of Badab attacked and destroyed an Imperial investigation fleet as it entered orbit 
  around Badab. Huron's action can be understood with the benefit of hindsight. The Adeptus 
  Mechanicus had long complained of the Tiger Claws' tardiness in submitting gene-seed for 
  routine analysis, whilst the chapter had amassed a huge debt in planetary tithes stretching back 
  over a hundred and fifty years. And when the Imperium moved against its wayward chapter, a full 
  scale rebellion was initiated, the most serious of its kind since the end of the Fourth Quadrant 
  Rebellion in 780.M41. 
  The Tyrant of Badab, as Commander Huron Is known in Imperial histories, was a power-hungry 
  and ambitious individual who should never have risen to power within a Marine Chapter. He was 
  plainly a dangerous individual, able in many respects but lacking the absolute dedication to 
  humanity vital in a Lord of the Imperium. It will never be known for sure, but current hypotheses 
  suggest that the Commander was either an alien shapechanger, or otherwise subject to alien 
  domination of a most unnatural kind. A sudden and unexpected manifestation of psychic powers 
  may lie at the heart of the matter. 
  By 903 three other chapters, the Mantis Warriors, Executioners and Lamenters had joined the 
  
  rebellion. Imperial shipping was attacked, and a ship belonging to the Fire Hawks Chapter was 
  captured by the Mantis Warriors in 904. The Fire Hawks immediately retaliated, and soon five 
  whole chapters were involved in the fighting. The Emperor recalled the Marines Errant from the 
  Eastern Fringes, but they quickly found themselves fally occupied protecting Imperial ships in 
  transit. 
  In 906 two more loyal Marine units, the Red Scorpions and the Minotaurs, had been brought in, 
  and the threat to Imperial shipping was more or less quashed. In 907 the Red Scorpions and Fire 
  Hawks were recalled to their normal service duties in the galactic east, and two more chapters, 
  the Novamarines and Howling Griffons were committed to space-lane duties. 
  Meanwhile, the Star Phantoms began the task of besieging Badab whilst two other chapters were 
  drafred in to investigate the worlds occupied by the Mantis Warriors and Executioners. The 
  Lamenters were caught in an ambush by the Minotaurs in 908 and eventually surrendered after 
  bloody ship-to-ship fighting. This came as a great blow to the Tyrant, and the rest of the war 
  consisted almost entirely of close sieges. The uprising came to an end in 912 with the fall of 
  Badab and final defeat of the Tiger Claws. Before the war was over, The Exorcists, Fire Angels, 
  Salamanders, Space Sharks and Sons of Medusa all became involved for short periods of time, 
  chapters replacing other chapters as pressures elsewhere necessitated their re-deployment. 
  With the rebellion over, The Mantis Legion, Executioners and Lamenters were granted the 
  Emperor's forgiveness, subject to undertaking a hundred year crusade. The homeworlds of the 
  Mantis Legion and Executioners were forfeited to the Space Sharks and Star Phantoms for their 
  part in the war. The other legions received salvage rights to spacecraft and a proportion of the 
  booty. The Tiger Claws were all but destroyed. Only a contingent of about two hundred fought 
  their way through the Exorcists' blockade and escaped into deep space. They have not been 
  heard of since. Of the fate of Imperial Commander Lufgt Huron, Master of the Tiger Claws and 
  Tyrant of Badab, nothing is known.
  >>Imperial Goverment
  +++The High Lords of Terra+++
  The Imperial organisations are so huge and so very complex that it would be impossible to 
  describe them in any detail within this volume. Not even the Curators of the Estate Imperium, the 
  million-strong records office of the Administratum, can not list all the departments of the Adeptus 
  Terra, let alone give details of their composition or purpose. The description that follow therefore 
  only concentrate on the vital aspects of the most important organisations. In particular, this 
  volume is concerned with the fighting warriors of the Emperor's armies and not with the petty 
  details of Imperial bureaucracy. However, it would be inappropriate to examine any of these 
  powerful fighting organisations without at least a cursory look at the mighty High Lords of Terra 
  themselves. 
  The High Lords are the twelve most powerful men in the galaxy. They rule the Imperium in the 
  Emperor's name, and it is they who send the Imperium's fleets to war and who direct the 
  Imperium's inexhaustible armies. Their task is to interpret and enact the Emperor's will, relying 
  upon His potent mind to guide their thoughts and inspire their actions.
  Each of the High Lords is leader of one of the most powerful organisations in the Imperium. A 
  complex web of political skulduggery, promises of support, and considerations of mutual 
  interests, bind them together and determines who will hold office and who will not. In practice, 
  some of the Imperium's organisations are so powerful that it would be unthinkable for their leader 
  not to be a High Lord. Over the millennia different organisations have provided High Lords 
  depending upon which was the most powerful at the time. Ruthless ambition and rivalry 
  characterises all of these great men, and their organisations vie against each other for portions of 
  the Imperial power. The following offices are almost invariably represented as High Lords 
  because they are the cornerstones of the Imperium, the most important of its ancient insitutions. 
  •The Master of the Administratum 
  •The Inquisitorial Representative 
  
  •The Ecclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum 
  •The Fabricator General of the Adeptus Mechanicus 
  •The Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites 
  •The Paternoval Envoy of the Navigators 
  •The Master of the Astronomican 
  •The Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum 
  •The Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica 
  These nine posts are virtually sacrosanct. Should they become empty due to death or retirement, 
  it is usual for the successor to the title to become High Lord. The position of Inqusistorial 
  Representative is not held by any specific Inqusistor, but the seat is retained for whichever 
  individual is sent on behalf of the Inquisition. Similarly, the place of the Paternoval Envoy is open 
  to whoever might be the Envoy of the Paternova of the current ruling family of Navigators. The 
  remaining three posts are most likely to be filled from amongst the following mighty officals: 
  •Lord Commander of the Segmentum Solar 
  •Lord Commander Militant of the Imperial Guard 
  •Cardinal(s) of the Holy Synod of Terra 
  •The Abbess Sanctorum of the Adepta Sororitas 
  •Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes 
  •Chancellor of the Estate Imperium 
  •The Speaker for the Chartist Captains 
  +++Adeptus Ministronum+++
  The Emperor is a being of god-like powers. Indeed, it is common for citizens of the Imperium to 
  honour their Emperor as a god, especially upon primitive or degenerate planets. This deification 
  of the Emperor is not officially recognised but is accepted and even encouraged within the 
  Adeptus Terra. The Emperor, for his part, suffers from no illusion about his humanity and sees 
  himself only as the first servant of mankind. However, even those who work close to the Emperor, 
  members of the Adeptus Custodes and the Adeptus Mechanicus, are riddled by superstition and 
  fervour. This has led to a general acceptance of the Emperor's deification, and the establishment 
  of the Imperial Cult. The cult was envisaged as a means of reinforcing loyaly amongst primitives, 
  feral worlds and the uneducated levels of society. However, over the centuries the cult has 
  become more generally accepted and even its administrators have become 'believers'. 
  The cult organisation, sometimes known as the Adeptus Ministorum, is a division of the 
  Administratum. The 'Ministry' is run by the Holy Synod of Terra whose members all hold the rank 
  of Cardinal. The chief, known as the Ecclesiarch, is elected from amongst their number by the 
  Synod. The organisation is also known as the Ecclesiarchy for this reason. Although technically 
  subordinate to the Master of the Administratum, the Ecclesiarch is extremely influential and is 
  almost invariably included amongst the High Lords of Terra as an Administratum representative. 
  The working priests of the Ecclesiarchy are fully initiated members of the Imperial Cult known as 
  Preachers. Senior Preachers may be placed in charge of a Mission of up to several hundred 
  Preachers and despatched to spread the word amongst unenlightened worlds. The principal 
  tenets of the Imperial Cult are the persection of mutants, the abhorrance of aliens and the 
  worship of both the Emperor and Imperial ideals. By increasing the awareness of these dangers, 
  albeit in a relatively unsophisticated way, the Adeptus Ministorum makes the job of the 
  Inquisition that much easier. However, missionaries do sometimes come into conflict with 
  Inquisitors as their fields of responsibility overlap. 
  Trained Preachers administer the rites of the Imperial Cult to devotees all over the Imperium. The 
  army, navy, and all branches of the Adeptus Terra have Preachers within their ranks. As well as 
  common Preachers there are special officers empowered to cunduct the most important Cult 
  rites. The most common of these are the Confessors. Confessors are highly experienced 
  individuals whose success as Preachers has led to their elevation to Confessors. They travel from 
  planet-to-planet, spreading the faith and holding evangelical rallies. New cult recruits are 
  encouraged to 'confess' personal mutations as well as mutations or strange behaviour amongst 
  their friends and relatives. Confession is not necessarily good for the soul... but it does help the 
  process of mutant control which is vital to the future of humanity.
  
  +++Administratum+++
  The Administratum represents the vast bulk of the multi-million strong priesthood. Its members 
  are stratified into countless ranks and sub-divisions, with responsibilities that extend to every 
  aspect of life in the Imperium. At the lowest level are humble scribes and clerks, at the highest 
  level are the mighty High Lords of Terra - an inner council whose task is to interpret the 
  Emperor's instructions and formulate policies based on them. The most powerful of all the Lords 
  of Terra is the Master of the Adeptus Terra, chosen by the Emperor himself and the practical 
  figurehead of the whole Imperium. Whilst the main administrative centre is Earth, the 
  Administratum also have countless minor posts scattered throughout the galaxy - these are 
  called temples, and each temple houses a staff comprising members from several divisions of the 
  Adeptus Terra as well as the Administratum. These buildings combine the functions of church, 
  fortress, barracks, jails and office for the members of the priesthood that inhabit them. Like other 
  non-combatant servants, the members of the Administratum wear a monastic style of dress, but 
  their habits vary in colour according to rank and, to some extent, area of responsibility. The basic 
  colour for the lowliest scribe is black, whilst as an individual's standing increases so his clothing is 
  lighter, various shades of grey and eventually pure white. Only the High Lords of Terra wear red 
  robes, but they may wear pure white for informal occasions and daily use. Higher ranking 
  members are likely to carry weapons, and eventhe lowest ranks may carry weaponry if they are 
  away from Earth. Members of the Administratum are a common sight throughout the galaxy - 
  gathering information, assessing taxation, productivity and making reports for appraisal back on 
  Earth.
  +++Planetary Government+++
  Planetary Administration lies in the hands of governors called Imperial Commanders - a title 
  which corresponds roughly to the term 'Lord'. The Commander is appointed by the Administratum 
  to oversee a planet or, more rarely, a continent or a special project of some kind. The position is 
  often regarded as an hereditary one, associated with an ancient title (Duke of Calaco, Baron of 
  Ymgarl, Lord of Lambs World, etc). Although duty-bound to the priesthood, the Commander is 
  essentially an independent governor, and so long as his taxes come through, his quotas are met 
  and his planet kept in order, he is free to run things in any manner he chooses. Commanders can 
  recruit and maintain their own armies and inter-planetary fleets, and may even be permitted 
  access to interstellar spacecraft.
  >>Space Marines
  +++SPACE MARINES+++
  The Space Marines are the product of genetic engineering, intensive training, biochemical 
  alteration and implant surgery which takes them to the limits of Human development and 
  beyond. A Space Marine can survive terrible wounds, heal with superhuman speed, and perform 
  incredible feats of strength and endurance. A Marine is genetically related to all the other 
  members of his Chapter, since each Marine carries some genetic material from the Chapter's 
  founder, or Primarch - one of a small group of super-humans created by the Emperor and his 
  scientists.
  In numerical terms, the Space Marines are a small force compared to the countless billions of 
  Imperial citizens, but their superhuman ability and fearsome reputation makes them worth many 
  
  times their number in conventional troops. They are held in awe throughout the Imperium.
  Each Space Marine Chapter is a fully self-sufficient fighting force, with its own space fleet and 
  machine pools as well as support and technical personnel. The Techmarines are trained by the 
  Adeptus Mechanicus, and can repair almost any piece of military equipment, from a bolter to a 
  spaceship.
  A Chapter's fleet is its home, providing accommodation, training facilities, machine shops, 
  armories, shuttle silos, chapels, a mausoleum and every other facility the Chapter requires. The 
  fleet travels endlessly through the galaxy; task forces split off from it for individual missions or 
  campaigns, and rejoin the fleet when the mission is accomplished.
  The Chapter provides for all a Marine's needs. Tradition and ritual are of great importance, with 
  as much emphasis on moral welfare as on physical training and combat skills. The Chapter is a 
  Marine's family; all other ties of blood and loyalty are renounced. A Space Marine is devoted to 
  the Emperor, to his Chapter, and to the craft of war; these things are his entire life.
  Each Chapter is headed by an Imperial Commander - during the Horus Heresy, most of the 
  Commanders were Primarchs. In addition to their support and technical personnel, a Chapter 
  contains tens of thousands of Marines (Note that after the Heresy new Chapters were formed with 
  far smaller complements so that no Commanders would ever wield the same power as Horus).
  Space Marines may be recognized by their distinctive powered armor - which includes air and 
  blood purifiers, drug injectors and communications equipment. Neuroplastic fiber-bundles 
  replicate and amplify the wearer's movements, so that powered armor is no more cumbersome to 
  wear then a normal suit of clothes.
  Each Chapter has its own colors and insignia, which are used on its armor and vehicles as well as 
  on the flags and banners which are often carried into battle. It also has its own particular rituals 
  and traditions. The Space Wolves, for instance, have a completely different Litany of Combat then 
  the Ultramarines. Even the most basic activities, such as weapons checks and maintenance 
  routines are turned into rituals; a Marine's every action must express his devotion to his Chapter.
  In the earliest stages of the Horus Heresy, the Space Marines who sided with the Warmaster kept 
  to the original colors and rituals of their Chapters. Later on, however - particularly after the death 
  of Horus and the withdrawal from the Sol system - this began to change. 
  The litanies proclaiming devotion to the Emperor had already been dropped, and they were 
  replaced with declarations of allegiance to Horus. As the feral world cults introduced by Horus 
  spread throughout the Traitor Chapters, most Chapter rituals changed beyond recognition. 
  Insignia and colors also began to change; most common was the replacement of imperial insignia 
  with the Eye of Horus or with symbols from the feral cults. Some Traitor Marines went so far as to 
  re-paint their armor in new colors.
  +++History of the+++
  +++Space Marines+++
  INTRODUCTION
  The Legiones Astartes is known always as the Space Marine, it comprises 1000 independent 
  fighting units called Chapters, each of roughly 1000 fighting troops. Each Chapter has its own 
  Commander, one of whom holds the title of Master of Marines. Each Commander is subject to the 
  orders of top-ranking members of the priesthood - but only in a general, non-military sense. So, 
  whilst a Commander may receive orders to destroy a target, the means to be employed are left to 
  the Commander - his only duty is to succeed! The Space Marines represent the Imperium's main 
  strike-force of mobile warriors, ready to travel anywhere at any time. Amongst men and aliens 
  alike they are popularly called Angels of Death.
  THE ORIGIN OF THE LEGIONES ASTARTES
  The Legiones Astartes (Space Marines) were instrumental in the early wars that put the Imperium 
  on the galactic map. At the end of the Age of Strife, Earth was a single sovereign planet which 
  had only recently become free of volatile warp-storms. With the sudden dispersal of these storms, 
  it became possible once again for spacecraft to travel to and from Earth. Earth's forces had 
  carved out an Empire that stretched almost half-way across the galaxy within two hundred years. 
  
  This was the First Crusade. 
  Research and development leading to the creation of the Space Marines was undertaken in the 
  thirtieth millennium immediately prior to the beginning of the First Crusade. This work was 
  conducted in the superbly equipped laboratories built deep inside the planet Earth. The objective 
  of the program was to create a caste of warrior elites, characterised by super-human strength 
  and unflinching loyalty. 
  These new warriors were organised into their own special units called 'chapters'. Those chapters 
  created at the time of the First Crusade are known as Chapters of the First Founding. There were 
  originally 20 of these, but only 7 survive in forty first millennium. Since the First Founding there 
  have been twenty five other occasions when the Emperor has felt it necessary to create new 
  chapters. The most recent Twenty Sixth Founding was in the year 738 of the current millennium. 
  GENE-SEED AND ZYGOTES
  There are nineteen varieties of gene-seed corresponding to the nineteen different super-human 
  organs which are surgically implanted into the Space Marine. 
  Most chapters have existed for thousands of years. During that time, gene-seed belonging to 
  some chapters has mutated. This has resulted in changes in tlhe exact nature of the artificially 
  cultured organs. Such changes, may sometimes make an implant useless. In other circumstances 
  changes in an organ might reduce its effectiveness, or cause new and strange effects. Whatever 
  the result, it will affect the entire chapter - all Space Marines belonging to a chapter share 
  implants cultured from the same original gene-seed. 
  As well as mutant implants, many chapters have lost one or more types of gene-seed due to 
  accident, genetic failure, or some other cause. Very few chapters therefore possess all nineteen 
  implants. All possess the carapace implant (phase 19). It is this implant which marks a Space 
  Marine for what he is - irrespective of other implants, training or psycho-surgery. 
  VARIATIONS BETWEEN CHAPTERS
  Each organ serves a specific function as outlined above. Although a chapter's Apothacaries and 
  surgeons are able to perform the necessary implant operations, they do not necessarily 
  understand the exact functioning of each organ. The processes involved are incredibly ancient. 
  Procedures are handed down from generation to generation, becoming increasingly ritualised 
  and misinterpreted. For these reasons, the efficiency of each organ differs from chapter to 
  chapter, depending on the condition of that chapter's gene-seeds and the degree of debasement 
  of its surgical procedures. In some chapters, mutation of gene-seed, poor surgical procedure, or 
  inadequate post-operative conditioning, has twisted the functioning of implants. For example, the 
  omophagea gene-seed of the Blooddrinkers has mutated so that all Blooddrinkers have an 
  unnatural craving for blood. In some chapters individual organs are either useless or absent 
  altogether. 
  REPRODUCING
  Gene-seed can only be obtained by removing one or both progenoid organs from a living (or very 
  recently deceased) Marine. The whole purpose of the progenoid organ is to provide gene-seed to 
  enable the chapter to continue. It is not possible to create a zygote in any other way. Each 
  chapter's stock of gene-seed is therefore unique to itself. Gene-seed has a great deal of religious 
  significance to a chapter, representing its identity and future. Without gene-seed a chapter has 
  no future. The extinction of a type of gene-seed means that a zygote has been lost forever. The 
  extinction of a phase 18 or 19 gene-seed would effectively mean an end to a chapter. 
  As each marine has only two progenoid glands, the rate at which a chapter can create new 
  Marines is restricted. It may take many years for a chapter to rebuild itself after heavy losses. 
  Gene-seed is often rendered useless if a marine is exposed to high radiation levels or other forms 
  of genetic disturbance. The efficiency of different chapters' progenoid gene-seed also varies, and 
  some chapters are able to make up their numbers faster than others. 
  According to their charter, each chapter is obliged to send 5% of its genetic material to the 
  Adeptus Mechanicus on Earth. This 'tithe' has two purposes. Firstly, it enables the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus to monitor the health of each Marine chapter. Secondly, it enables the Adeptus 
  mechanicus to store gene-seed with a view to founding new chapters. 
  A new chapter cannot be founded overnight. A single suitable gene- seed must be selected for 
  each zygote. Zygotes are then grown in culture and implanted into human test slaves. These test 
  slaves must be biologically compatible and free from mutation. Test-slaves spend their entire 
  lives bound in static experimental capsides. Although conscious they are completely immobile, 
  
  serving as little more than mediums within which the various zygotes can develop. From the 
  original slave come two progenoids, which are implanted within two more slaves, from which 
  come four progenolds and so on. it takes about 55 years of constant reproduction to produce 
  1000 healthy sets of organs. These must be officially sanctioned by the Master of the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus and then by the Emperor himself. Only the Emperor can give permission for the 
  creation of a new chapter. 
  RECRUITMENT AND INITIATION
  The various implants cause vital changes in a Marine's physique and mental state. Many of these 
  changes are controlled by natural hormonal secretions and growth patterns. Implants may not 
  prove effective, or may not become fully functional, if they are carried out once the recipient has 
  reached certain stages of natural development. It is therefore inevitable that recruits must be 
  reasonably young. Tissue compatibility is also essential, otherwise organs may fail to develop 
  properly. 
  The third consideration is mental suitability. The catalepsean node, occulobe, and sus-an 
  membrane will only develop to a useable condition under the stimulus of hypnotic-suggestion. A 
  recruit must therefore be susceptible to this particular treatment. 
  These considerations mean that only a small proportion of people can become Space Marines. 
  They must be male because zygotes are keyed to male hormones and tissue types, hence the 
  need for tissue compatibility tests and psychological screening. If these tests prove successful a 
  candidate becomes a neophyte. With the completion of organ implantation and attendant 
  chemical and hypnotic training, the subject becomes an initiate. An initiate receives training 
  before joining the ranks as a full brother. A Marine usually joins the ranks between the ages of 
  16-18. Pressures during wartime may accelerate the process. 
  THE RISKS
  Althrough the chapters are careful to select only the most suitable candidates, not all neophytes 
  survive to become initiates. This is in part to the degeneration of knowledge amongst the 
  individual chapters that makes screening procedures less effective than they were. Nor are 
  operational methods entirely satisfactory in some cases. In many chapters implant surgery is 
  heavfiy ritualised, and often accompanied by scarring, incantation, periods of prayer, and all 
  sorts of mystical practices which compromise medical efficiency. For example, the Spacewolves, 
  phase 17 implant is acompanied by the withdrawal of the initiate's canine teeth and their 
  replacement with longer canines. The chapter regards the additional surgery as part of the 
  initiation ceremony. 
  If an implant fails to develop properly, it is likely that a Marine's metabolism become badly out of 
  synchronisation. He may fall into a catatonic state or suffer bouts of hyperactivity. In either event, 
  he will probably die. 
  Those unfortunates that do not die almost invariably suffer mental degenerating into homicidal 
  maniacs or gibbering idiots. 
  However, when a chapter is at full strength these misfits may be put out of their misery. If the 
  chapter is short of Marines they are often allowed to live, and may be placed within their own 
  special units. Those who display uncontrollably psychotic tendencies can be recruited into suicide 
  assault squads, or as suicide bombers. 
  Some chapters deliberately foster such creatures, even going so far as to implant deformed 
  zygotes into some initiates. This is very dangerous, and the practice is discouraged by Imperial 
  edict. But old traditions die hard. 
  PSYCHO-CHEMICAL AND OTHER CONDITIONING
  Implantation goes hand-in-hand with chemical treatment, psychological conditioning and 
  subconscious hypnotherapy. All of these are essential if the Marine is to develop properly. 
  Chemical Treatment - Until his initiation, a Marine must submit to constant tests and 
  examinations. The newly implanted organs must be monitored very careully, imbalances 
  corrected, and any sign of maldevelopment treated. This chemical treatment is reduced after 
  completion of the irritation process, but it never ends. Marines undergo periodic treatment for the 
  rest of their lives in order to maintain a stable metabolism. This is why their power armour suits 
  contain monitoring equipment and drug dispensers. 
  Hypnotherapy - As the super-enhanced body grows, the recipient must learn how to use his new 
  skills. Some of the implants, specifically the phase 6 and 10 implants, can only function once 
  correct hypnotherapy has been administered. Hypnotherapy is not always as effective as 
  
  chemical treatment, but it can have substantial results. If a Marine can be taught how to control 
  his own metabolism, his dependence on drugs is lessened. The process is undertaken in a 
  machine called a hypnomat. Marines are placed in a state of hypnosis and subjected to visual 
  and aural images in order to awaken their minds to their unconscious metabolic processes. 
  Training - Physical training stimulates the implants and allows them to be tested for 
  effectiveness. 
  Indoctrination - a Marine is more than a human with extraordinary powers. Marines have 
  extraordinary minds as well! Just as their bodies receive 19 separate implants, so their minds are 
  altered to release the latent powers within. These mental powers are, if anything, more 
  extraordinary than even the physical powers described above. For example, a Marine can control 
  his senses and nervous sysem to a remarkable degree, and can consequently endure pain that 
  would kill an ordinary man. A Marine can also think and react at lightning speeds. Memory 
  training is an important part of the indoctrination too. Some Marines develop photographic 
  memories. Obviously, Marines vary in intelligence as do other men, and their individual mental 
  abilities vary in degree.
  +++THE FOUNDING LEGIONS+++
  No.
  Chapter Title
         Primarch
                                       Notes
  1
  Dark Angels
         Lion El' Jonson
  2
  *All known records expunged from library - order origination unknown*
  3
  Emperor's Children  Fulgrim
                             (Excommunicate Traitoris)
  4
  Iron Warriors
         Perturabo
                             (Excommunicate Traitoris)
  5
  White Scars       Jaghatai Khan
  6
  Space Wolves
         Leman Russ
  7
  Imperial Fists
         Rogal Dorn
  8
  Night Lords        Konrad Curze/Night Haunter  (Excommunicate Traitoris)
  9
  Blood Angels
         Sanguinius
  10
  Iron Hands        Ferrus Manus
  11
  *All known records expunged from library - order origination unknown*
  12
  World Eaters
          Angron                              (Excommunicate Traitoris)
  13
  Ultramarines
          Roboute Guilliman
  14
  Death Guard
          Mortarion
                              (Excommunicate 
  Traitoris)
  
  15
  Thousand Sons
          Magnus the Red
                  (Excommunicate 
  Traitoris)
  16
  Lunar Wolves
          Horus
                              (Excommunicate Traitoris)
  17
  Word Bearers
          Lorgar                             (Excommunicate Traitoris)
  18
  Salamanders
          Vulkan
  19
  Raven Guard
          Corax
  20
  Alpha Legion
          Alpharius
                             (Excommunicate Traitoris)
  +++The Creation of+++
  +++a Space Marine+++
  There are nineteen varieties of gene-seed corresponding to the nineteen different super-human 
  organs which are surgically implanted into the Space Marine.
  Most chapters have existed for thousands of years. During that time, gene-seed belonging to 
  some chapters has mutated. This has resulted in changes in the exact nature of the artificially 
  cultured organs. Such changes may sometimes make an implant useless. In other circumstances 
  changes in an organ might reduce its effectiveness. Whatever the result, it will affect the entire 
  chapter -- all Space Marines belonging to a chapter share implants cultured from the same 
  original gene-seed.
  As well as mutant implants, many chapters have lost one or more types of gene-seed due to 
  accident, genetic failure, or some other cause. Very few chapters therefore possess all nineteen 
  implants. All possess the carapace implant (phase 19). It is this implant which marks a Space 
  Marine for what he is, irrespective of other implants, training or psycho-surgery.
  Implants
  The nineteen organs created by the ancient technicians of the Emperor are described below. 
  Each of these organs is extremely complicated and because many of the organs only work 
  properly when another organ is present, the removal or mutation of one organ may affect the 
  functioning of the others. For these reasons, implants must be constantly monitored, and many 
  Marines have to undergo corrective surgery or chemo-therapy to re-balance their metabolism. 
  Phase 1 -- Secondary Heart. The simplest and most self sufficient implant. The secondary 
  heart is capable of boosting the blood supply or maintaining full life functions even with the 
  destruction of the recipient's original heart. The phase 1 implant enables Marines to survive low 
  oxygen concentrations and traumatic injury.
  Phase 2 -- Ossmodula. This is a tubular shaped organ whose small size belies its complex 
  structure. The ossmodula monitors and secretes hormones affecting epiphiseal fusion and 
  ossification of the skeleton. At the same time, the specially engineered hormones encourage the 
  forming bones to absorb ceramic based chemicals administered in the Marine's diet. Two years 
  following implantation, this will have caused considerable strengthening of the long bones, 
  extreme ossificaiton of the chest cavity (caused by growth of the ribs forming a solid mass of 
  inter-laced bone plates) and a general increase in the size of the recipient's skeleton. 
  Phase 3 -- Biscopea. This organ is implanted into the chest cavity. It is small, approximately 
  circular and, like the Ossmodula, its primary action is hormonal. The presence of the biscopea 
  stimulates muscle growth throughout the body. 
  Phase 4 -- Haemastamen. This tiny organ is implanted into a main blood vessel. The 
  haemastamen serves two purposes. It monitors and to some degree controls the phase 2 and 3 
  implants. The organ also alters the constituent make-up of the recipient's blood. As a result, 
  
  Marine blood is considerably more efficient than ordinary human blood, as it has to be when you 
  consider the extra biological hardware a Marine carries inside him! 
  Phase 5 -- Larraman's Organ. This is a liver shaped, dark, fleshy organ about the size of a golf 
  ball. It is implanted into the chest cavity along with a complicated array of blood vessels. The 
  organ generates and stores special 'larraman cells'. If the recipient is wounded, these cells are 
  released into the blood stream. They latch onto leucocytes in the blood and are transported to 
  the site of a wound. Once in contact with air, the larraman cells form a skin substitute of instant 
  scar tissue, staunching the flow of blood and protecting any exposed wound area. 
  Phase 6 -- Catalepsean Node. This brain implant is usually inserted into the back of the skull 
  via a hole drilled into the occipital bone. The pea-sized organ influences the circadian rhythms of 
  sleep and the body's response to sleep deprivation. Normally, a Marine sleeps like any normal 
  man, but if deprived of sleep, the catalepsean node 'cuts in'. A man implanted with the node is 
  capable of sleeping and remaining awake at the same time by 'switching off' areas of the brain 
  sequentially. This process cannot replace normal sleep entirely, but increases a Marine's 
  survivability by allowing perception of the environment whilst resting. 
  Phase 7 -- Preomnor. The preomnor is a large implant which fits into the chest cavity. It is a 
  pre-digestive stomach which allows the Marine to eat a variety of otherwise poisonous or 
  indigestible materials. No actual digestion takes place in the preomnor. Individual sensory tubes 
  assess potential poisons and neutralise them or, where necessary, isolate the preomnor from the 
  rest of the digestive tract. 
  Phase 8 -- Omophagea. This is a complicated implant. It really becomes part of the brain, but is 
  actually situated within the spinal cord between the cervical and thoracic vertebrae. Four nerve 
  sheaths called neuroclea are implanted between the spine and the preomnoral stomach wall. The 
  omophagea is designed to absorb genetic material generated in animal tissue as a function of 
  memory, experience or innate ability. This endows the Marine with an unusual survival trait: he 
  can actually learn by eating. If a Marine eats part of a creature, he will absorb some of the 
  memories of that creature. This can be very useful in an alien environment. Incidentally, it is the 
  presence of this organ which has created the various flesh eating and blood drinking rituals for 
  which the Marines are famous, as well as giving the names to chapters such as the Blood 
  Drinkers, Flesh Tearers, etc. 
  Phase 9 -- Multi-lung. This is another large implant. The multi-lung, or 'third' lung, is a tubular 
  grey organ. Blood is pumped through the organ via connecting vessels grafted onto the 
  recipient's pulmonary system. Atmosphere is taken in by means of a sphincter located in the 
  trachea. In toxic atmospheres, an associated sphincter muscle closes the trachea and restricts 
  normal breathing, thus protecting the lungs. The multi-lung is able to absorb oxygen from poorly 
  oxygenated or poisonous air. Most importantly, it is able to do this without suffering damage 
  thanks to its own efficient toxin dispersal, neutralisation and regeneration systems. 
  Phase 10 -- Occulobe. This small slug-like organ sits at the base of the brain. It provides the 
  hormonal and genetic stimuli which enable a Marine's eyes to respond to optic-therapy. The 
  occulobe does not itself improve a Marine's eyesight, buts it allows technicians to make 
  adjustments to the growth patterns of the eye and the light-receptive retinal cells. An adult 
  Marine has far better eyesight than a normal human, and can see in low light conditions almost 
  as well as in daylight. 
  Phase 11 -- Lyman's Ear. This organ enables a Marine to consciously enhance and even filter 
  certain types of background noise. Not only is hearing improved, but a Marine cannot become 
  dizzy or nauseous as a result of extreme disorientation. Lyman's ear is externally 
  indistinguishable from a normal human ear. 
  Phase 12 -- Sus-an Membrane. This flat, circular organ is implanted over the top of the 
  exposed brain. It then grows into the brain tissue until completely merged. The organ is 
  ineffective without subsequent chemical therapy and training. However, a properly tutored 
  Marine may then enter into a state of suspended animation. This may be a conscious action, or 
  may happen automatically in the event of extreme physical trauma. In this condition a Marine 
  may survive for many years, even if bearing otherwise fatal injuries. Only appropriate chemical 
  therapy and auto-suggestion can revive a Marine from this state -- a Marine cannot revive 
  himself. The longest known period of de-animation followed by successful re-animation is 567 
  years in the case of brother Silas Err of the Dark Angels (d. 321 M.27). 
  Phase 13 -- The melanochrome, or melanochromatic organ, is hemispherical and black. It 
  
  functions in an indirect and extremely complicated manner. It monitors radiation levels and types 
  bombarding the skin, and if necessary sets off chemical reactions to darken the skin to protect is 
  from ultraviolet exposure. It also provides limited protection from other forms of radiation. 
  Phase 14 -- Oolitic Kidney. This red-brown and heart shaped organ improves and modifies the 
  Marine's circulatory system enabling other implants to function effectively. The oolitic kidney also 
  filters blood extremely efficiently and quickly. The secondary heart and oolitic kidney are able to 
  act together, performing an emergency detoxification program in which the Marine is rendered 
  unconscious as his blood is circulated at high speed. This enables a Marine to survive poisons and 
  gases which are otherwise too much for even the multi-lung to cope with. 
  Phase 15 -- Neuroglottis. Although the preomnor protects a Marine from digesting anything 
  too deadly, the neuroglottis enables him to assess a potential food by taste. The organ is 
  implanted into the back of the mouth. By chewing, or simply by tasting, a Marine can detect a 
  wide variety of natural poisons, some chemicals and even the distinctive odours of some 
  creatures. To some degree a Marine4 is also able to track a target by taste alone. 
  Phase 16 -- Mucranoid. This small organ is implanted in the lower intestine where its hormonal 
  secretions are absorbed by the colon. These secretions initiate a modification of the sweat 
  glands. This modification normally makes no difference to the Marine until activated by 
  appropriate chemo-therapy. As a result of this treatment, the Marine sweats an oily, naturally 
  cleansing substance which coats the skin. This protects the Marine against extremes of 
  temperature and even offers a slight degree of protection in vacuum. Mucranoid chemo-therapy 
  is standard procedure on long space voyages and when fighting in vacuum or near-vacuum.
  Phase 17 -- Betcher's Gland. Two of these identical glands are implanted, either into the lower 
  lip, alongside the salivary glands or into the hard palette. Betcher's gland works in a similar way 
  to the poison gland of venomous reptiles by synthesising and storing deadly poison. Marines are 
  rendered immune to this poison by virtue of the gland's presence. The gland allows the Marine to 
  spit a blinding contact poison. The poison is also highly acidic and corrosive. A Marine imprisoned 
  behind iron bars could easily chew his way out given an hour or so. 
  Phase 18 -- Progenoids. There are two of these glands, one situated in the neck, the other 
  deep within the chest cavity. These glands are important to the survival of the Marine's chapter. 
  Each organ grows within the Marine, absorbing hormonal stimuli and genetic material from the 
  other implants. After five years the neck gland is mature and ready for removal. After ten years 
  the chest gland becomes mature and is also ready for removal. A gland may be removed any 
  time after it has matured. These glands represent a chapter's only source of gene-seed. When 
  mature, each gland contains a single gene-seed corresponding to each zygote implanted into the 
  recipient Marine. Once removed by surgery, the progenoid must be carefully prepared, its 
  individual gene-seeds checked for mutation, and sound gene-seeds stored. Gene-seeds can be 
  stored indefinitely under suitable conditions. 
  Phase 19 -- Black Carapace. This is the last and the most distinctive implant. It looks like a film 
  of black plastic when it's growing in the tanks. This is removed from its culture-solution and cut 
  into sheets which are implanted directly beneath the skin of the Marine's torso. Within a few 
  hours the tissue expands, hardens on the outside, and sends invasive neural bundles deep inside 
  the Marine. After several months the carapace will have fully matured and the recipient is then 
  fitted with neural sensors and transfusion points cut into the hardened carapace. These artificial 
  'plug-in' points mesh with features integral to the powered armour, such as the monitoring, 
  medicinal and maintenance units. Without the benefit of a black carapace a Space Marine's 
  armour is relatively useless.
  +++Space Marine Armour+++
  Most humans who have any contact with Space Marines will know and recognise the most 
  common types of Space Marine armour quite readily. However, there are other older types which 
  remain in service to this day and which are very different in their design. Some Space Marine 
  Chapters use only a single type of armour while others make use of several different types.
  Many of the older variants have special associations for particular Chapters and may be worn by 
  ceremonial guards or by elite units For example. Other Space Marine Chapters are less formal in 
  their use of armour, mixing various types into their fighting units with little or no regard for 
  
  conformity. The degree of uniformity within a Space Marine Chapter varies a great deal from 
  Chapter to Chapter and is often determined by historical precedent or tradition. 
  The initial evolution of Space Marines and their armour occurred during the long period of Earth's 
  isolation that preceded the rise of the Imperium and which later became known as the Age of 
  Strife. 
  The Age of Strife lasted From approximately the 26th millennium to the beginning of 31st ( ie 
  roughly from 25000 AD to 30000 AD - further references to dates are given in terms of millennia). 
  During these five thousand years the ancient pan-galactic human civilisation of the past broke 
  down and was replaced by many thousands of local civilisations based around either a single 
  solar system or, occasionally, a small cluster of nearby stars. The reason this happened is that 
  warp travel (the means by which spacecraft travel throughout the galaxy) became dangerous and 
  eventually impossible due to colossal disturbances in the fabric of the warp. These disturbances, 
  known as warp storms, were caused by the growth of the Chaos Power Slaanesh - a thorough 
  discussion of which appears elsewhere in this volume, along with a description of the Fall of the 
  Eldar. 
  During the Age of Strife Earth and the other planets of the Terran solar system were unable to 
  communicate with other human worlds, but maintained contact with each other. For much of this 
  period the government of Earth held sway over the entire system, at other times Mars and the 
  Moon were dominant. 
  For much of the time the different worlds found themselves at war. During the 28th millennium 
  Earth government broke down completely and the planet divided into dozens of inter-warring 
  nations. After two and a half thousand years of continuous warfare little remained of the once 
  sophisticated civilisation of the past. The planet had become a battleground fought over by 
  techno-barbarian warlords and their warrior hordes. This was a dark time for the people of Earth: 
  a time dominated by brutal rulers like Kalagann of Ursh, Cardinal Tang, and the most infamous of 
  all, the half-mad half-genius Narthan Dume Tyrant of the Panpacific Empire. It was against this 
  background of techno-barbaric warfare that the first Space Marines were created and the first 
  Space Marine Armour type developed.
  FORMATIVE MARINE ARMOUR
  This first type of armour is now often referred to as 'Mark 1'. In fact this is the sort of armour worn 
  by the techno- barbarian warriors that dominated the Earth. When the Emperor began his 
  conquest of the planet his retinue was equipped and armed in the same way as the troops of 
  other warlords. The first Space Marines formed part of that retinue and were equipped with the 
  same sort of armour as other warriors of the time. 
  The thunder-bolt and lightning emblem on the breastplate of this suit was the personal badge of 
  the Emperor in those days, predating the Imperial eagle which only became the symbol of the 
  Imperium much later. This emblem gives the suit its other common name - Thunder Armour. 
  This is not really a single enclosing suit and offers no atmospheric protection or life-support 
  facilities - all of these being unnecessary while fighting was restricted to Earth. The helmet and 
  the top plume are fairly typical, but these early suits were manufactured on an entirely local basis 
  and their exact designs were often a matter of personal taste. The main part of the armour is the 
  massive powered torso which encloses the chest and arms. Beneath the armoured chest plate 
  coiled energy cables transmit power into the arms, effectively multiplying the wearer's fighting 
  abilities three or four times over. During this period most fighting consisted of close combat, 
  warriors preferring to grapple with each other rather than use long range weapons - the power of 
  a warrior's chest and arms was therefore of paramount importance. 
  The warrior's legs are not power armoured at all but enclosed in tough padded breeches. In the 
  example shown the warrior wears armoured greives and armoured boots. These were not 
  standard by any means, but were worn by many of the better equipped warriors and were 
  common amongst the early Space Marines. The warrior wears a backpack which provides his suit 
  with power - most of its bulk is taken up by a cooling mechanism meant to prevent the power unit 
  from overheating. 
  Warriors equipped in this way fought during all the Emperor's wars on Earth, and also on the 
  Moon and Mars which have Earth-type atmospheres. Mark 1 armour is unlikely to be seen on the 
  41st millennium battlefield but ceremonial units are sometimes equipped in this way.
  MARK 2
  Once the Terran system was secure and the process of rebuilding firmly in band, the galactic 
  
  conquest could begin. Even before the warp storms and the Age of Strife ended, the Emperor 
  started to make provisions for his Great Crusade. Part of these plans included the re- equipping of 
  the Space Marine armies with a far more sophisticated fighting suit. 
  With its advanced technology the newly conquered planet of Mars became the centre for 
  munitions development. New types of armour were produced in great numbers in the Martian 
  factories under the direction of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the ruling class of Tech- priests installed 
  to administrate its affairs on behalf of the Emperor. This enabled the entire Space Marine Corps 
  to be re-equipped. 
  The new type of armour was the Crusade Suit, which became soon became known as Mark 2 
  armour while the old style became Mark 1 retrospectively. The armour is totally enclosed and life-
  sustaining, and so suitable for fighting on alien worlds as well as in deep space. It is arranged into 
  articulated hoop-shaped plates for ease of movement and these now cover the legs as well as the 
  chest. The additional energy cabling required to operate the leg armour can be seen in the 
  example illustration while the chest coils are enclosed by armoured plates. The old armour had 
  deliberately placed these coils on the outside to help keep the armour cool, but more efficient 
  coolers in the Mark 2 did away with this necessity. 
  The back pack retains the old shape but is now much more efficient and contains all the extra 
  equipment needed to maintain life-support, air recycling, fluid recovery, and the various 
  automatical medical Functions which have remained common to Space Marine armour ever since. 
  The helmet is now fitted with automatic sensory devices developed in the Martian workshops. 
  These consist of exterior sensors which gather visual and audio stimuli from the immediate 
  environment - effectively functioning as eyes and ears. The information gathered in this way is 
  processed by a computer brain and then transmitted directly into the wearer's mind by a neural 
  connector. The practical result for the wearer is that he appears to see and hear quite normally, 
  but he can also see infra-red and ultra-violet light, and hear a wider range of sound frequencies. 
  The wearer is also able to selectively enhance a visual image or sound should he wish. 
  If exposed to blinding lights or deafening noises, the computer processor acts as a safety valve 
  and dampens down the stimuli preventing damage to the Space Marine. 
  This sort of armour was used throughout the Great Crusade. Many maintain that it is the most 
  efficient of all Space Marine armours, although its overlapping plates are notoriously difficult to 
  repair. Actual examples of this armour, much repaired and carefully maintained, are still used in 
  small numbers by many Space Marine Chapters.
  MARK 3
  The Mark 3 armour variant dates from the inner-galactic wars between the Emperor's forces and 
  the inhabitants of worlds close to the galactic core, which included many of the Squat 
  Homeworlds, not all of which were entirely pleased to find themselves the object of galactic 
  reconquest. Mark 3 armour was never intended to replace Mark 2, but to Provide an optional 
  heavy armour type suitable for fighting on board spacecraft and in tunnel complexes. High 
  casualties suffered during early battles had shown the need for such armour. Mark 3 therefore 
  placed considerable emphasis on frontal protection, while the rear armoured plates were 
  lightened to compensate. This armour was reckoned ideal where cover was minimal and combat 
  was a matter of frontal assault. 
  The suit itself is a highly modified Mark 2 with the addition of fixed armour plates to the body and 
  limbs and a new heavy armoured helmet. The sloping plates of this helmet were intended to 
  deflect shot to the left and right, and was to inspire the Mark 4 and 6 helmet designs. No Space 
  Marine forces were ever equipped solely with this mark although many modern Chapters still use 
  Mark 3 armour for boarding actions and tunnel fighting. 
  While a successful solution to a specific need, Mark 3 armour is too clumsy and uncomfortable for 
  everyday use. As the most visually brutal of all Marine armour, it is sometimes used as a basic 
  uniform for ceremonial guards. Mark 3 armour is sometimes called the Iron Suit or Armorum 
  Ferrum in recognition of its great strength.
  MARK 4
  The Great Crusade lasted for approximately 200 years at the end of which came a period of 
  political consolidation. The Space Marines were now scattered far and wide throughout the 
  galaxy, many serving as garrisons rather than as campaigning armies, and their size was scaled 
  down to reflect this new role. Much of the equipment of the past was rapidly wearing out, 
  including the old Mark 2 and 3 armour suits produced on Mars. While some Marine Chapters 
  
  chose to continue local production and maintenance, the Martian factory hives of the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus set about producing a new variant. This was to be the Mark 4 or Imperial Maximus 
  Suit. 
  The main change was to abandon the separate abutting plates in favour of larger inflexible 
  armour casings incorporating the flexible joints originally developed for the Mark 3. The result 
  was only marginally less mobile than the earlier type and considerably easier to produce and 
  maintain. Technical secrets uncovered on newly conquered worlds enabled the Martians to 
  develop a more efficient armour, improving the quality of protection and reducing the weight of 
  the suit at the same time. Improved armouring of the power cables enabled the main arm and 
  chest supply to be safely relocated on the exterior of the armour, while use of new material also 
  allowed the size and number of cables to be reduced. 
  The helmet is an entirely new type, the basic shape inspired by the sweeping front of the Mark 3. 
  In earlier armour the helmet is fixed and the wearer's bead is free to move inside. In Mark 4 and 
  later versions the helmet is not fixed but moves with the wearer's head. This facility reflects the 
  constructors' increasing experience with neural connector gear and the use of new materials 
  which flooded into the Martian workshops as the Great Crusade progressed. Mark 4 armour was 
  designed to be the ultimate and final type of Space Marine armour, able to offer the best 
  protection in a variety of conditions. The Martian factories were turned over to its production and 
  many of the Space Marine armies were entirely or partially re-equipped.
  MARK 5
  The general issue of Mark 4 armour was only half complete when the Horus Heresy broke out. 
  This threw the entire program of supply into turmoil. In fact many of the most recently supplied 
  Chapters were to turn against the Imperium while many loyal Chapters were forced to continue 
  with older variants, and the confusion was considerable. The Space Marine armourers 
  Techmarines and Artificers) had hardly got used to the new armour and many were as yet unable 
  to maintain it properly let alone duplicate it as was originally intended.
  With the Mark 4 newly in service the need for large numbers of spares had not been anticipated, 
  so that suits quickly became unusable due to quite minor battle damage. It was soon found that 
  the new and rather specialised materials used in the construction of the Mark 4 were unavailable 
  locally and this increasingly became a problem as Chapters moved from battle-zone to battle- 
  zone. The Imperial forces were soon forced into a fall- back position. Production of Mark 4 
  armoured ceased, and a new type of armour was designed almost literally over-night. This was 
  the Mark 5 or Heresy Suit. 
  The Mark 5 used as many pre-Mark 4 components as possible. Large stocks of these existed and 
  the Marine Artificers were already familiar with their application. Once supplies of the new 
  materials used in the Mark 4 armour dried up it became necessary to re-use older substances. In 
  the illustration the lighter chest, arm and leg cabling of the Mark 4 has been replaced by older 
  and heavier style cabling made from more readily available materials. However the cables are 
  now exposed because they are too bulky to fit under the new style chest plate. This was to prove 
  a consistent weak spot in the design leading to the fitment of all kinds of improvised chest 
  armour. 
  A distinguishing feature of the Mark 5 armour were the heavily studded armour plates. This was 
  an attempt to reinforce the Mark 4 pattern plates when inferior materials were used due to lack of 
  the proper supplies. An extra skin plate was fitted around the armour using molecular bonding 
  studs. The extra weight was considerable, especially if a further chest plate had been added, 
  leading to increased pressure For energy from the power pack. As a result the wearer either had 
  to turn up the power output and suffer intolerable heat build-up, or leave the power supply as it 
  was and accept reduced power levels. 
  The helmet type illustrated is a spin-off from the Terminator development program, an early type 
  of pre- production helmet, sharing the same type of auto-sense components as contemporary 
  Terminator suits. Being something of an improvised stop-gap, it is common for Mark 5 suits to 
  vary a great deal. Where Mark 4 helmets, armoured plates and cabling were available these were 
  often used. 
  Despite its inauspicious origin the Mark 5 armour proved remarkably durable and equally 
  importantly it was easy to produce and maintain. Huge quantities were shipped out to Space 
  Marine Chapters during the Heresy, including to Chapters which subsequently went over to 
  Horus. As Horus's own supply position became tenuous Mark 5 suits were scavenged from fallen 
  
  enemies and used by his forces. After the Heresy most of the Mark 5 suits were broken up or 
  dismantled to Provide spares. Few Chapters maintain examples of the design, preferring perhaps 
  to forget the dark days of the Heresy. Renegade Space Marine Chapters may still be equipped 
  with this armour.
  MARK 6
  At the same time as production of Mark 4 armour ceased, work began on a long term 
  development program to replace the Mark 4 with a more durable type. The Mark 5, or Corvus 
  Suit, was only ever perceived as a stopgap design. The weapon development workshops on Mars 
  began to experiment with a mixture of new and old technology, making the newer materials more 
  durable where possible. 
  A notable feature of the resulting armour types (Marks 6 and 7) is the provision of dual 
  technology circuits. These permit relatively rare or sophisticated functions to be temporarily 
  replaced or repaired using common or very simple technology. Although development was 
  incomplete the new armour was rushed into production while the forces of Horus advanced 
  throughout the Terran solar system. Hastily equipped Space Marines wore the new style Mark 6 
  armour into battle while the development laboratories were disassembled and prepared for 
  transfer to Earth. During the Martian campaign forces of Horus eventually overran the production 
  facilities for Space Marine armour and soon began to manufacture new suits for their own use. 
  Consignments were distributed to other forces elsewhere in the galaxy so that this new type of 
  armour became quite widespread. 
  Distinguishing features of the Mark 6 armour are its relatively clean appearance due to rehousing 
  the main power cables under the armour plates. The exterior chest and arm cables are duplicated 
  under the chest plate and automatically isolated from the main system if damaged - thus 
  providing a failsafe and overcoming the vulnerability of the Mark 5. The helmet is an improved 
  version of the Mark 4 rather than a new type, although a new type was under development and 
  was to be used on the Mark 7. The left shoulder armour retains the same construction method as 
  the earlier Mark 5 and for the same reasons. Where supplies of material were short it is the right 
  side of the warrior which needs to be better protected while he fires his weapon, thus the left side 
  could be most easily replaced by slightly less effective plates. The need to economise in this way 
  was very real at the time. Later the studded pad became associated with the Terran campaign 
  and the final heroism of the Space Marines so that it became a traditional emblem of those days.
  MARK 7
  While the final battle for Mars was underway the Imperium, realizing that the planet would 
  eventually fall, set about duplicating the munition production lines back on Earth. The armour 
  development teams from Mars were transferred wholesale to continue the development program 
  and incorporate their latest work into a new armour type. As Horus's forces finally overcame the 
  defenders of Mars new Mark 7 armoured suits started to reach the Space Marines on Earth and 
  the Moon. Mark 7 represents the fulfillment of the new design program which was really only half 
  complete in the Mark 6. In fact, so effective was the Mark 6 that both types continued in service 
  thereafter and many Chapters chose to continue with their old armour rather than adopt Mark 7. 
  The main improvement is the newly designed chest plastron which covers the chest and arm 
  cabling. This bears the eagle device and gives the armour its common name of Armorum Impetor 
  or Eagle Armour. The other main difference is the abandonment of the studded right shoulder 
  piece and the substitution of the new helmet for the old Mark 4 derived model. Improvements 
  were made to the knee joint articulation, but this modification had already been incorporated into 
  many of the later Mark 6 suits. On the whole it is Fair to say that Mark 7 represents the final 
  development of Mark 6 and that the two sets of armour have a great deal in common. Parts from 
  one are readily interchangeable with parts from another, so that a Mark 7 helmet will fit a Mark 6 
  suit and vice versa.
  CHAPTER VARIANTS
  The 7 basic marks of Space Marine armour were all developed up to and during the period of the 
  Horus Heresy. During the production history of each mark various improvements were 
  incorporated in the light of field experience. Thus there is a certain variation even within each 
  mark although this is usually limited to the types of material used rather than to stylistic changes. 
  Following the end of the Heresy much in the Imperium changed, including the organization and 
  number of the Space Marine Chapters. Whereas up until this time there had only been twenty 
  Chapters, henceforth the huge pre- Heresy forces were to be broken up into many smaller 
  
  Chapters. The new Chapters that were founded were equipped with whatever suitable armour 
  and weaponry was available. For the most part the armour used was either Mark 6 or 7, but with 
  a fair sprinkling of older types. 
  Since that time each Chapter has largely taken over the production of its own equipment. That is 
  not to say that every Chapter produces every single item of hardware that it uses. Some Chapters 
  trade items with other Space Marine Chapters, or they commission work from local fabricators. 
  This latter option is especially common where Chapters hold the governorship of the world they 
  live on - in which case the planet is effectively owned by the Chapter and its resources can be 
  organized by the Space Marines as they wish. In other Space Marine Chapters supplies are 
  purchased through the Adeptus Mechanicus.
  MARINE ARTIFICERS
  Within each Chapter Space Marine armour is maintained by skilled Marine Artificers, These are 
  not Space Marines, but highly trained and dedicated servants who spend their entire lives 
  working for the Chapter, Artificers are just one of the many types of 'civilian' servants who work 
  for their Space Marine Masters. In some Chapters these Artificers traditionally work together in a 
  single huge workshop and their products are distributed amongst the Space Marine Chapter as a 
  whole. In other Chapters individual Artificers are the personal servants of either a Squad of 10 
  Marines or an individual officer. These Artificers are very proud of their Space Marine masters, 
  considering the status and reputation of their unit or officer to be of the utmost importance. In 
  their turn the Space Marines are equally proud of the Artificers whose fine workmanship adorns 
  their armour and weapons. Over the history of a Chapter especially talented Artificers become 
  famous and justly celebrated, and examples of their work are much sought after. 
  In many Chapters it is traditional for Artificers to come from special families, and for fathers to 
  pass on their skills and position to their sons. In other Chapters the position is open to all, but 
  involves a long period of apprenticeship to an older Artificer. 
  The Artificer's job is to decorate and maintain the Chapter's armour and weapons. In fact, the 
  Chapter also has Engineers and Techmarines whose role is to manufacture much of the 
  equipment, so the Artificers are involved more with decoration, engraving, customizing and 
  modifying the basic equipment. For example, when a Space Marine earns a combat honour it is 
  the Artificers who make the honour badges and fasten them on to the Marine's armour. Similarly, 
  the Artificers make rank badges, long service badges and other marks of distinction that are used 
  by their Chapter. 
  Older types of armour are associated with the past history of many Chapters and often with the 
  deeds of heroic individuals. Artificers will carefully hunt down examples of ancient armour-to use 
  as the raw material on which they can engrave honour marks or purely decorative features. Such 
  pieces will be lovingly restored, often plated with silver or gold, and then painstakingly engraved 
  with naturalistic scenes, abstract designs or Chapter badges. A piece of armour that can be 
  shown to have belonged to an old Chapter hero is valued above all others. As successful Space 
  Marine Officers are often presented with ancient pieces of armour, a single armoured plate or 
  helmet might have a long and famous history and could have belonged to a whole succession of 
  Space Marine heroes and been worked on by many famous Artificers.
  INDIVIDUALISED ARMOUR
  As well as resurrecting old pieces of armour for notable Space Marines, the Artificers also 
  decorate new armour and modify armour to suit particular individuals. Only Space Marines 
  earning some kind of reward or honour would be given such items. As a result of their efforts over 
  the many thousand years the Chapter has been in existence, it is quite common to find suits 
  which combine elements of the different marks as well as quite unique suits which have 
  customized armoured plates or helmets. 
  Some Chapter reserve such armour for special individuals, officers, or high ranking commanders. 
  There is no fixed rule on this, it is a matter of Chapter tradition and preference how such armour 
  is used. However, it is generally the case that very high ranking officials inherit special suits of 
  armour, which they may then combine with their own existing suits so that their individual 
  honours or personal pieces of armour are retained when they are appointed to a new position.
  +++SPACE MARINE ARMAMENT+++
  
  Space Marines have access to the full range of Imperial weaponry and equipment. Their training 
  and biochemical engineering ensure that they are natural masters with any type of weapon, from 
  rocks and sticks of feral world savages to the sophisticated needlers and neuro-disruptors favored 
  by spies and assassins. For nearly all their combat duties however, they use standard weapons 
  mixes, relying on a narrow range of favored general purpose weapons.
  The standard Space Marine weapon is the bolt gun, or bolter. This is a light, rapid-fire weapon, 
  firing a hail of small-caliber explosive shells. Bolter shells generally use mass-reactive fuses, so 
  that they explode after penetrating the target, rather then upon impact: this makes the bolter a 
  highly effective anti-personnel weapon.
  The main close assault weapon is the bolt pistol, a smaller version of the bolter that works on 
  identical principles. While it lacks the range of the larger bolt gun, its handier pistol configuration 
  makes it ideally suited for close fighting.
  Other favored close assault weapons include the power glove and the chainsword, both of which 
  are most commonly issued to officers leading assault troops. The power glove is a scaled-up 
  metal gauntlet surrounded by an energy field which gives it the strength to punch through armor 
  and even steel bulkheads. The chainsword is as it sounds - a sword-like weapon whose edges are 
  fitted with a loop of moving blades.
  The Space Marines also use a wide range of support weapons, of which the most common are 
  heavy bolters, melta-guns, plasma guns, las-cannons and missile launchers.
  The heavy bolter is a larger version of the bolt gun, which can lay down a curtain of fire across a 
  wide area. While its firepower against personnel targets is devastating, its shells are too light to 
  harm armored vehicles.
  Also known as the melter or fusion gun, the melta-gun is a heat weapon, whose short range is 
  balanced by its effectiveness against both infantry and vehicles. A small scale controlled fusion 
  reaction inside the weapon's firing chamber causes it to project a blast of heat so intense that 
  metal or plastic can be melted almost instantly. 
  The plasma gun fires small packets of superheated gas plasma. Like the melta-gun, its killing 
  power helps make up for its short range and it is equally effective against infantry and armored 
  vehicles.
  The las-cannon, or laser cannon, is a favorite anti-vehicle weapon, with a long range and 
  sufficient punch to knock out a Land Raider. As well as being a popular infantry weapon, it is 
  often mounted on vehicles.
  The missile launchers rival the las-cannon as the most popular infantry weapon. Its variety of 
  loads makes it equally effective against vehicles and infantry, and its range is equal to that of a 
  las-cannon.
  +++SPACE MARINE+++
  +++ARMORED VEHICLES+++
  The Space Marines are not purely an infantry force; they command a wide variety of fighting 
  vehicles, ranging from one-man jetcycles to orbital artillery platforms.
  The Land Raider is the main armored fighting vehicle of the Space Marines. Thousands of these 
  tanks are in action on both sides in the Horus Heresy, and they are produced in large numbers by 
  the Adeptus Mechanicus in both camps. Its sturdy frame is equipped with heavy ceramite armor, 
  and its four las-cannon give it a devastating punch in almost any direction. It's anti-personnel 
  weaponry consists of two heavy bolters. In addition to its roll as an armored fighting vehicle, the 
  Land Raider can carry up to ten Marines into battle; it is very popular as a heavily-armed 
  transport.
  The Rhino armored personnel carrier is one of a family of armored vehicles that are widely used 
  throughout the Imperium. The Rhino is the most common of these designs, and is the standard 
  Space Marine personnel carrier and armored transport. It is more lightly armed and armored then 
  the Land Raider, but like a Land Raider it can carry up to ten troops.
  The Whirlwind missile carrier is one of several Rhino variants. It is more or less identical to the 
  original chassis, but the original bolter armament is augmented by a turret-mounted multi-
  launcher, giving the Whirlwind a powerful support capacity.
  
  +++LAND RAIDER+++
  From the beginning of time, man has believed that the stars control his fate. Through their 
  movements, people have seen future events and intimations of the will of their gods. In the forty-
  first millennium, billions still watch the sky fearfully, searching for a portent of doom. But in this 
  time, they have reason to fear. From the stars come ships, some to trade, many to wage war. 
  Most feared of all are the ships of the Legiones Astartes, gravid with their cargo of death - the 
  Land Raiders of the Space Marines, bursting upon the unsuspecting, roaring like thunder, burning 
  all before them.
  The Space Marines are rightly feared by ordinary folk, for their presence signifies death as surely 
  as the plague bells of Phobos. The images of the Space Marines and the Land Raider Battle Tank 
  are forever meshed in the popular imagination. In some cultures, the vehicles are portrayed as 
  Chariots of Destruction ridden upon the solar winds by the Angels of Death, poised throughout 
  the galaxy, ready to crush the serpent of Chaos.
  MAN, MYSTICISM AND MECHANICS
  Mysticism is an important part of everyday life in the Imperium. A twentieth century man might 
  recognise in the Land Raider nothing more than a huge battle tank, a mere engine of war. But the 
  men of the forty-first millennium are wiser. They know that every Land Raider has its own spirit, 
  and its own destiny. 
  Whether a Land Raider is built in the Martian weapom-shops of the Adeptus Mechanicus or in the 
  armouries of the Space Marines, its purity and spiritual welfare are given as much attention at 
  every stage of construction as its mechanical aspects. A wildcat (or other locally-obtainable 
  predator sacrificed within its ceramite framework. Armoured panels are inscribed with runes of 
  protection as they are reverently bolted in place. Components are checked and blessed before 
  assembly. As each Land Raider grinds towards the end or the production line, preparations are 
  made for the Ceremony of Commission.
  Land Raiders are delivered to the Space Marines, the Imperial Guard, the Inquisition, the Adeptus 
  Arbites, to certain Rogue Traders and to other, more secret and obscure Imperial bodies. Space 
  Marine Land Raiders are handed over to a Techmarines. or Frater Astrotechnicus to use the 
  proper title. In other cases, it will be accompanied to its new home by an Adeptus Mechanicus 
  Technomat - a human machine programmed with the knowledge required to service his charge. 
  For many technicians, the commission represents the culmination of years of training; learning 
  how to divine the runes of engineering, memorising the liturgy of maintenance, and studying the 
  routine of service.
  If a Marine Land Raider should be lost, its Techmarine offers prayers of mourning for its spirit. If a 
  Techmarine is slain, his Land Raider must be reconstructed by one of his technical brethren. In 
  the field, this is often done simply by taking a ring bearing the vehicle's serial runes from the 
  dead Techmarine, and the full reconstruction takes place later.
  THE LAND RAIDER IN BATTLE
  The Land Raider is ideally suited to the style of warfare favoured by Space Marines. Like the 
  Marines themselves, the vehicle is capable of fighting in almost any environment. The Land 
  Raider also offers protection and transport for a squad of troops, as well as carrying many of their 
  supplies and back- up equipment. On Death Worlds and in other harsh environments, the Land 
  Raider becomes a vital life-support as well as a fighting machine.
  In battle, the squad normally disembark, leaving the Land Raider and its Techmarine crew to fight 
  independently. Its adaptability allows it to fight in a variety of roles. Where appropriate, a single 
  Land Raider or a small group will be sent forward with troops in order to provide covering fire and 
  support. On other occasions, Land Raiders from several companies, are brought together into 
  huge armoured formations, ready to do battle with enemy vehicles or defences.
  LAND RAIDER CAMO SCHEMES
  Marines are warriors of a wholly practical devotional order Whilst their endless liturgies and 
  prayer may appear, to the uninitiated, to be men superstition, they serve an important and real 
  function. For example, while preserving the accumulated experience of millennia, the doctrinal 
  lore of camouflage schemes is not so dogmatic as to prevent the adoption of appropriate or 
  innovative colours and patterns where appropriate. So while there are innumerable official or 
  
  approved colour schemes, there are also many which have been evolved by individual chapters 
  to meet their particular requirements in certain situations.
  Some Marine chapters adhere rigidly to the traditional patterns. The chapter of the Red Scorpions 
  not only sticks strictly to the lore of camouflage handed down from their original founding and 
  embodied in the Codex Imperialis, but views any deviance from this practice as tantamount to 
  heresy. This his led to the Red Scorpions actually refusing to fight alongside other Marine 
  chapters on a number of occasions - one of the reasons why they were mostly confined to space 
  lane duties during the Badab War. The Commanders of the Imperial Guard are less stringent 
  about such things than Marines, and will sometimes design their own schemes for a specific 
  campaign.
  Wherever they may be serving, Land Raiders may sometimes appear garish in comparison to the 
  camouflage schemes evolved for use in the limited range of combat environments offered by 
  twentieth-century Earth. A Land Raider camouflaged for use in the spectacular cobalt chromate 
  deserts of Galen V, for instance, would be highly conspicuous in a yellow-brown silicone oxide 
  desert beneath Earth's yellow sun. Many schemes show no attempt at camouflage as such, but 
  consist of solid heraldic colours proclaiming the identity of the occupants as surely as the shield 
  of a medieval knight. Indeed, there are some Marine chapters whose tradition actually forbids the 
  use of camouflage on the grounds that "the colours of cowardice'' are Wholly inappropriate to a 
  true warrior. This attitude, although by no means rare amongst the Legiones Astartes, is not 
  officially recognised and is not embodied within the ancient Codex Imperialis.
  Most strange of all are the fully Pictorial designs painted onto Land Raiders both by Marines and 
  by the Imperial Guard. These take the form of actual paintings of battle scenes or of famous 
  events in the history of the unit concerned. Although this is a spectacular example of vehicle 
  decoration, machines rarely enter the battle zone wearing such lavish paint schemes.
  +++The Cursed Founding (21st)+++ 
  The Twenty First Founding was the largest since the Second Founding. It took place sometime immediately before the 
  Age of Apostasy, a time of Civil war which divided and almost destroyed the Imperium. The new Chapters were dogged 
  by bad luck right from the start. Several disappeared mysteriously whilst in action or in warp space.
  Every surviving Chapter of the founding is affected by spontaneous genetic mutation of its gene-seed. As a result the 
  Chapters have gradually dwindled in size as their inability to raise and induct recruits means that battle casualties cannot 
  be replaced. Worse still, some Chapters have developed genetic idiosyncrasies, mutations which strain the tolerance of 
  the Inquisition and threaten the Chapter's survival. Few Chapters have suffered as ignominious an end as the Flame 
  Falcons whose spontaneous and extreme physical corruption turned them into a race no longer human or sane. The 
  Chapter was declared Excommunicate and driven from its home world of Lethe by the Grey Knights.
  +++The Dark Angels+++
  +++History+++
  The origins of the Dark Angels Chapter are shrouded in mystery.
  There are no records of its beginnings nor any mention of its part in the Emperor's Great Crusade. 
  Any reference in the Imperial histories of its deeds during the accursed times of the Horus Heresy 
  has been deleted. But yet a legend persists that once the Dark Angels teetered on the brink of 
  Chaos, that a terrible betrayal besmirched all the Chapter's honour. Such is their shame that from 
  that time they have striven for absolution from the sins of millennia past.
  The Dark Angels are now considered to be one of the greatest of all the Space Marine Chapter 
  with their Deathwing company being particularly revered. Only the highest ranking members of 
  the Dark Angels Chapter know the terrible shameful secret of what happened ten thousand years 
  ago - a secret that drives the Dark Angels to search throughout space and time for the final 
  conflict that will bring them redemption or damnation…
  The Primarchs
  
  To understand what happened to the Dark Angels we must return to a time more than 10,000 
  years ago. To a time before there were any Space Marines; to a time when the Emperor created 
  Primarchs. To help him in his Great Crusade to reclaim the galaxy for humanity, the Emperor, in 
  his wisdom, created the genetically-engineered superhuman Primarchs. The mutant genes used 
  as the basic building blocks for these elite warriors had taken centuries to gather and refine, and 
  despite the Emperor's best efforts of psychic shielding, his industry did not go unnoticed by the 
  Dark Gods of Chaos. Not having the resources to actually destroy the incubator capsules in which 
  the embryonic Primarchs grew, the Chaos Powers combined their energies and instead stole them 
  away from the Emperor, scattering the amniotic tanks and their foetal occupants throughout the 
  warp.
  The twenty incubation capsules drifted through the warp for decades or even centuries, until 
  finally coming to rest on human-inhabited worlds throughout the galaxy. The capsule of one 
  Primarch, he who was to become known as Lion El'Jonson, founder of the Dark Angels, was 
  dropped on an isolated planet on the northern fringe of the Eye of Terror - the death world of 
  Caliban.
  Caliban
  Caliban was as cruel and harsh an environment as any in the galaxy. In the bleak forest that 
  covered the globe lived creatures that had been by Chaos, and which were of such ferocity that 
  mere day-to-day survival was a constant struggle. The human inhabitants of Caliban were forced 
  to live in huge fortresses and castles, located in clearings hacked from the forests of the planet. 
  Cut off from earth by the Warp storms that savaged the galaxy in the Age of Strife, civilisation on 
  Caliban devolved back into a semi-feudal state, with most of the population ruled over by a small 
  warrior elite.
  The nobility of Caliban were a bluff and pugnacious race. Raised from childhood to live and die by 
  the sword, they were great warriors and extremely brave. They fought in a form of power armour 
  much like that used by the Space Marines, and like them their main weapons were the 
  chainsword and bolt pistol. Most other forms of advanced technology had, however, been lost, 
  and the warrior nobility therefore rode into battle on huge warhorses known as destriers.
  The nobles' life was one of constant struggle as they fought against the multitude of chaotic 
  creatures that threatened to overrun their small settlements. Sometimes a particularly fearsome 
  creature would stay in one area and terrorise it, in which case the ruler of the community would 
  declare a quest against the monster, and the nobles from all around would come and attempt to 
  kill the beast. Slaying a quest-creature could bring honour and fortune for the noble lucky enough 
  to kill it - more often than not though it brought only a bloody and horrific death at the teeth and 
  talons of a hell-spawned abomination.
  The Young Lion
  Such then was the planet where the young Primarch's capsule crash-landed. Most of the other 
  Primarchs were fortunate enough to be found and raised by the local human inhabitants of the 
  planet they landed on. Such was not to be Jonson's fate, for his capsule landed in a remote and 
  isolated region of Caliban many miles from the nearest human settlement.
  How Jonson survived those early years on Caliban is a complete mystery. By rights he should 
  have died within the first few minutes he was exposed on the planet. But Jonson did not die. 
  Somehow, as a young child on one of the most deadly death worlds in the Imperium he not only 
  survived, but grew strong and tall. What it was like for him in those grim and dark days none can 
  say, for there was no-one there to record the events of his life, and Jonson never spoke of those 
  times himself. All that can be said for certain is that for a decade Jonson was forced to trust to his 
  own wit and skill in order to survive. He had no-one to aid him, he could rely on only himself. And 
  so it was, in this state, that at the turn of the decade since his arrival on the planet, the Primarch 
  encountered his first humans.
  The Order
  The brave warrior knights he encountered belonged to a group known simply as the Order. The 
  Order had a reputation across all of Caliban for the honesty, nobility and fearless skills of its 
  brother-knights in battle. Uniquely amongst the knights of Caliban, then members, or brothers, of 
  the Order were selected by merit rather than inheritance. Anyone could join the Order, no matter 
  how low born they might be. Contingents of brother-knights from the Order travelled across the 
  planet, giving their aid whenever it was needed.
  It was while on one of their great expeditions that a band from the Order came upon the wild man 
  
  that lived in the forests. Thinking him a monster, the knights were ready to kill the Primarch when 
  one of their number, sensing that there was something more to the creature than was at first 
  apparent, halted his fellows. Luther, for such was the name of the Primarch's saviour, and the 
  other knights returned to civilisation, taking with them the man born of the forest.
  Because of his appearance and the place of his discovery, the Order gave the wild man the name 
  of Lion El'Jonson, which meant 'The Lion, the Son of the Forest'. Jonson easily adapted to the ways 
  of humans, learning to speak remarkably quickly. But of his time growing up in the forest he 
  never spoke.
  Within the fortress monastery of the Order of the Primarch was assimilated into human society on 
  Caliban. There he and Luther formed a close friendship. It appeared that the two men filled in the 
  gaps in each other's personality. Where Jonson was temperamental and taciturn, Luther was 
  charming and charismatic. Where Luther was rash and emotional, Jonson was a brilliant strategist 
  and unstoppable once decided upon a course of action. They realised that they complimented 
  each other and, as such, became an incomparable team.
  Over the following years Jonson and Luther rose through the ranks of the Order. Their exploits 
  became the stuff of legend on Caliban, and the reputation of the Order rose accordingly. The 
  number of young warriors wishing to join the Order grew and grew, so that in time many new 
  fortress monasteries had to be built. As the Order grew in size Jonson and Luther argued for a 
  crusade against the monsters that infested the forests, to cleanse the planet once and for all of 
  their foul presence. The oratory of Luther convinced the Grand Masters of the monasteries and 
  most of the nobles of the planet to join in the crusade, but it was Jonson's supreme ability at 
  planning and organisation which ensured that within the course of a single decade the entire 
  planet of Caliban was cleared of the monstrous creatures that had once inhabited it. A golden age 
  dawned for the inhabitants of the once troubled planet.
  In recognition of his triumph against the creatures of Chaos Lion El'Jonson was proclaimed new 
  Supreme Master of the Order and Caliban. Although Luther did not openly begrudge Jonson the 
  honour he had won, he would not have been human if he did not feel some twinge of jealousy. 
  Thus was lit the first small spark that would lead to the schism which would tear the Dark Angels 
  Chapter apart. But all this was in the future - for the present the people of Caliban enjoyed a time 
  of peace and plenty.
  The Emperor Reaches Caliban
  Meanwhile, unbeknown to Jonson and the people of Caliban, the Emperor was waging his Great 
  Crusade across the galaxy, reuniting humanity and purging entire star systems of their alien 
  oppressors. As the Imperium's wave of conquest advanced across the galaxy, Imperial Scouts 
  rediscovered the isolated world of Caliban.
  It was not long before the Emperor was at last reunited with the Primarch and was filled with joy 
  as would be a father on finding his lost son. The Emperor's first action was to give Lion El'Jonson 
  control of the Dark Angels Legion. This body of Space Marines had been created by the Emperor 
  from its Primarch's gene-stock and had fought alongside the other Imperial forces as the Great 
  Crusade was waged across the galaxy.
  Caliban was made the home world of the Dark Angels and the whole of the Order moved to join 
  its ranks. Those knights who were still young enough had the Legion's gene seed implanted 
  within them, while those too old for this process underwent surgery to transform them into elite 
  warriors of the Imperium. The first to be brought into the Legion in this way was Luther, who 
  became Jonson's second-in-command, just as he always had been within the Order.
  The Great Crusade, of course, had to go on: there were countless human worlds that were still 
  under the influence of Chaos or suppressed by the harsh rule of alien races. So it was that Jonson 
  and many of the Dark Angels set out with the Emperor to continue the battle for humanity and 
  Luther was left behind in charge of the remainder of the Legion on Caliban. Despite the 
  importance of Luther's position, it was not one that suited his ambitious personality.
  As Jonson's fame spread throughout the galaxy and reports of his great deeds and prowess in 
  battle reached the the Legion's home world, Luther felt robbed of his share of the glory. He 
  wanted the fame and recognition that he felt he deserved as Jonson's equal. His role as planetary 
  governor of some half-forgotten backwater world seemed more and more to him like an insult. 
  The seed of jealousy and dissension that had been planted within Luther when Jonson was made 
  the Supreme Master of the Order now began to grow and rankle within his heart as the Primarch 
  became more and more celebrated and famous.
  
  The Fall of Caliban
  Then came the terrible days of the Horus Heresy. As the Emperor fought Warmaster Horus for the 
  possession of the Earth, Lion El'Jonson was far away fighting for humanity alongside Leman Russ, 
  Primarch of the Space Wolves Legion of Space Marines. Hearing of the potentially disastrous 
  proceedings taking place around the Earth, the two generals hurried back as quickly as they 
  could. Coming into Earth's orbit they realised that they had arrived too late. Events had already 
  taken their terrible course and the cataclysmic final battle was over.
  The forces of Chaos had been defeated, but they had left the Imperium in ruins. And for Jonson 
  one final, shattering betrayal remained to be discovered on his return to his home world of 
  Caliban. It had been many long years since Jonson had been to Caliban, and he longed to see his 
  home world once more. As the unsuspecting ships of Jonson's fleet moved into orbit they were 
  met with a devastating barrage of defence laser fire. Ships exploded into flame and crashed to 
  the surface like monstrous comets. Stunned by the attack, Jonson withdrew and attempted to find 
  out what had happened.
  A captured merchant ship soon provided the answer: Luther had used his skills at oratory to lead 
  the Dark Angels under his command to the path of Chaos, instilling his own feelings of jealousy 
  and rage in the Dark Angels who had been left on the Caliban during the Great Crusade. Luther 
  had convinced them that they had been shamed, that the Emperor had turned his face from 
  them.
  While Jonson and those Space Marines who had gone with him battled for humanity light years 
  away, Luther's feelings of anger and jealousy had grown within him like a corrupting canker until 
  they were his only purpose and driving motivation. Luther was now a man obsessed, whose own 
  neuroses had pushed him over the edge and made him dangerous beyond imagining. The fury of 
  Jonson and the loyal Dark Angels at learning this horrible information knew no bounds. They had 
  fought from one end of the galaxy to the other and thought that the curse of Chaos had been 
  cleansed from the planets of the Imperium, and now they found that their own home world and 
  their own brethren, had been corrupted and turned against them. Jonson immediately ordered an 
  assault on the planet, driving the rebel Dark Angels back to their fortress monasteries.
  Knowing that one surgical strike was all that was needed to end the conflict Lion El'Jonson led an 
  assault on the greatest monasteries himself. He knew that this was where he would find Luther: 
  and so it was that there, the two former friends, now mortal enemies, faced each other. Even 
  thought the Primarch possessed superhuman powers, the two opponents were equally matched, 
  for Luther's own, already considerable abilities, had been enhanced by the dark gods of Chaos.
  What followed was a fight of titanic proportions during which the two equally-matched 
  adversaries laid blow for blow against each other, tearing down the monastery around them until 
  the whole massive edifice had been levelled by their battle. Meanwhile the massed guns of the 
  fleet carried on pounding the planet, reducing the fortress monasteries to rubble. The very 
  surface of Caliban began to crack and heave under the strain of the bombardment.
  As the planet itself started to break apart, the battle between Jonson and Luther reached its 
  climax. Luther, weakened by the long combat, staggered and fell, leaving himself open to a death 
  blow from Jonson's power sword. But Jonson could not bring himself to strike the fatal blow. As he 
  hesitated, Luther, aided by the powers of Chaos, unleashed a furious physic attack that knocked 
  Jonson to his knees and left him mortally wounded. But as the dying Primarch struggled to stand, 
  his noble features racked with pain, it was as if a curtain was lifted from Luther's eyes and he 
  realised the full extent of what he had done. His was a triple betrayal: of his friend, of the Dark 
  Angels, and of the Emperor. The truth shattered his sanity and he slumped down beside Jonson, 
  no longer willing to fight.
  Luther's psychic cry of pain and despair echoed through the warp and the Chaos gods realised, 
  that once again, they had been defeated. They lashed out in fury and frustration. A rent appeared 
  in the very fabric of space and a warp storm of unprecedented fury engulfed Caliban. In an 
  uncontrollable, swirling flood of psychic energy the warp rushed into the physical universe. Those 
  'fallen' Dark Angels who had served under Luther his clandestine masters were sucked from the 
  face of Caliban into the warp and scattered throughout space and time. Caliban, already 
  weakened by the loyal Dark Angels bombardment, was ripped apart and destroyed, the debris 
  being sucked into the warp. 
  The only part of the planet that survived the storm was the huge fortress monastery where 
  Jonson and Luther had fought. Protected by force fields of awesome power the monastery and a 
  
  huge chunk of the bed-rock of Caliban held together. When the storm abated this was all that was 
  left of the once magnificent home world of the Dark Angels.
  The Dark Angels flew down to the dark surface of the rock and gazed about them in horror at all 
  that remained of their once beautiful home world. The great fortress had been razed to the 
  ground and of all the living things that had once teemed across the face of Caliban only one 
  remained. At the heart of the ruined wasteland the Space Marines found Luther. The warriors 
  were unable to get anything coherent out of the shell of the man who had once been Jonson's 
  closest friend and second-in-command. Luther just constantly repeated the same words over and 
  over again: The Primarch had been carried away by the Watchers in the Dark and one day he 
  would return to forgive Luther for the terrible sins he had committed. Of the mighty Primarch, 
  Lion El'Jonson, there was no sign.
  The Chapter Today
  This story of treachery and betrayal is the Dark Angels' secret shame. None know of it other than 
  the Dark Angels, their Successor Chapters and, maybe, the Emperor on his Golden Throne. Even 
  within the Chapter itself very few Brother-Marines know exactly what happened during those 
  fateful days.
  The organisation of the Dark Angels Chapter has been shaped primarily by events in its history. 
  As a result it is different from that of any other order. The Chapter is monastic in nature with 
  much time being given over to worship and prayer. There are also many different levels within 
  the Chapter which individuals may gradually rise through. On attaining each level, they find out a 
  little more about the truth behind the Dark Angels' origins. Most Dark Angels themselves know 
  nothing about the beginnings of the Chapter. It is only those at the very top who have learned the 
  whole truth.
  The bulk of the Dark Angels Chapter is organised along strict Codex lines, as laid down in the 
  Codex Astartes. However, the First Company and the Second Company both have special O 
  organisations. The Second Company is known as the Ravenwing, and is trained as a special 
  mobile formation equipped completely with either bikes or land speeders.
  The First Company is the famous Deathwing, and although it appears superficially to be the same 
  as any other Chapter's First Company, it is actually a highly specialised formation. It is only when 
  Dark Angels reach the Deathwing that they learn the story of Luther's betrayal. More terrible still 
  they learn that many of the Dark Angels that followed Luther are still alive. These damned 
  warriors are known as the Fallen Dark Angels, or simply "the Fallen", and it is the eradication of 
  this stain on the Chapter's honour which drives and motivates the Chapter to this day. As long as 
  still one of the Fallen stays alive, the honour of the Chapter will never be restored. Even within 
  the Deathwing company there are various levels of admission, and with these come gradually 
  increasing levels of knowledge.
  The Fallen Dark Angels
  In the eyes of the Dark Angels Space Marines, the only way that they can rid themselves totally of 
  their shame, and restore their honour and trust in the Emperor's eyes, is if all the Fallen are found 
  and either made to repent or are slain. However, since the Fallen were cast through the warp to 
  all corners of space and time, this is no mean task for the Dark Angels to achieve. Unlike the 
  Inquisitors and Grey Knights of the Imperium, whose role it is to root out the agents of Chaos at 
  work within the galaxy, in this regard the Dark Angels are only concerned with finding the Fallen 
  of their Chapter. Although the Dark Angels will be called upon for many different missions for the 
  Imperium, the search for their Fallen comrades is a constant quest that they can never relinquish.
  Not all of the Dark Angels' damned brethren have succumbed to the power of Chaos to the same 
  degree. Some of the Fallen have embraced the ways of the Dark Gods totally becoming true 
  Chaos Space Marines. These Fallen do not belong to a Chapter of their own, like Angron's World 
  Eaters. Instead they are dispersed throughout space and time as either isolated individuals or in 
  small bands.
  However, most of the Fallen realise that their actions to the fall of Caliban were wrong. Disgusted 
  by the corrupting influence of the Chaos gods and unable to reconcile themselves with their order 
  they lead a solitary existence. Many of them become mercenaries or pirates, roaming the galaxy 
  as masterless men. Others are willing to atone for their sins and in an attempt to do so have 
  integrated themselves back into human societies taking on the role of any ordinary person. This 
  only make s the Dark Angels' task of finding the Fallen as they are not easy to identify as such. 
  But it is still the Dark Angels' duty to try and track them down. In order to do so, they must 
  
  investigate any rumour or story relating to the Fallen, in case it should lead them to one of their 
  corrupted brethren.
  The Dark Angels can go for years without hearing any rumours that might lead them to one or 
  more of the Fallen. When they do however, and their mission is a success, those Fallen that are 
  captured are taken back to the Rock. Deep inside its dungeons Interrogator-Chaplains attempt to 
  make the Fallen repent. Occasionally they do and for their pains die quickly. More often than not 
  though, the captured Fallen refuses and suffers a long drawn-out and agonising death at the 
  hands of those who would save their soul.
  The Final Secret
  The only people that know about the disastrous events that took place on Caliban all those 
  millennia ago are the Emperor and the Dark Angels themselves. The Dark Angels will never 
  reveal the truth to anyone outside the Chapter for they could not bear others to know the truth of 
  their terrible shame. And all the while, deep within its cell, Luther, the betrayer, speaks of what is 
  to come. Yet even the highest ranking Dark Angels do not know everything, although they may 
  think they do.
  Buried even deeper within the Rock, is the final, greatest secret of the Chapter. Only one person 
  in the entire universe knows the truth - the Emperor himself. For hidden inside a secluded, 
  unreachable chamber at the heart of what once was the planet Caliban, Lion El'Jonson lies 
  sleeping, waiting with the Watchers in the Dark for that time when he will be needed once again 
  to defend the Imperium against its enemies.
  +++The Angels of Retribution+++
  After the Horus Heresy, the Dark Angels founded three chapters, to track the Fallen. These three 
  chapters share in the secret of the Fallen. As the glorious light of the Emperor was shed on more 
  star systems, the Space Marines needed to create more chapters, in order to better protect the 
  believers from the traitors of Chaos. Thus, the Angels of Vengeance founded the Angels of 
  Retribution.
  The Masters of the Unforgiven decided that it would be improper to share the secrets of the 
  Fallen with this lesser chapter, and so the Angels of Retribution were not initiated into the secrets 
  of the deathwing, or that of the interrigator-chaplains.
  The Angel of Retribution were gifted with two things: 
  •The chapter standard 
  •The secrets of the Ravenwing. The Angels of Retribution refer to this part of their chapter as 
  "the Emperor's Fist". 
  The Angels of Retribution use The Codex Astartes standard markings to reflect their lack of 
  knowledge of the Fallen, though this is unknown to them. The company itself emphasizes 
  mobility and firepower, scattering the Emperor's Fist throughout the battle companies, so that 
  each battle company might be self-sufficient, working together as a unit. In addition, the veterans 
  are not separated out into a spearate company, but lead their companies, lending their 
  expereince to the younger brother marines who are rising to veteran status themselves. The 
  scouts are also attached to a company after they are implanted with the gene-seed of the Dark 
  Angels, as passed to the Angel of Retribution. This overall effect of this is to create a strong sense 
  of unity in the companies, making them into a complete fighting force that is accomplished at 
  working together.
  This sense of unity is directed into the Glory of the Emperor by the Chaplains of the Angels of 
  Retribution. Unlike most other chapters, the Angels of Retribution have at least three chaplains in 
  a given company. This scheme was originally decided on by the Master of the Dark Angels to 
  prevent the blandishments of the Fallen from turning the Chapter from the Glory of the Emperor. 
  That the Chapter still maintains a large number of chaplains is a tribute to both their devoutness 
  and their steadfastness.
  Because the companies have diverse troop types, they are larger than the norm. There are only 
  eight companies in the Angels of Retribution. There are the five battle companies and one 
  reserve company for each of the major tactical types. The reserve companies serve as a home for 
  Space Marines whose squads have sustained excessive casualties, or who left their original 
  company to seek veteran status. The Chapter Standard is given for a fifty year period to the 
  
  company that has distinguished itself most in the eyes of the Emperor in the previous period. For 
  a company to maintain the standard, it must excel beyond the level which allowed it to attain the 
  standard in the first place, for the standard aids the marines in battle. In the history of the 
  Chapter, only the second company has been able to retain the standard for a second fifty year 
  period.
  In the end of the fourty-first millenium, the Angels of Retribution have been given the task to 
  protect the world of Anduin. For reasons unknown, the Eldar seek something on this world. The 
  Angels of Retribution have fought many campaigns across the forests of Anduin against the Fire 
  Warhost of the Eternal Night, under the command of Eldrad Ulthran. His warhost has left the 
  Craftworld and what he seeks in unknown, but it must be of great importance to the Eldar to 
  cause Eldar to leave the craftworld at his great age. The fourth company has born the brunt of 
  the fighting to date, since they are the current bearers of the Standard of Retribution.
  +++Deathwing+++
   Cloud Runner gazed on the wreckage of his home and felt like weeping. He closed his eyes and 
  took three breaths, but when he looked again, nothing had changed. He turned back towards the 
  dropship Deathwing.
  Weasel-Fierce had just descended from the ramp. He gazed round ferally at what once had been 
  Cloud Runner´s village and brought his storm Bolter into attack position. A grin split his skull-like 
  face.
  "Dark Angels, be wary. Death has walked here," he said. The sun glistened off Weasel-Fierce´s 
  black Terminator armour. Whith his white hair and y-shaped scar-tattos, he looked like the Eater 
  of Bones come back to claim the world.
  Cloud Runner shook his head in disbelief. For two hundred years he had the memory of this place 
  in mind. Altough the Chapter was his home and the Battle Brothers were his family, he had 
  always felt his spirit would return here when the Emperor granted him rest.
  He glanced in the direction of the burial mounds. They had been broken open. He made his way 
  to the entrance. He could see that the bones had been broken and mingled. It was a blasphemy 
  that only the bitterest of foes would preform. It marked the ending of his clan. 
  "The ghosts of my ancestors wander homeless," he said. "They will become drinkers of blood and 
  eaters of excrement. My clan is dishonoured."
  He felt a heavy, gauntleted hand on his shoulder and turned to see Lame Bear gazing down on 
  him. Two centuries ago, Cloud Runner and he had belonged to enemy clans. Now the clansmen 
  who they had fought alongside were dead, and the old rivalry had long ago become fast 
  friendship.
  "The Dark Angels are your people now," said Lame Bear in his soft voice."If necessary we will 
  avenge this dishonour."
  Cloud Runner shook his head."That is not the Way. The Warriors From The Sky are above the 
  squabblings of the clans. We choose only the bravest of the Plains People. We take no sides."
  "Your words do honour to the Chapter, Brother Captain," said Lame Bear, stooping to pick up 
  something that lay in the grass. Cloud Runner saw that it was a metal axe-head. Sorrow warred 
  with curiosity and won.
  "This was not the homecoming I had imagined, "Cloud Runner said softly." Where are children 
  gathering flowers for the Autumn Feast? Where are the young bucks racing out to count coup on 
  our armour? Where are the spirit-talkers who wish to commune with us? Dead. All dead."
  Lame Bear limped away, leaving Cloud Runner alone with his grief. 
  **********
  Two heads Talking studied the desiccated bodies within the lodge. One had been an old warrior. 
  His shrivelled hand still clutched a stone axe inscribed with the thunderbird rune. The other had 
  been a squaw. Between her skeletal fingers was the neck of an infant.
  She strangled the child rather than let her fall into the hands of the enemy, said Bloody Moon. 
  The Librarian noticed the undercurrent of horror in the marine´s voice. He took a deep breath, 
  trying to ignore the musty stench that filled the house.
  "Something evil happened here, but it happened decades ago", Two Heads Talking replied, 
  seeking to relieve Bloody Moon´s superstitious fear. He wanted time to consider, to probe the 
  events of the past. The aura of old terror almost smothered him. Shadows lay over this lodge. 
  
  Something was ominously familiar about the psychic aura of the area.
  "Lord Shaman . . ." said Bloody Moon. The Librarian almost smiled, the habits of their ancient 
  former lives had returned in strength now that the once more walked the soil of their homeworld.
  "Brother Librarian is my title, Bloody Moon. You are no longer my honour guard. We are both 
  Marines."
  "Lord - Brother Shaman," Bloody Moon continued. "No warriors of the plains would have wrought 
  such havoc. Do you think. . . ?"
  "We shall have to investigate, old friend. We must visit the other lodgetowns and speak with their 
  chieftains. If has returned to the customs of the Reaving Time, we will put an end to it."
  It was rumored that some of the Hill Clans still kept the old daemon-worshipping practices from 
  time before the Emperor´s people came. If that were true, it was up to marines to take action. 
  Somehow Two Heads talking did not think it would come to that. This did not have the feel of 
  daemon worshippers, although there was a taint in the air that it was akin to it. An almost 
  recognisable horror clawed at his mind. He fought it down and hoped that his suspicions were not 
  true.
  **********
  The city reared above the plain like a soot-grimed leviathan. Cloud Runner spotted it before the 
  others and ordered Lame Bear to land the dropship in a valley, out of sight of its walls.
  From the brow of the hill, he studied it trough magnoculars. It was an ugly place that reminded 
  him of the hiveworlds he had visited. It covered many miles and was enclosed by monolithic 
  walls. Great smokestacks loomed in the distance, belching acrid chemical clouds into the greyish 
  sky.
  Outside the walls, the rivers ran black with poisons. As Cloud Runner watched, he saw herd elk 
  being driven squealing from barges towards great abattoirs within the walls. From huge stone 
  barracks, people swarmed through the streets towards enormous, brick f actories. Smog drifted 
  everywhere, occasionally obscuring the grimy city and its teeming inhabitants.
  "That is were Lame Bear´s metal axe came from," said Two Heads Talking, lowering himself to 
  the ground beside Cloud Runner. "I wonder who built it?"
  "It´s a nightmare," murmured Cloud Runner. "We return home to find our lodges ravaged and this 
  . . . abomination in its place." 
  "That city could hold all the clans of all the peoples of the Plains and ten times more besides. 
  Could our folk have been enslaved and taken there, Brother Captain?"
  Cloud Runner remained silent, considering. "If they have been , then we will go down with flamer 
  and stormbolter and free them."
  "We must know before we act . We could be outnumbered and trapped," replied the Shaman.
  "I say we go in with weapons armed ," said Weasel-Fierce from behind them. "If we find foes we 
  burn them."
  "Suppose they think the same? The soot and filth give the place an Orkish look," said Lame Bear. 
  He had been scouting further along the crest.
  "No Orc ever put stone and stone like that," countered Two heads talking. "That is human 
  workmanship."
  "It is not the work of the People," said Cloud Runner. "Those barracks are hundred times the size 
  of a lodgehouse and built of brick."
  "There is only one way to find out anything," said Two heads Talking. "One of us must visit the 
  city."
  The warriors nodded assent. Each tapped a scar-tattoo to indicate that he volunteered.
  Two Heads Talking shook his head. "I must go. The spirits will shield me."
  Cloud Runner saw the rest of the warriors look at him to see what his decision would be. As 
  Captain, he could overrule the Librarian. He looked at the city, then at the Shaman standing quiet 
  and proud before him. A sensation of emptiness, of futility came over him. His people, his village 
  had gone.
  "As you wish, Lord Shaman. Speak to the spirits and seek their aid," he said, giving the ancient 
  ritual answer. "Bloody Moon´s squad will remain here to watch over you. The rest of us will take 
  Deathwing and seek out any surviving logetowns."
  **********
  Night fell as Two Heads Talking completed his preparations. He laid the four nine-etched skulls of 
  his predecessors on the ground about him. Each faced one of the cardinal points of the compass 
  
  and watched over an approach from the spirit realm.
  He lit a small bonfire in the deep hollow, cast a handful of herbs on the fire and breathed deeply. 
  He touched the ceremonial winged skull on his chest-piece and then the death´s head inlaid on 
  his belt. Lastly, he prayed to the Emperor, tamer of thunderbirds and beacon of the soul path, to 
  watch over him as he made magic. Then he began to chant.
  The fumes from the herbs filled his lunges. He seemed to rise above his body and look down 
  upon it. The other Terminators backed away from the spirit circle. A chill stole over him, and life 
  leeched away until he was close to the edge of death. Great sobs wracked his body, but he 
  mastered himself and continued with the ritual.
  He stood in a cold shadowy place. He sensed chill white presences at the edge of his perception, 
  clammy as mist and cold as the gravemound. Above him he could hear the beating of mighty 
  pinions from where Deathwing, the Emperors steed and bearer of the souls of the slain, hovered.
  The Shaman talked with the presences, made pacts that bound them to his service and rewarded 
  them with a portion of his strength. He sensed the hungry spirits surge around him, ready to 
  shield him from sight, to cloud the eyes of any who might look upon him, causing them to see 
  only a friendly being.
  He walked from the circle, past the watching Marines. As he crested the brow of the hill, he saw 
  the distant city. Even at night, its fires burned, lighting the sky aand turning the metropolis into a 
  giant shadow cast upon the land.
  Above them, through the gloom, loomed the Mountains of Storm. Cloud Runner wodered how 
  Lame Bear was taking it. The big man´s face was a blank mask. He was not allowing himself to 
  think about what might have happened to his people.
  The Hunting Bears village was the last they had visited: the most remote, built in caves beneath 
  Cloud-Girt Peak. Lame Bear limped up the narrow pathway in the cliff-face.
  Cloud Runner tried not to think of the other lodgetowns they had seen. They had found nothing 
  but desolation and desecrated graves. No living soul except the Marines walked among the fallen 
  totems. They had buried the bodies they had found and offered prayers to the Emperor for the 
  safety of their slain kin.
  Cloud Runner could see Weasel-Fierce pause. The gaunt man´s hand played with the feathered 
  hilt of his ceremonial dagger. He studied the ledges above the paths and seemed to sniff the air.
  "No sentries," he said. "As a buck, I raided these mountains. The Hunting Bears always had the 
  keenest watchers. If anyone was alive, we would have been challenged by now."
  "No!" Lame Bear shouted and ran across the threshold and into the caverns.
  "Squad Paulo, overwatch!" Clod Runner ordered. Five Terminators froze in position, guarding the 
  entrance.
  "The rest of you follow me. Helmets on. Keep your eyes peeled. Weasel-Fierce, establish a fix on 
  Lame Bear. Don´t loose him." 
  Night-lights cut in as they entered the cave mouth. Dozens of tunnels led from the place. 
  Chittering things flapped away from their lights. For a moment, Cloud Runner allowed himself to 
  feel hopeful. If they were to find any survivors of the Plains People, it would be here. In this huge 
  night-black maze Lame Bear's people could have hidden out for years, dodging any pursuit.
  As they followed Lame Bear's locator signal through the warren of tunnels, despair filled Cloud 
  Runner. They passed hallways where the dead lay. Sometimes the bodies were marred by the 
  mark of spear and axe; sometimes they were crushed and mangled by inhuman force. Some had 
  been ripped asunder. Cloud Runner had seen bodies butchered like that before but told himself 
  that it was not possible here. Such a thing could not happen on his homeworld - in vast hulks that 
  lay cold in space, perhaps, but not here.
  They found Lame Bear standing in the largest cave of all. Bones littered the floor. Scuttlers fled 
  from their lights. Lame Bear sobbed and pointed to the walls. Paintings dating from the earliest 
  times covered the caveside, but it was the last and highest-situated representation that drew 
  Cloud Runner's attention. There was no mistaking the four-armed, malevolent form. Hatred and 
  fear chased each other through his mind.
  "Genestealers," he spat. Behind him, Lame Bear moaned. Weasel- Fierce gave his short, barking 
  laugh. The sound chilled Cloud Runner to the bone.
  **********
  Two Heads Talking stalked past the city's open gates. The stench assailed his nostrils. His 
  concentration faltered, and he could feel the spirits struggling to escape. He exerted his iron will, 
  
  and the spell of protection fell into place.
  Studying his surroundings, he realised that he had no need to worry. There were no guards, only 
  a toll-house where a pasty faced clerk sat, ticking off accounts. In its own way this was ominous: 
  the city's builders obviously did not feel threatened enough to post sentries.
  Two Heads Talking studied the scribe. He sat at a little window, poring over a ledger. In his hand 
  was a quill pen. He was writing by the light of a small lantern. Momentarily, he seemed to sense 
  the Librarian's presence and looked up. He had the high cheek-bones and ruddy skin of the Plains 
  People, but these the resemblance ended. 
  His limbs seemed stunted and weak. His features had an unhealthy pallor. He gave a hacking 
  cough and returned to his work. His face showed no sign of manhood scars. His clothes were 
  made of some coarse-woven cloth, not elk leather. No weapon sat near at hand, and he showed 
  no resentment at being cooped up in the tiny office rather than being under the open sky. Two 
  Heads Talking found it hard to believe that this was a descendant of his warrior culture.
  He pushed on into the city, picking his way fastidiously through the narrow, dirty streets that ran 
  between the enormous buildings. The place was laid out with no rhyme or reason. Vast squares 
  lay between the great factories, but there was no apparent plan. The city had grown uncontrolled, 
  like a cancer.
  There were no sewers, and the roads were full of filth. The smell of human waste mingled with 
  the odour of frying food and the sharp tang of cheap alcohol. Low shadowy doors of inns and food 
  booths rimmed each square.
  Unwashed children scuttled everywhere. Now and again, huge, well- fed men in long, blue coats 
  pushed their way through the throng. They had facial scar-tattoos and they walked with an air of 
  swaggering pride. If anyone got in their way, they lashed out at them with wooden batons. To 
  Two Heads Talking's surprise, no-one hit back. They seemed too weak-spirited to fight.
  As he wandered, the Librarian noticed something even more horrible. All the members of the 
  crowd, except the urchins and the bluecoats, were maimed. Men and women both had mangled 
  limbs or scorched faces. Some hobbled on wooden crutches, swinging the stumps of legs before 
  them. Others were blind and were led about by children. A dwarf with no legs waddled past, using 
  his arms for motion, walking on the palms of his hands. They all seemed to be the accidental 
  victims of some huge, industrial process.
  In the darkness, by the light dancing from the hellish chimneys, they moved like shadows, 
  scrabbling about crying for alms, for succour, for deliverance. They called on the Heavenly 
  Father, the four-armed Emperor, to save them. They cursed and raved and pleaded under a 
  polluted sky. Two Heads Talking watched the poor steal from the poor and wondered how his 
  people had come to be laid so low.
  He remembered the tall, strong warriors who had dwelled in the lodgetowns and asked nothing of 
  any man. What malign magic could have transformed the People of the Plains into these pathetic 
  creatures? 
  He felt a shock as a child tugged at his arm. "Tokens, Elder. Tokens for food."
  Two Heads Talking sighed with relief. His spell still held. The child saw only a safe, unobtrusive 
  figure. He could feel the strain of binding the spirits gnawing away at him subconsciously, but 
  they had not yet slipped his grasp.
  "I have nothing for you, boy," he said. The urchin ran off mouthing obscenities.
  **********
  Depressed and angry, the Marines left the cave village. Cloud Runner noticed that Lame Bear´s 
  face was white. He gestured for the big man and Weasel-Fierce to follow him. The two squad 
  leaders fell in beside him. They marched up to a great spur of rock and looked down into a long 
  valley.
  "Stealers," he said. "We must inform the Imperium."
  Weasel-fierce spat over the edge of the cliff.
  "'The dark city is theirs," said Lame Bear. There was a depth of hatred in his quiet voice that 
  Cloud Runner understood. "They must have conquered the People and herded them within."
  "Some clans resisted," Cloud Runner said. He was proud of that. The fact that his clan had chosen 
  to continue a hopeless struggle rather than surrender gave him some comfort.
  "Our world is ended; our time is done," said Weasel-Fierce. His words tolled like great, sad bells 
  within Cloud Runner's skull. Weasel-Fierce was right. Their entire culture had been exterminated. 
  The only ones who could remember the world of the Plains People were the Marines of the Dark 
  
  Angels. When they died the clans would live only in the Chapter Fleet's records. Unless the Dark 
  Angels broke with tradition and recruited from other worlds, the Chapter would end with the 
  death of the present generation of Marines.
  Cloud Runner felt hollow. He had returned home with such high hopes. He was going to walk once 
  more among his people, see again his village before old age took him. Now he found his world 
  was dead, had been for a long time.
  "And we never knew," he said softly. "Our clans have been dead for years, and we never knew. It 
  was a cursed day when we rode the Deathwing back to our homeworld."
  The squad leaders stood silent. The moon broke through the clouds. Below them, in the valley, 
  they saw the faded outline of a giant winged skull cut into the earth.
  "What is that?" asked Weasel-Fierce. "It was not here when last I stalked in the valley." Lame Bear 
  gave him an odd look. Cloud Runner knew that his old friend had never pictured the brave of an 
  enemy clan walking in his people's sacred valley. Even after a century, the tacitum, skeletal man 
  could still surprise them.
  "It was where our spirit talkers made magic," answered Lame Bear. "They must have tried to 
  summon Deathwing, the bearer of the Warriors from the Sky. They must have been desperate to 
  attempt such a summons. They trusted us to protect them. We never came."
  Cloud Runner heard Weasel-Fierce growl. "We will avenge them," he said.
  Lame Bear nodded agreement. "We will go in and scour the city. 
  "We number only thirty, against possibly an entire city of Stealers. The Codex is quite clear on 
  situations like this. We should virus- bomb the planet from orbit," Cloud Runner said, listening to 
  the silence settle. Lame Bear and Weasel-Fierce looked at him, appalled.
  "But what of our people? They may still survive," Lame Bear said, like a man without much hope. 
  "We must at least consider that possibility before we cleanse our homeworld of life."
  Weasel-Fierce had gone pale. Cloud Runner had never seen him look so dismayed.
  "I cannot do it," he said softly. "Can you, Brother Captain? Can you give the order that will destroy 
  our world - and our people - forever?"
  Cloud Runner felt the weight of terrible responsibility settle on him. His duty was clear. Here on 
  his world was a great threat to the Imperium. His word would condemn his entire people to 
  oblivion. He tried not to consider that Lame Bear might be right, that the People might not yet be 
  totally enslaved by the Genestealers. But the thought nagged at him most of all because he 
  hoped it was true. He stood frozen for a moment, paralysed by the enormity of the decision. 
  "The choice is not yours alone, Cloud Runner," said Weasel-Fierce. "It is a matter for all the 
  warriors off the People."
  Cloud Runner looked into his burning eyes, Weasel-Fierce had invoked the ancient ritual; by 
  rights, it should be answered. The Terminator Captain looked at Lame Bear. The gigant´s face 
  was grim.
  Cloud Runner nodded. "There must be a Gathering," he said.
  **********
  Two Heads Talking saw a commotion break out across the square. A squad of bluecoats forced 
  the maimed beggars to one side. People were crushed underfoot as they pushed through the 
  throng like a blade through flesh.
  The Librarian dropped back toward the entrance of a tavern. A surly bravo with fresh-scarred 
  cheeks came too close. He raised his truncheon to strike Two Heads Talking, obviously perceiving 
  him as one of the throng. It bounced off the carapace of his Terminator armour. The bluecoat 
  squinted in astonishment at him, and then backed away.
  A palanquin borne by two squat, shaven-headed men in brown uniforms moved through the path 
  cleared by the bully-boys. Two Heads Talking looked at the sign of a four-armed man on its side 
  and a thrill of fear passed through him. His worst suspicions were justified.
  "Alms, Elder, give us alms," the crowd pleaded, voices merging into one mighty roar. Many had 
  abased themselves and kneeled, stumps and grasping hands outstretched in supplication 
  towards the palanquin.
  A curtain in its side was pulled back, and a short, fat man stepped out. His pale skin had a bluish 
  tint, and he was wearing a rich suit of black cloth, a white waistcoat and high, black leather boots. 
  A four- armed pendant dangled from a chain hanging around his neck. His head was totally 
  hairless, and he had piercing black eyes. He gazed out at the crowd and smiled gloatingly, great 
  jowls rippling backward to give him a dozen small chins.
  
  He reached down and found a purse. The crowd held its breath expectantly. For a second, his 
  gaze fell on the Librarian, and he looked puzzled. A frown crossed his face. Two Heads Talking felt 
  a tug on his leg and fell to one knee, although it went against the grain to kneel to anything 
  except the image of the Emperor. He felt that malign glance linger upon him and wondered 
  whether the fat man had somehow penetrated his bound spirits' disguise.
  **********
  All the squads gathered around the fire. The great logs smouldered in the dark, underlighting the 
  faces of the Marines, making them look daemonic. Behind them, Deathwing sat on its landing 
  claws, a bulwark against the darkness. He knew that beyond it lay the city of their enemy, where 
  dwelled abomination.
  Nearest the fires squatted the squad leaders, faces impassive. Behind them were their men, in 
  full battle regalia, storm bolters and flamers near at hand. Firelight glittered on the winged 
  swords painted on their shoulder pieces. Their garb was Imperial, but the scarred faces that 
  showed in the firelight belonged to the Plains People.
  He had known these men for so long that not even Two Heads Talking could have done a better 
  job of reading their mood. In each stern visage, he saw a thirst for vengeance and a desire for 
  death. The warriors wished to join their clansmen in the spirit realm. Cloud Runner, too, felt the 
  tug of his ancestral spirits, their clamour to be avenged. He tried to ignore their voices. He was a 
  soldier of the Emperor. He had other duties than to his people.
  "We must fight," said Weasel-Fierce. "The dead demand it. Our clans need to be avenged. If any 
  of our people survive, they must be liberated. Our honour must be reclaimed."
  "There are many kinds of honour," responded Bloody Moon. "We honour the Emperor. Our 
  Terminator suits are the badge of that honour. They are signs of the honour our Chapter does us. 
  Can we risk losing all traces of our Chapter's ancient heritage to the Stealers?" 
  "For a hundred centuries, the armour we wear has borne Marines safely through battle. The suits 
  will not fail us now," replied Weasel- Fierce hotly. "We can only add to their honour by 
  slaughtering our foe."
  "Brother Marius, Brother Paulo, pray, silence," Cloud Runner said, invoking formality by the use of 
  Chapter ritual and calling Weasel- Fierce and Bloody Moon by the names they had taken on when 
  they had become Marines. The two Terminators bowed their heads, acknowledging the gravity of 
  the moment.
  "Forgive us, Brother Captain, and name penance. We are at your service. Semper fideles," they 
  replied.
  "No penance is necessary." Cloud Runner looked around the fire. All eyes were upon him. He 
  weighed his words carefully before he spoke again.
  "We are gathered tonight, not as soldiers of the Emperor, but by ancient custom, as warriors of 
  the People. To this, I give my blessing as Captain and Warchief. We are here as speakers for our 
  clans, joined in brotherhood so that we might speak with one voice, think as one mind and 
  discern the correct path for all our peoples." 
  Cloud Runner knew his words rang false. Those present were not speakers for their clans. They 
  were their clans - all that was left. Still, the ritual had been invoked and must be kept to.
  "Within this circle there will be no violence. Till the ending of this gathering, we will be as one 
  clan."
  It was strange to speak those words to warriors who had fought together in a thousand battles 
  under a hundred suns. Yet it was the ancient rite of meeting, meant to ensure peaceful discource 
  among the warriors of rival tribes. He saw some Marines nod.
  Suddenly, it felt right. The ways of their people had been born on this world, and while they were 
  here, they would keep to them. In this time and space, they were bound by the ties of their 
  common heritage. Each needed the reassurance after the trials of the day. 
  "We must speak concerning the fate of our world and our honour as warriors. This is a matter of 
  life and death. Let us speak honestly, according to the manner of our people."
  **********
  The Elder fondled his chain of office and continued to stare at Two Heads Talking. A frown 
  creased his high. bulbous forehead. Abruptly, he looked away and fumbled in his purse.
  A ragged cheer went up from the crowd as he threw handfuls of gleaming iron tokens out to 
  them, then withdrew into his palanquin to witness the scramble. The Marine watched people 
  grovel in the dust, scrabbling for coins. He shook his head in disgust as he entered the tavern. 
  
  Even the most debased hive world dweller would have shown more dignity than the rabble 
  outside.
  The place was nearly empty. Two Heads Talking looked around at the packed earth floor and the 
  crudely made tables over which slouched a few ragged, unwashed drunks. The wall were covered 
  in rough hangings which repeated a stylised four-armed pattern made to look like a crude star. 
  Outside, in the distance, he heard the long, lonely wail of a steam whistle.
  The innkeeper leaned forward against the counter, gut straining against the bar-top. Two Heads 
  Talking walked over to him. As he reached the counter, he realised that he had no tokens. The 
  innkeeper stared at him coldly, rubbing one stubbled, broken-veined cheek with a meaty paw.
  "Well," he demanded peremptorily. "What do you want?"
  Two Heads Talking was surprised by the man's rudeness. The People had always been a polite 
  folk. It paid to show courtesy when an offended party might hit you with a stone axe. He met the 
  man's gaze levelly and exerted a portion of his will. He met no resistance from the man's weak 
  spirit, but even so, the effort was fatiguing.
  The innkeeper turned away, eyes downcast, and poured a drink from a clay bottle, without being 
  asked. Outside the doorway came the sound of footsteps. The doors burst open, and a crowd of 
  workers flooded in, bellowing orders for drink.
  Both men and women had gaunt, tired faces. Their hands and bare feet were as grimy as their 
  clothing. Two Heads Talking guessed that a shift had just ended. He took his drink and sat down 
  in a comer, watching the workers slump down in the chairs, listening to them listlessly curse their 
  overseers and their lack of tokens. A group set up a dice game in the corner and gambled 
  indifferently.
  After a while, Two Heads Talking noticed that people were drifting through a doorway in the back 
  of the tavern. He rose and followed them. No-one seemed to object.
  The room he entered was dark and smelled of animal fat. In its center was a pit surrounded by 
  cheering, cursing workers. Two Heads Talking made his way forward, and the crowd melted away 
  about him. He stood at the edge of the pit and saw the object of everyone's attention.
  Down below, two great Pains weasels were fighting, ripping long strips of flesh from each other 
  while the audience roared and betted. Each was the size of a grown man and wore a spiked metal 
  collar. One had lost an eye. Both were bleeding from dozens of cuts.
  Two Heads Talking was disgusted. As a youth, he had hunted weasels, matching stone axe 
  against ferocious cunning. It had been a challenge in which the warrior gambled his life against a 
  fierce and deadly adversary. There was no challenge to this cruel sport. It was simply a safe 
  outlet for the bloodlust of these weary, hungry workers.
  The Librarian departed from the pit, leaving the workers to their sport. As he left, he noticed that 
  a bluecoat had entered the bar and was talking to the bartender. As he stepped outside, he saw 
  that they were looking in his direction. He hurried into the smoggy night, thinking that he felt 
  inhuman eyes watching him.
  **********
  Cloud Runner looked at the faces round the fire. They were waiting for him to begin. He took 
  three deep breaths. By long tradition, he must be the first to speak.
  A Gathering of Warriors was not an argument in the formal sense, where words were used as 
  weapons to count coup on the enemy. It was a pooling of experience, a telling of stories. Words 
  must have no sharp edges on which to snag anger. He chose his carefully.
  "When I was twelve summers old," he began, "I dwelled in the Yellow Lodge among the young 
  bucks. It was my last summer there, for I was pledged to marry Running Deer, who was the fairest 
  maiden of my clan.
  "Often, the bucks would talk of the Warriors from the Sky. A hundred years had passed since their 
  last visit, and the red star was visible in the sky. The time was near for their return.
  "Hawk Talon, my grandfather´s grandfather, had been chosen and taken to the spirit realm to 
  serve the Great Chief Beyond The Sky. My bloodline had acquired much honour because of it, 
  although he had left his son fatherless and needing to found a new lodge.
  "Silver Elk was a buck with I had vied for Running Deer´s hand. Because she had chosen me. He 
  boasted of how he would be chosen. His word were a taunt , aimed at belittling my kinsman´s 
  honour. Silver Elk´s own line had no spirits who had ridden Deathwing and ventured beyond the 
  sky.
  "I was stung and responded to this taunt. I said that, if that were so, he wouldn´t mind climbing 
  
  Ghost Mountain and visiting the Abode of the Ancestors."
  Cloud Runner paused to let his words sink in, to let the warriors imagine the scene. The memory 
  seemed fresh and clear in his own mind. He could almost smell the acrid wood smoke filling the 
  young men´s lodge and see the the furs hanging from it´s ceiling. 
  "That was what Silver Elk had wanted me to say. He sneered and replied that he would go to the 
  mountain if someone would accompany him as a witness. He looked straight at me.
  "So I was trapped. I could not back out with dishonour. I had to go, or he would have counted 
  coup on me.
  "When she heard, Running Deer begged me not to go, fearing that the spirits would take me. She 
  was a Shaman`s daughter and had the Witching Sight. But I was young, with a young man´s 
  pride and folly, so i refused her. Seeing that I could not be swayed, she cut a braid from her hair 
  and wove it about with spells, making it a charm to return me safely home.
  "It was a three-day trip at hunter´s walk to Ghost Mountain. Fear was our constant companion. 
  What had seemed possible in the warmth of the lodge seemed dreadful in the cold autumn nights 
  when the moon was full and spirits flitted from tree to tree. I believe that if either of us had been 
  alone, we would have turned back, for it was a terrible thing to approach the places of the 
  restless dead at night as winter approaches.
  "But we could show no fear, for the other was a witness, and our rivalry drove us forward. Neither 
  wanted to be the first to turn back.
  "On the evening of the third day, we met the first warning totems, covered by the skulls of those 
  the sky warriors judged and found wanting. I felt like running then, but pride kept me moving on.
  "We began to climb. The night was still and cold. Things rustled in the undergrowth, and the 
  moon leered down like a Witching Spirit. Stunted trees hunched over the pathway like malign 
  ghosts. We climbed till we came to the vast empty plateau marked by the sign of the winged 
  skull.
  "We were filled with sense of achievement and enmity was, for the moment, buried. We stood in 
  a place few men had ever seen. We had defied the sprits and lived. Still, we were on edge.
  "I don´t know what I thought wen Silver Elk pointed upward. There came a howling as of 
  thousand roused ghosts, and fire lit the sky. Perhaps I thought the spirits had chosen to strike me 
  down for my presumption. Perhaps I was so filled with terror that I thought of nothing. I know that 
  I froze in place, while Silver Elk turned and ran.
  "If I had been afraid before, imagine how I felt when I saw a great, winged shape in the distance 
  and heard the roar of the approaching thunderbird. Picture my horror when I saw it was 
  Deathwing itself, steed of the Emperor, chooser of the slain, Winged Hunting Skeleton.
  "I bitterly regretted my folly. I could not move to save myself, and waited for Deathwing to strike 
  me with its claws and release my spirit.
  "I was surprised when the thunderbird stooped to earth on front of me and ceased its angry 
  roaring. Still, I could not run. Its beak gaped, disgorging the massive, black-armoured forms of the 
  Chosen dead. On each shoulder, they bore the sign of the winged blade.
  "I knew then that I was in the realm of spirits, for Hawk Talon, my grandfather´s grandfather, 
  stood among them. I had seen his face carved on the roof pole of our family lodge. He looked old 
  and grey and tired, but there was still a family resemblance.
  "To see a face so familiar and so strange in that dreadful place was somehow reassuring. It 
  enabled me to overcome my fear. Filled with wonder, I walked forward till I stood before him: that 
  terrible, grizzled old man whose face was so like my own.
  "For a long time, he simply stared at me. Then he smiled and started to laugh. He clasped me to 
  his armoured breast and shouted that it was a fortunate homecoming. He seemed just as pleased 
  to see me as I was to see him."
  Cloud Runner paused, comparing his ancestor´s return to his own. There was no laughter here as 
  there had been among those Marines long ago. He understood now how glad the old man had 
  been to see a familiar face. He was glad that Hawk Talon wasn´t here now to see the destruction 
  of their people.
  "Of course, I was overwhelmed, standing among these legendary warriors, speaking with my 
  ancient blood-relative. I knew they had returned to choose their successors in the Emperor´s 
  service, and forgetting everything else, I begged to be allowed to join them. 
  "The old man looked at me and asked me whether I had any reason to stay or any reason to 
  regret going. I thought of Running Deer, and I hesitated, but I was a callow youth. Visions of glory 
  
  and the wonders beyond the sky filled me. What did I truly know of life? I was being called on to 
  make a choice that I would have to live with for centuries, although I did not know it.
  "My ancestor did. He saw my hesitation and told me better to stay in that case. I would have 
  nothing of it, and insisted that they put me to the test.
  "They strapped me to a steel table and opened flesh with metal knives. I had endured the Weasel 
  Claw ritual to prove my bravery, but the pain was nothing to what I then endured. When they 
  opened my flesh, they implanted things which they said would bond with my flesh and grant me 
  spirit power.
  "For weeks, I lay in feverish agony while my body changed. The walls danced, and my spirit fled 
  to the edge of the cold place. While I wandered lost and alone, one of the Brothers stood beside 
  me reciting the Imperial litanies.
  "In a vision, the Emperor came to me, riding Deathwing, mightiest of thunderbirds. It was 
  different from that which had borne the Sky Warriors home. It was a beast of spirits; the other 
  had been a bird of metal, a totem cast in its image.
  "The Emperor spoke to me, telling me of the great struggle being waged on a thousand thousand 
  worlds. He showed me the races other than man and the secret heart of the universe, which is 
  Chaos. He showed me the powers that lurked in the warp and exposed me to their temptations. 
  He watched as I resisted. I knew that, if I had given in, he would have struck me down.
  "Eventually, I awoke, and I knew then that my spirit belonged to the Emperor. I had chosen to 
  abandon my people, my world and my bride for his service. I knew I had made the correct 
  choice."
  He shook his head and touched his charm of braided hair that he still wore round his throat. He 
  wondered if he had made the correct choice all those years ago, if he would happier staying with 
  Running Deer. The bright , bold vision he had possessed in his youth had faded and lost its 
  glamour over the years of endless warfare. I never even said goodbye to her, he thought, and 
  that somehow was the saddest thought of all.
  He judged that he had swayed many of the Marines, but when Lame Bear leaned forward to 
  speak; he knew that the struggle had only begun.
  "I would speak of Genestealers, "the big man sad quietly. I would speak of Genestealers, their 
  terror and their cruelty…."
  **********
  Two Heads Talking wandered the nighted streets. They seemed empty now that the workers had 
  returned to their barracks. A slight breeze had sprung up, bowing flecks of ash through the 
  streets, clearing the smog slightly. A bitter ash-taste filled his mouth.
  He passed by the factories where giant steam engines stood, still working. Their din filled the air. 
  Their pistons went up and down like the nodding heads of maddened dinosaurs. He knew they 
  never rested.
  He strode down a street of rich mansions, driven by morbid curiosity. He felt as though he had 
  been shown the pieces of a vast puzzle, and if he could only locate the last piece, it would all fall 
  into place.
  Each mansion he passed had wrought-iron gates which bore the signs of the Night-owl, the Puma 
  and the Rat. These were the totem animals of the Hill Clans. Two Heads Talking wondered 
  whether the chieftains of these people dwelled within. He could well believe that they might 
  make pacts with whoever had done this. Those people had dark reputations.
  He felt anger grow within him, driving out the sense of bewilderment. His life had been rendered 
  meaningless. His people had been betrayed. His world had been stolen. Even the Dark Angels 
  had been destroyed. Ten thousand years of tradition ended here. There were no more bold 
  huntsmen of the plains for the Sky-Warriors to recruit.
  The Chapter might continue, but its heritage had been destroyed - it would never be the same 
  again. Two Heads Talking was of the last generation of Marines recruited from the Plains People. 
  There would be no more.
  As he moved beyond the mansions, toward the polluted river, his spirit senses warned him he 
  was being followed. Part of him did not care, would welcome confrontation with whatever 
  watchers shadowed him. From up ahead, he heard a groan of pain.
  **********
  "We do not know where they come from," said Lame Bear. "Not even the Curators of the 
  Administratum know that. They appear without warning, carried in the mighty space hulks which 
  
  drift on the tides of warpspace."
  A shiver passed through even these hardened Terminators. Cloud Runner saw the gaze of those 
  who had faced the Genestealers turn inward. Their faces reflected the grim memories of the 
  encounters. 
  Unconsciously, they sat up straighter and looked around nervously. For the first time, it was 
  brought home to the Captain that they really did face the Genestealers once more. They faced a 
  threat that could kill them. "They are dreadful foes: ferocious, relentless, knowing neither pity nor 
  fear. They do not use weapons, perhaps because they do not need them. Their claws are capable 
  of tearing adamantium like paper.
  "They do not use armour, their hides are so tough that they can survive, for a time, unsuited in 
  vacuum. They have the aspect of a beast, yet they are intelligent and organised. They are the 
  most terrible enemies any Marine has faced since the time of the Horus Heresy.
  "How do I know this? I have faced them, as have others here."
  Cloud Runner shivered, recalling the times he had faced the Stealers. He remembered their 
  chitinous visage, their gaping jaws and four rending claws. He tried not to recall their blinding, 
  insect-like speed.
  "It is not their fearsome battle prowess that makes the Stealers such dreadful opponents. It is 
  something else. I will tell you of it. 
  "One hundred and twenty years ago, before ever I donned Terminator armour, I was sent with the 
  fleet that investigated the strange silence of the hive world Thranx.
  "The Imperial Governor had not paid tribute for twenty years, and the Adeptus Terra had decided 
  that perhaps a gentle reminder of his sworn duties was in order.
  "The fleet arrived bearing sections from the Dark Angels, the Space Wolves, the Ultramarines and 
  an Imperial Guard regiment from Necromunda. As the fleet moved into drop position, we 
  expected resistance, rebellion. But the orbital monitors did not fire at us, and the Governor spoke 
  fairly to us on the comm-link."
  "He claimed that the world had been cut off by warpstorms and Orkish raids. He apologised for 
  the non-payment of tribute and offered immediate reparations. He suggested that Inquisitor Van 
  Dam, who was in charge of the punitive expedition, descend and accept his obeisance.
  "We were naturally suspicious, but Van Dam suggested that any chance to take a world back into 
  the Imperial fold without the expense of military action should at least be investigated. He 
  requested that the Dark Angels provide an honour guard. We set our locators and teleported 
  down into the Govemor's reception hall.
  "Thranx was a world encased in steel. Its natives never saw the sky. The Govemor's hall was so 
  vast, though, that clouds formed under its ceiling and rain fell on the trees that surrounded the 
  Ruler's Pavilion.
  "It was a sight to stir the blood. Long ranks of guardsmen flanked the curving metal road that led 
  to the pavilion. The pavilion itself floated on suspensors above an artificial lake. The governor sat 
  on a throne carved from a single industrially cultured pearl, flanked by two beautiful blind 
  maidens who were his court telepaths. He bade us welcome and showed us the tribute.
  "It was brought from vaults by specially bred slaves, grey-skinned eunuchs with muscles like an 
  Ogryn's. Even so, they could barely carry the chests. They paraded past us in a seemingly 
  endless procession, carrying industrial diamonds, gold-inlaid bolters, suits of armoured ceramite 
  and jade.
  "All the time the governor, Huac, kept up an endless, amiable chatter. We watched, dazzled and 
  beguiled by his smooth voice and affable manner. As the long day wore on, we began to accept 
  that there was no need to fight, that we should simply take the tribute and go home.
  "Our minds were pleasantly befuddled, and we were prepared to agree to anything our gracious 
  host suggested when the great cryogenic coffins were brought forth. Huac claimed they carried 
  his greatest treasures. It is a measure of how under his sway we were that we almost took them, 
  without thinking.
  "It was Two Heads Talking who said no. He stood there, for a moment, like a man bemused, and 
  then he began to chant. It was as if cobwebs had been lifted from our eyes and we saw the snare 
  that had been so subtly set for us.
  "The spell of the Magus, for such was Huac, was lifted, and we saw to our honor that we had 
  almost taken two Genestealer coffins back to our fleet. All that afternoon, as our minds had been 
  lulled by the long, slow march, Huac had been inserting subtle, mystical tendrils into our minds.
  
  "Still, so near to being enthralled were we that we almost protested when Two Heads Talking 
  riddled Huac and his two apprentice with bolter fire. Only the Living Dreadnaught Hawk Talon 
  joined in the firing. We reacted slowly when he warned us to defend ourselves. Huac's guardsmen 
  almost had us.
  "But we were Marines. No sooner had they opened up with their las- rifles than we returned fire 
  with our bolters, cutting them down. Van Dam tried to contact the fleet but our comm-links were 
  being jammed, and we could not teleport out. There was nothing for it. We had to fight our way to 
  the planet's surface and hope that a dropship could reach us.
  "It seemed as if the whole planet had turned against us, and that was more or less what had 
  happened. Two hundred of us fought our way out of the audience room. We were met by armed 
  men, unarmed children and their mothers. All threw themselves against us with insane ferocity. 
  As we cut them down, they showed no fear - only a strange, unholy joy. The whole world had 
  been infected.
  "Our trip to the surface was a nightmare. We battled along dark corridors, crawled up access 
  ladders and through narrow hatches never meant for Marines. I saw Steel Fist tumble back 
  headless from one hatchway. Van Dam lobbed a handful of crack grenades through and we were 
  spattered with the remains of a full-grown Stealer."
  "My brother Red Sky was pulled down by a wave of feral children with explosives in their hands. 
  They detonated them as they crawled over his body. He did not live.
  "Twice in the endless corridors, we were almost overrun. It came to hand-to-hand combat with 
  purestrain Stealers. Twenty of our brothers were cut down before Two Heads Talking's force axe 
  and Cloud Runner's power sword carried us clear.
  "It was while guarding the final hatchway that I lost the use of my leg. A Stealer cut right through 
  the floor and grabbed me, trying to pull me down. I blasted frantically at it. The last thing I 
  remember was its horrid, leering face as it pulled me down toward it. Around it was a group of 
  Thranxians who stroked and pushed against it fondly.
  "The others told me what had happened when I woke up in the medical bay of the ship with a 
  new bionic leg. Two Heads Talking and Cloud Runner had pulled me clear and carried me to the 
  roof of the world, where the dropship waited.
  "There was only one thing to do: order the Exterminatus. The whole place was sterilised from 
  orbit with virus bombs. Later, inquisitorial investigators ascertained that the whole business had 
  begun only sixty years before, when an unrecorded space hulk had swung through the system.
  "It had taken only three generations for the Stealers to infect a whole world. For that is how they 
  reproduce - by turning people into hosts for their offspring. Their victims endure this willingly, 
  due to the Stealers' hypnotic powers.
  "Many nights I have lain awake wandering whether we could have saved the world if only we had 
  arrived sooner. Perhaps if we had been able to eliminate the Stealers before the cancer had 
  spread, we would not have had to order the Exterminatus.
  Cloud Runner could see that the warriors had been swayed and angered by Lame Bear's tale. He 
  could tell that they were considering the assimilation of the People as breeding stock and the 
  possibility that, by swift action, they might prevent it.
  "Let us go," said Weasel-Fierce, leaping to his feet. "Let us enter the city and kill the Stealers' 
  spawn."
  Several other warriors made to accompany him.
  "Wait", said Bloody Moon. "The gathering is not over and I would speak…."
  **********
  Anger and impatience drove Two Heads Talking toward the sound of pain. By the bank of the 
  river, in the shadow of a monstrous factory, he saw that a group of bluecoats had pinned an old 
  man against the wall and were slowly and surely beating him to death with their truncheons. One 
  of their number held a lantern, occasionally giving a calm, precise order.
  "Talk seditious nonsense, would you?" said one bravo. His stroke ended with the crack of 
  breaking ribs. The old man groaned and fell to his knees. The other bluecoats laughed.
  "Preach heresy against the Imperial cult and the warriors from the sky, eh? What makes you old 
  fools do it? By the Emperor, I thought we had got the last of you."
  Their victim looked up at them. "You are deluded. The Warriors from the Sky would not have built 
  this place and herded us here the way elks are herded to the slaughter. Nor would they have 
  broken the burial mounds of our people. Your masters are evil spirits summoned by the Hill Clans, 
  
  not true Sky Warriors. Deathwing will return and rend them asunder."
  "Silence. blaspheming no-name," said the leader of the bluecoats. "You wish to prove your 
  courage, do you? Perhaps we should return to the old ways, drunkard, and practise the Weasel 
  Claw ritual on you. 
  The old man coughed blood. "Do what you will. I am Morning Star of the line of Running Deer and 
  Silver Elk. I have the Witching Sight. I tell you that the spirits walk. Ancient powers stalk the land. 
  The red star bums bright in the sky. A time of trouble is coming."
  "Is that why you chose to start ranting this night? I had thought the only spirits that talked to you 
  came from a bottle," said another bluecoat, kicking Morning Star in the ribs. The old man 
  groaned. Two Heads Talking made his way forward through the mist, till he emerged into the 
  lantern light.
  The bluecoat leader spoke to him. "Go away, buck. This is Warrior Lodge business. If you don't 
  want to join this drunkard in the river, you'll leave now."
  "You dishonour the idea of the Warrior Lodge," said Two Heads Talking quietly. "Depart now, and 
  I will spare you. Remain a heartbeat longer, and I will surely grant you death."
  The old man looked up at him, awestruck. Two Heads Talking could see the winged skull tattoo of 
  a Shaman on his forehead. A few bravos laughed. Some, the wiser ones, heard the soft menace in 
  the Marine's voice and backed away.
  The leader gestured for the bluecoats to attack. "Take him!"
  Two Heads Talking parried the swipe of a truncheon with his forearm. There was a metallic ring 
  as the bludgeon snapped. He broke the bravo's nose against the butt of his force axe then lashed 
  out with his foot, driving it into another bluecoat's stomach with inhuman force. As the man bent 
  double the Librarian chopped down on his neck, breaking it.
  The bluecoats swarmed over him now. Their truncheons were as ineffective as twigs against a 
  bear. A few tried to grab his arms and immobilise him. He shrugged them off easily, swinging 
  killing blows with weapon and elbow. Where he struck, men died.
  As the battlelust swept over him, he felt the bound spirits slip away. He knew that he stood 
  revealed in his true form. The last of the bluecoats turned to run. Two Heads Talking hooked an 
  arm around his neck and twisted. There was a crunch of shattering vertebrae. 
  The old man gazed on him with religious intensity. "The spirits spoke truthfully," he said, as if he 
  did not quite believe it. He reached out and touched him, making sure he was real.
  "You have come at last to free the People from their bondage to the false Emperor and lead them 
  back to the plains. What is your name, Sky Warrior?"
  "In my youth, it was Two Heads Talking, apprentice to Spirit Hawk. When I entered the service of 
  the true Emperor, I took the name Lucian."
  He could see tears running down the old man's scarred cheeks.
  "Tell me, old man, what has happened to our folk? How did they came to fall so low?" "It began 
  when I was a buck," said Morning Star, wiping his face. "One summer night, the sky burned, and 
  there was a great roaring. A trail of fire raced across the sky, and there was an explosion. Where 
  we are now was a vast crater, and in the centre, when the Temple of the Four-armed Emperor 
  stands, was a great, red-hot pile of metal.
  "Some people thought the Sky Warriors had returned, that the roaring was the voice of their 
  thunderbird. The Shamans knew that this could not be so, for Deathwing returns only once every 
  hundred years, in autumn, and it had been only fifty years since the red star was last visible."
  "We were pleased because we thought that we might ride Deathwing. Most of us had reckoned on 
  being old men when the Sky Warriors came again.
  "Those who met our chiefs were not the armoured warriors of legend. They were feeble, pale-
  skinned men who claimed that they had come from the Emperor to show us the way to build an 
  earthly paradise. They preached the virtues of tolerance and brotherly love and an end to 
  warfare. The chiefs sent them packing, which was a mistake, for when honeyed words did not 
  succeed, they tried force of arms. They allied with the Hill Clans and gave them metal blades 
  which our weapons could not withstand.
  "Eventually, clans were forced to trade for the new weapons in order to withstand their enemies. 
  Tales were told of how witching spirits with four arms and terrible claws destroyed our warriors. 
  Soon, the pretenders ruled the Plains, taking slaves and destroying utterly those who opposed 
  them.
  "Then came the building of this great city, using slave labour and paying the freemen in trade 
  
  tokens."
  Suddenly, the old man's eyes went wide with horror. He was looking past Two Heads Talking and 
  into the night. The Librarian turned, and from the mist, shapes emerged.
  One was the fat man who earlier had been riding in the palanquin. Flanking him were two huge 
  four-armed figures. Their carapaces glistened like oil. They raised large claws which glittered in 
  the moonlight.
  "We would have told you all this if only you had asked," said the fat man, gazing at Two Heads 
  Talking with his dark, magnetic eyes. 
  The Librarian flexed his fingers, and his force axe hummed a song of death in his hand.
  **********
  "It was in the time of Commander Aradiel, a hundred summers gone," said Bloody Moon. "We 
  were aboard the battlebarge Angelus Morte on sector edge patrol when the alarms went off. 
  Sensor probes indicated that a space hulk had dropped from warpspace near us. Deep scanning 
  revealed nothing. We were ordered to investigate.
  "We crouched within the boarding torpedoes and were fired at the hulk. It was unpowered and 
  dark when we disembarked, so helmet lights on, we moved to secure the perimeter. We met no 
  resistance, but as per standard operational procedures, we proceeded with extreme caution.
  "We identified the hulk as Prison of Lost Souls, an appropriate name as it turned out. We moved 
  nervously through the shadowy corridors, for the taint of the warp still hung about the craft. It 
  made us uneasy."
  "At first, there was no sign of danger. Then we came across the bodies of some Space Wolves. 
  They had been riddled with bolter fire. We could not guess how long they had lain there - perhaps 
  since the hulk had last entered normal space. It might have been ten years or ten thousand - we 
  did not know. The tides of warpspace are unpredictable, and time flows strangely there.
  "Brother Sergeant Conrad ordered us to be wary. Then a terrible thing occurred. A Space Wolf's 
  corpse sat upright, its eyes glowing crimson. 'You are doomed,' it told us. 'Every one of you will 
  die as I have.' We riddled it with fire from our weapons, but still its horrible whispers echoed in 
  our minds.
  "We began to fall back. All around us, Blips suddenly appeared on our sensors. They were 
  running parallel to us, trying to cut us off from the boarding torpedo.
  "At corridor intersections, we caught sight of armoured figures. We exchanged a few shots with 
  them. I hit one and heard its scream over the comm-link. They were using the same frequencies 
  as we were. When we realised that, our blood ran cold. We asked ourselves: could these be 
  Marines?
  "We did not have long to wait for an answer. They swarmed down the corridor toward us in a vast 
  wave. They were garbed in the armour of Marines, but they was horribly mutated. Some clutched 
  rusty bolters in tentacles instead of hands. Some had faces that were moist and green and slimy 
  like toads. Some had claws and extra limbs. Some dragged themselves along, leaving a trail of 
  mucus behind them.
  "The mark of Chaos was upon them. They called on Horus and those powers that are better not 
  named. And we knew them - they were renegades, survivors from the Age of Heresy who had 
  pacted with Chaos in exchange for eternal life. The fighting became close and heavy. They had 
  the weight of numbers, but we had our Terminator armour and the strength of righteousness.
  "For a moment, it looked as though they might overwhelm us, but then our thunder hammers and 
  lightning claws came into play, and we cut through them inexorably. They fought like daemons, 
  and they had the strength of the damned, but eventually we won.
  "I stood looking down at the body of my last foe, and a thought occurred to me: this man had 
  once been a Marine like myself. He had undergone the same training and indoctrination as I had. 
  He had sworn to serve the Emperor. And yet he had betrayed humanity. How could this be?
  "How could a true Marine become forsworn? It seemed unlikely that he would suddenly turn his 
  back on the pattern of a lifetime and pact with the Darkness. What had Chaos to offer him?
  "Wealth? We have no use for the baubles that other men covet; we already have the finest of 
  everything that a man could wish for. Sensual gratification? We are taught its transitory nature. 
  Power? We know true power, which is the will of the Emperor. Who among us could equal his 
  sacrifice?"
  "No - as I stood over his body I came to understand. He had deviated not in one leap but in small 
  steps, by increments.
  
  "First he had come to place trust in the Warmaster. An easy step, for was not Horus the chief 
  champion of the Emperor?
  "Then he had come to follow the Warmaster. Who would not? A soldier follows his commander.
  "Then he had come to believe Horus divine. An easy mistake. Was not the great Heretic one of 
  the Primarchs of the First Founding, gifted with god-like powers second only to the Emperor 
  himself?
  "Thus did he stray from the path of truth, till eventually he lost both his life and soul. It is a way 
  that is open to anyone, one small mistake leading to another until at last the Great Error is 
  reached. This I came to realise as I studied the body of the renegade on the Prison of Lost Souls. I 
  resolved then and there to submit myself to the Emperor's will. I knew that all our regulations and 
  our codes have a purpose, and it is not for us to question them, for they keep us from the path of 
  the deviant.
  Around the fire, there was silence. Cloud Runner could tell that Bloody Moon's words had touched 
  a chord within the Marines. He found himself examining his own conscience for signs of heresy. 
  The implication of Bloody Moon's tale was quite clear: if they lapsed from the service of the 
  Emperor, they were taking the first step down the road to damnation. He had also reminded them 
  that they were Marines, the chosen of the Emperor. If they did not keep the faith, who would?
  For a long time, all was quiet. Then Weasel-Fierce indicated his wish to talk.
  "I will speak of death," he said, "the death of men and worlds...."
  **********
  Two Heads Talking felt the impact of the fat Magus' will like a physical blow. The great, dark eyes 
  seemed to swell, to become bottomless pits into which the Librarian fell. At his feet, Morning Star 
  whimpered.
  With a wrench, the Marine broke the psychic contact, thankful that his Librarian's armour was 
  equipped with a psychic hood. The Magus was strong, and Two Heads Talking was already tired.
  The Stealers raced toward him. The Librarian raised his storm bolter and sent a hail of shells 
  blazing out. Tracer fire ripped the night apart. The leading Genestealer was shredded by the 
  heavy bullets. The other dodged with inhuman speed.
  Marning Star leapt between the Librarian and his assailant. A claw flickered, and the old man's 
  body was torn in half. Two Heads Talking lashed out with his axe, willing it to strike hard, and its 
  blade burned coldly as it passed through the Stealer's neck. He leapt back to avoid its reflexive 
  death-strike.
  The Magus laughed. "You cannot escape. Why struggle?"
  The fat man concentrated, and a halo of power played around his head. The Librarian hosed him 
  down with fire, but some force intercepted the shells, causing them to explode harmlessly a few 
  feet from their target.
  Two Heads Talking strode forward, swinging the axe. He felt his own power build within him as 
  the blade arced toward his target. Something stopped it a foot away from the Magus's head. 
  Great muscles bulged under his armour as he forced it forward. Servo- motors whined as they 
  added their strength to his.
  Slowly, inexorably, the Marine forced the blade toward his enemy. Sweat ran down the fat man's 
  brow as he concentrated. A look of fear passed across his face. He could not save himself, and he 
  knew it. 
  He gave a single shriek as his concentration lapsed. The force axe sheared through him from 
  head to groin. Two Heads Talking felt the Magus' psychic death scream echo through the night. 
  He sensed hundreds of minds answer it. In the distance, through the deadening curtain of mist, 
  he heard the sound of scuttling, coming ever closer. 
  Knowing his only chance of survival lay in swift flight, Two Heads Talking turned and ran.
  **********
  Our world is dead," said Weasel-Fierce. Some Marines muttered about the fact that he was 
  addressing them directly, rather than keeping to the ritual. He silenced them with a short, 
  chopping gesture of his right hand. When he spoke again, his tone was scathing and savage.
  "This ritual is a sham. It comes from a time that is ended. Why pretend otherwise? You may wish 
  to delude yourselves by keeping with the old ways, but I do not.
  "You can speak in parables about our oaths to the Emperor, the horror of the Stealers or the 
  nature of damnation. I choose to speak the truth.
  "Our people are dead or enslaved, and we sit here like old women, asking ourselves what to do. 
  
  Have we been put under a spell? When were we ever so indecisive? A true warrior has no choice 
  in this matter. We must avenge our people. Our weapons must taste enemy blood. It would be 
  the coward's way not to face them."
  "But if we fail..." began Bloody Moon.
  "If we fail, so be it. What have we to live for? How many summers have we left before we die of 
  old age or are encased in the cold, metal body of a Living Dreadnought?"
  He fell silent and glared around the fire. To Cloud Runner's surprise, he looked down, and the fury 
  seeped out of him.
  "I am old," he said softly. "Old and tired. I have seen more than two hundred summers. In a few 
  more, I will be dead, anyway. I had hoped to gaze again on my kin before then, but it is not to be. 
  This is my only regret."
  Cloud Runner could see the weariness in him, felt its echo in his own mind. Every man about the 
  fire had served the Emperor for centuries, their lifespans increased by the process that turned 
  them into Marines.
  "If I had remained among the people," Weasel-Fierce said, "I would be dead by now. I chose 
  another path and I have lived long - longer perhaps than any mortal should.
  "It is time for an ending. Where better than here, on our homeworld, among the bones of our kin? 
  The day of the Plains People is done. We can avenge them, and we can join them. If we fall in 
  combat, we shall have had warriors' deaths. I wish to die as I have lived: weapons in hand, foes 
  before me.
  "I believe that this is what we all want. Let us do it."
  All was quiet except the crackling of the fire. Cloud Runner looked from face to face and saw 
  death was written in each of them. Weasel- Fierce had voiced what they had all felt since first 
  seeing the shattered lodges. They had become wraiths, walking in the ruins of elder days.
  There was nothing left here for them, except memories. If they departed now, all that loomed 
  before them was old age and inevitable death. This way, at least, their ending would have a 
  meaning.
  "I say we go in. If the contamination has not spread too far, we can free any survivors," said Lame 
  Bear. Cloud Runner looked at Bloody Moon.
  "Providing we command Deathwing to virus-bomb the planet if we fail," he said. The rest of the 
  warriors put their right fists forward, signifying assent. They all looked at him, waiting to see what 
  he had to say. He felt once more the pressure of command fall on him. He considered the 
  destroyed lodges and his own loss and weighed them against his Imperial duty. Nothing could 
  bring back the Plains People, but perhaps he could save their descendants.
  But that was not all there was to it, he realized. He wanted the satisfaction of meeting his foes, 
  face to face. He was angry. He wanted to make the Stealers suffer for what they had done, and 
  he wanted to be there when they did. He wanted vengeance for himself and for his people. It was 
  as simple as that. Such a decision was not the correct one for an Imperial officer, but it was the 
  way of his clan. In the end, to his surprise, he found out where his true loyalty lay. 
  "I say we fight," he said at last. "But we fight as Warriors of the People. This battle is not for the 
  Emperor. It is for our murdered clans. Our last battle shall be fought in accordance with our 
  ancient ways. Let us perform the rite of Deathwing."
  **********
  Two Heads Talking ran for his life. Through the darkened streets, Genestealers pursued, loping 
  along, swift and deadly. He sensed their presence all around.
  He leapt over a pile of rubbish which lay in his path and swept round a corner into a main road. 
  Two workers poked their heads through a doorway to see what was going on. They swiftly 
  withdrew. 
  Two Heads Talking ran wearily. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was ragged. The strain 
  of maintaining the spell of concealment for so long had sapped his strength. He wondered how 
  long he could keep up this pace.
  He risked a swift glance over his shoulder. A Genestealer had just rounded the comer. He fired his 
  storm bolter at it, but his shot was inaccurate, and the Stealer lurched back into cover.
  Sensing danger in front of him, he turned. From out of a shadowy doorway, a Stealer uncoiled. He 
  had just enough time to raise his force axe before it sprang. He thrust the blade out before him, 
  chopping into the monster's chest. The momentum of the thing's charge knocked him over. A 
  claw cut into his arm, searing it with pain. If his blow had not landed cleanly, he realised, he 
  
  would have been dead.
  Ignoring the pain, he rolled onto his belly, catching a clear glimpse of his pursuers as they 
  charged. He squeezed the trigger of his bolter and stitched a line of fire across their chests. The 
  strength of the armour allowed him to hurl off the ambusher's carcass with ease. He continued on 
  his way.
  Not much further, he thought, forcing himself to reel onward. He could see the huge walls jutting 
  upward above nearby buildings. He recited a spell to free his mind of pain and made for the 
  gates.
  His heart sank when he saw what awaited him - a mass of hunched, evil-faced men with dark, 
  piercing eyes. Some held ancient-looking energy weapons. Some gripped blades in their three 
  hands. Towering over them were purestrain Genestealers, flexing their claws menacingly. Two 
  Heads Talking came to a halt, facing his foes.
  For a moment, they eyed each other in respectful silence. The Librarian commended his spirit to 
  the Emperor. Soon Deathwing would be carrying him off. His bolter was almost empty. With only 
  his force axe, he knew he could not withstand so many.
  As if at an unspoken signal, the Genestealers and their brood surged forward. A bolt from an 
  energy weapon burned into his armour, melting one of the skulls on his chest plate. He gritted his 
  teeth and returned fire, cutting a great swathe of death. There was a loud click as his bolter 
  jammed. He did not have the time to clear it, so he charged to meet his foes, chanting his death-
  chant.
  He rushed into a sea of bodies that pressed against him, hitting him with blades and rending 
  claws. He summoned the last dregs of his strength to power his force axe and swung it in a great 
  double arc. He lopped off heads and limbs with a will, but for every foe who fell, another stepped 
  into place. He could not guard himself against all their blows, and soon he bled from scores of 
  great wounds.
  Life fled from him, and overhead he thought he heard the beating of mighty pinions. Deathwing 
  has come, he thought, just before a blow smashed into his head and all consciousness fled.
  **********
  Cloud Runner paused briefly before he painted out his personal cloud-and-thunderbolt insignia an 
  his armour's right shoulder. He felt changed. By blanking out his Imperial insignia, he had 
  blanked out part of himself, cut himself off from part of his history. Slowly he began to etch in 
  new totem signs on the armour, the marks of vengeance and death. As he did so, he felt the 
  powers of the totem spirits begin to enter him. He looked at Weasel-Fierce. The gaunt man had 
  finished painting out all the icons on his armour. It was now white, the colour of death, except on 
  its left shoulder, where the skull had been left unchanged. It seemed somehow appropriate.
  They performed a rite that dated back to ancient times, before the Emperor had come to tame 
  the thunderbirds. Only once before had Cloud Runner seen it performed. As a boy, he had 
  watched a party of old warriors, sworn to vengeance, paint their bodies white and go after a 
  horde of Hill Clan raiders that had killed a small child. They had painted their bodies the funeral 
  colour because they did not expect to return from facing so overwhelming a foe.
  Bloody Moon looked over from beside the fire and gave him a weak grin. Cloud Runner walked 
  over to him.
  "Ready, old friend?" he asked. Bloody Moon nodded. Cloud Runner bent over the fire and put his 
  hands into the ash. He pressed his palms, fingers together, flat against his face, making the sign 
  of Deathwing on each cheek.
  "I wish Two Heads Talking would return," said Bloody Moon, repeating Cloud Runner's gesture.
  "He may yet surprise you."
  Bloody Moon looked doubtful. Cloud Runner gestured for the warriors to assemble. They formed 
  into a circle around the dead fire. One by one, they began to chant their death-songs.
  **********
  Even as they carried him through the long steel corridors, Two Heads Talking knew he was dying. 
  Life leaked from his wounds. With every drop of blood that dribbled over his bearers, he became 
  weaker. 
  It felt like some evil dream, being borne down dimly lit tunnels by the hunched, daemonic figures 
  of the Genestealer brood. The Librarian watched these events through a fog of pain, wondering 
  why he was still alive. Part of his mind realised that he was within whatever vessel had carried 
  the brood to his homeworld.
  
  Agony lanced through him as one of his bearers jolted him slightly. It took all his will power not to 
  scream. They entered a long hall in which a hunched, dreadful figure waited. He was placed on 
  the floor in front of it. It cocked its head to one side side, studying him.
  Tears ran down the Librarian's face from the pain as he forced himself to his feet. Genestealer 
  guards raced towards him, but the huge creature glanced at them, and they froze in position.
  Two Heads Talking stood unsteadily, knowing he faced a Genestealer Patriarch. He had heard 
  dim legends of such things, the progenitors of entire broods, the most ancient of their lines.
  He looked into his enemies' eyes. He felt an almost electric shock pass through his body as their 
  minds made contact. The Librarian found himself confronted by a foe that was ancient, 
  implacable, deadly. His mind reeled under the assault of its ferocious will. He felt an urge to 
  kneel, to do homage to this ancient being. He knew that it was worthy of his respect.
  With an effort, he managed to restrain himself. He reminded himself that this was the being that 
  had destroyed his people. He made to throw himself at it, to aim a killing blow with his good arm. 
  He sprang, but his legs gave way underneath him, and the Patriarch caught him easily, almost 
  gently, and held him at bay with its claws. The long ovipositor on its tongue flickered out, but did 
  not touch him.
  Suddenly, he found himself engaged in a bitter, psychic struggle. Tendrils of alien thought 
  insinuated themselves into his mind. He blocked them, chopping them off with the blades of his 
  hatred. He countered with a psychic bolt of his own, but it was stopped by an ancient will that 
  seemed impervious to outside influence.
  The Patriarch exerted his full power, and Two Heads Talking felt his defences begin to buckle 
  under the terrible pressure. The cold, focused power of the Genestealer was enormous. Even 
  fresh, Two Heads Talking doubted he could have matched it. Now, strength fading because of his 
  wounds, exhausted because of his earlier struggles, he could offer no contest at all.
  His outer screen fell, and the Patriarch was within his mind, sorting through his memories, 
  absorbing them into itself. For a second, while it was disoriented, he tried a psychic thrust. The 
  Stealer countered easily, but for a moment, they met mind to mind. 
  Strange alien memories and emotions washed over the Librarian, threatening to drown him. He 
  saw the Patriarch's past spread out before him. He saw the long trail that led through despoiled 
  worlds and past many children. He saw the hive world it had fled from in a fast ship, just before 
  the virus bombs fell.
  With a shock, he realised that he had been there himself - on Thranx - and that the creature had 
  recognised his aura from then. He saw the ship crippled by an Imperial battlebarge and barely 
  able to make the jump into warpspace.
  He experienced the long struggle to return to normal space and the frozen etemities it took to 
  escape and crash-land the crippled ship an a new, virgin world. He saw the pitifully few survivors 
  emerge; only a few purestrains and three hybrid techs. He saw them make axes from the 
  wreckage of the ship for trade with the tribesmen, and he watched them start the long struggle to 
  establish themselves in a hostile world.
  He was gratified as the web of psychic contact expanded with each new brood member. He felt 
  cold satisfaction at the destruction of the tribes and the knowledge that soon a new industrial 
  base would be built. The ship would be repaired. New worlds to conquer would be within reach.
  For a bleak moment, despair filled Two Heads Talking. He saw the Stealers planning to spread to 
  and infect new worlds. And he could do nothing to stop this old, invincible entity. He almost gave 
  in.
  He could see no way out. Death loomed, and that thought gave him pause. He knew what he 
  must do. Part of him gave way before the Patriarch's assault; another part willed his spirit towards 
  oblivion. 
  He stood once more in the cold place, sensed far-off the spirit of the Emperor, bright and shining 
  as a star. Near at hand were the angry ghosts. The Patriarch was a hungry, ominous presence, 
  determined to enslave him. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the thunderous pinions of 
  Deathwing coming to claim him.
  Too late, the Patriarch realised what he was doing and tried to break the link. Two Heads Talking 
  focused all his hatred, anger and fear and held the link open, a task made easier by their earlier 
  intimate contact. The Patriarch struggled frantically, but could not free himself.
  The wingbeats came closer, drowning the Librarian in a roar that might have been a hurricane or 
  his own last breath. From the middle of a vortex of agony, he was borne up into darkness. The 
  
  maelstrom sucked in the Patriarch. It died, slain by the Librarian's death agony.
  Briefly, Two Heads Talking felt his foe vanish, felt the sense of loss from its brood. As the 
  Librarian's spirit rose higher, he reached out and touched the minds of his comrades, bidding 
  them farewell, telling them what they must do. Then Two Heads Talking knew no more.
  **********
  Cloud Runner felt the presence as he stared into the fire. He looked up and saw Two Heads 
  Talking standing before him. The Librarian looked pale. His face was distorted by agony, his body 
  gashed by dreadful wounds. He knew that this was a spirit vision, that the old Shaman was dead.
  For a moment, he thought he heard the sound of titanic wingbeats and saw the mightiest of 
  thunderbirds soaring toward the moon. The presence vanished, leaving Cloud Runner feeling cold 
  and alone. He shivered in the sudden chill. He knew he had been touched by Deathwing's 
  passing.
  He looked toward the others and knew that they had seen the same thing. He raised a hand in a 
  gesture of farewell and then swept it down as a signal for the Marines to advance.
  Filled with determination, the white-armoured Terminators marched toward the distant city.
  **********
  Cloud Runner sat enthroned and looked down upon his visitors. His people were drawn up in long 
  ranks, forming a corridor along which the Marines advanced warily. They were led by a Captain 
  and a Librarian. From the doorway, the huge armoured form of a dreadnought performed 
  overwatch. Cloud Runner found the sight of that old, familiar form comforting.
  He saw the uneasy, worshipful faces of his people look to him for reassurance. He kept his face 
  grim and calm. He sensed the Battle Brothers' unease at the strangeness of the folk within the 
  great lodgehouse. They held their bolters ready, as if expecting violence to erupt at any moment.
  Cloud Runner was glad to see them. Since Lame Bear's death, he had felt very alone. He spotted 
  several familiar faces among the oncoming Imperial warriors. Memories of the old days in the 
  Chapter House flooded back. He took three deep breaths, touched the ancient, white-painted suit 
  beside him, for luck, and then spoke.
  "Greetings, Brother Sky Warriors," he said.
  "Greetings, Brother Ezekiel," said the Marine Leader suspiciously. 
  Cloud Runner rubbed his facial scar-tattoos with one gnarled hand, then grinned. "So they made 
  you a Captain, eh Broken Knife?"
  "Yes, Brother Ezekiel. They made me a Captain when you failed to return." He paused, obviously 
  waiting for an explanation.
  "It took you ten years to come looking for the Dark Angels' honour suits?" the old man asked with 
  a hint of mockery.
  "There has been war: a great migration of Orks through the Segmentum Obscura. 'Ihe Chapter 
  was called to serve. During that time the absence of our Terminators was felt grievously. You 
  have an explanation for this, of course."
  The Marines stared at Cloud Runner coldly. It was as if he was a stranger to these grim youths, or 
  worse, a traitor. He remembered the first time he had stood among Marines and, for the first time 
  in long years, became aware of their uncanny quality. He felt isolated and uneasy.
  "These are not our people, Cloud Runner. What happened here?" asked a deep rolling voice. He 
  recognised it as the dreadnought's. Suddenly, he did not feel so alone. Hawk Talon was there, 
  hooked into the life-support systems of the dreadnought. There was at least one person present 
  who was on his side, who was old enough to understand. It was like their first meeting under the 
  shadow of Deathwing, when he had sighted that one familiar face among strangers.
  "No, honoured forefather, they are not. They are the untainted survivors of the Genestealer 
  conquest."
  He heard the shocked murmur of the Marines, saw the way that they instinctvely brought their 
  weapons to bear on the lodge people.
  "You had better explain, Brother Ezekiel," said Broken Knife.
  **********
  Cloud Runner found himself telling his tale to the astonished Marines. He told them of the 
  Terminator company's landing and of their discovery of the devastation that had been wrought 
  by the Genestealers. He told them of the Gathering and of the choice the warriors had made - of 
  Two Heads Talking's spirit walk and the Terminators' final march on the city. He spoke to them in 
  the intricate syntax of the Imperial tongue, not the language of the Pains People.
  
  "We marched through the black gates and were assaulted by Stealers. At first they seemed 
  confused, as if they had suffered a great shock.
  They attacked in small groups with no pattern and no guiding intelligence, and we cut them 
  down.
  "We pushed through crowds of screaming people as we followed our Librarian's locator beacon 
  toward the city centre. Huge purestrain Stealers erupted from buildings as we advanced. They 
  attacked with insane fury, but without thought, and so we bested them easily.
  "In the centre of the city we found a temple - a building that obscenely parodied the Imperial cult, 
  dominated by a huge four- armed statue of what was intended to be the Emperor. We toppled it 
  into the street and beneath it found an entrance into the underworld.
  "Down we went into the cold, metal corridors. We passed through airlocks and bulkheads. It was 
  like a buried spacecraft. We still followed the locator fix, determined to reclaim Two Heads 
  Talking's armour and avenge his death."
  "At first we made easy progress against isolated Stealer attacks, but then a change occurred. For 
  a while, there was peace.
  "We exchanged wary looks. Bloody Moon asked if we could possibly have killed them all. I can 
  even now picture the puzzled look on his face. It was still there when a Stealer dropped through 
  an air vent and took his head off. I blasted the thing with bolter fire, reducing it to bloody mush.
  "Now the Stealers began to attack again. But this time their attacks were co-ordinated, guided by 
  some malign intelligence. It was as if they had been leaderless for a time, but a new fiend had 
  now taken charge.
  "They flanked us through parallel corridors, dropped through vents in the ceiling. Hordes of 
  Stealers and their human brood attacked from all sides. Waves of them scuttled forward with 
  blinding speed, threatening to overwhelm us with sheer numbers. It was a horrible sight, 
  watching those great armoured beasts race closer, ignoring their kin as they were cut down.
  "Still they came. Our point men and rearguard were ambushed and killed. The threats came so 
  fast, we almost didn't have time to respond.
  "I saw a score of them slain by flamer fire, and the stench that filled the air was indescribable. 
  They spent their lives recklessly in their blind lust to kill us. There was a sense of terrible, 
  oppressive anger in the air. It was as if they had a personal score with us and were all prepared to 
  die to settle it.
  "Any other squad, even other Terminators, would have been beaten back by the sheer, fury of 
  their attack, but we wore the mark of Deathwing. Our funeral dirges had been sung - fear was not 
  in us, and we had our own scores to settle. We pushed forward, inch by tortuous inch.
  "Blood washed the corridors as we fought our way into a great central chamber. There we found 
  the body of Two Heads Talking. He was dead, his body rent by great wounds. Nearby lay the body 
  of the Patriarch, not a mark upon him.
  "The hall was full of foes, purestrain and brood. A handful of us had fought our way into the 
  throne-room. We faced many times our number. For a moment, we stood exchanging glares. I 
  think both sides sensed that they faced their ultimate enemy - that the outcome of that fight 
  would decide the fate of this world.
  "There was quiet in the hall, silence except for the cycling of our breathers. I could hear my heart 
  beating. My mouth felt dry. But I was strangely calm, sure that soon I would be greeting the 
  spirits of my ancestors. The Stealers formed up, and we raised our bolters to the firing position.
  "At an unspoken signal, they charged, mouths open but making no sound. A few of the brood 
  fired ancient energy weapons. Beside me, a Battle Brother fell We laid down a barrage of fire that 
  tore the first wave to pieces. Nothing could have lived through it. Everything we fired at died. But 
  there were just too many of them. They swarmed aver us, and the final conflict began in earnest.
  "I saw Weasel-Fierce go down beneath a pile of Stealers. His bolter had jammed, but he fought 
  on, screaming taunts and insults at his foes. The last I saw of him, he was tearing the head from a 
  Stealer, even as it punched a claw through his chest. Thus passed the greatest warrior of our 
  generation.
  "Lame Bear and I fought back to back, circled about by our enemies. Power glove and power 
  sword smote the Stealers as we cut them down. If there had been only a few more purestrain, 
  things would have gone differently that day, but most of them seemed to have died in the initial 
  futile attacks.
  "As it was, things were close. Lame Bear fell, wounded, and I found myself breast to breast with a 
  
  huge, armoured horror. The leader knocked my sword from my hand with a sweep of a mighty 
  claw. I thanked the Emperor for the digital weapons in my power glove and sprayed the 
  monstrosity's eyes with poisoned needles, blinding it. In the brief respite, I found time to bring my 
  storm bolter to bear and slay it.
  "I looked around: only Terminators stood in the hall. We whooped with joy to find ourselves still 
  alive, but then the number of our fallen struck us, and we stood in appalled silence. Only six of us 
  survived. We did not count the number of the Stealers fallen.
  "In the world above, the children of the Plains People waited. A huge crowd had gathered outside 
  the temple to see the outcome of our battle. They looked at us, awe-struck. We had destroyed 
  their temple and killed their gods. They did not know whether we were daemons or redeemers.
  "We looked on the weary creatures who were the only remnants of our former clans. We had won, 
  and we had reclaimed our world. Still, our victory seemed hollow. We had saved our descendants 
  from the Stealers, but our way of life was gone.
  "As we stood before the assembled throng, it struck me what we must do. The Emperor himself 
  provided inspiration in that moment. I explained my plan to the others.
  "We drove the crowds from the city and assembled them on the plain outside. We searched for 
  traces of the brood among them, but there were none. The Stealer taint seemed to have been 
  destroyed in our vengeance war.
  "I walked through the factories and past the toppled chimneys. Then we took our flamers and 
  burned the city to the ground. We divided the people up into six new tribes and said our good-
  byes to each other, for we knew we would likely never meet again. Then we led our descendants 
  away from the still-blazing city.
  "Lame Bear took his folk to the mountains. I brought my people to my old village, and we rebuilt 
  it. I do not know what became of the others.
  "I have told these people that I was sent by the Emperor to lead them back to the old ways. I have 
  taught them how to hunt and fish and shoot in the old manner. We do battle with the other tribes. 
  One day they will again be worthy of becoming Sky Warriors."
  Cloud Runner fell silent. He could see the Battle Brothers had been moved by his tale. Broken 
  Knife turned to the Librarian. Cloud Runner felt the pressure of mind-to-mind contact.
  "Brother Ezekiel speaks the truth, Brother Captain Gabriel," said the Librarian. Broken Knife 
  looked up at the old Marine.
  "Forgive me, brother, I have misjudged you. It seems the Chapter and the Plain's People owe you 
  and your warriors a great debt."
  "Semper Fideles," said Cloud Runner. "You must take back the suits. They belong to the Chapter."
  Broken Knife nodded.
  "Perhaps a favour. In honour of our dead, leave the suits the colour of Deathwing. The deeds of 
  our brothers should be remembered." 
  "It will be so," replied Broken Knife. "Deathwing will be remembered."
  The Marines turned and filed out past the dreadnought. The mighty being stood there, watching 
  Cloud Runner with inhuman eyes.
  The Terminator's departure left Cloud Runner suddenly tired. He felt the weight of his years 
  heavily.
  He sensed the dreadnought gazing at him and looked up.
  "Yes, honoured ancestor?" he asked in the tongue of the Plains People.
  "You could go back with us. You are worthy of becoming a Living Dreadnought," it said. He wished 
  he could return and spend his last years with his Chapter, but he knew that he could not. His duty 
  was to his people now. He must return them to the Emperor's way. He shook his head.
  "I thought not. You are a worthy chieftain of the People, Cloud Runner."
  "Any Sky Warrior would be, Ancestor. Few are given the chance. Before you depart, there is 
  something I must know. When first we met, you told me I should not become a Sky Warrior if 
  there was anyone I would regret leaving behind. Did you have any regrets about becoming a 
  Marine?"
  The dreadnought stared at him. "Sometimes I still do. It is a sad thing to leave people you care 
  about behind, knowing they will be lost to you forever.
  "Goodbye, Cloud Runner. We will not meet again."
  The dreadnought turned and departed, leaving Cloud Runner enthroned among his people, his 
  hands toying with a braid of ancient hair.
  
  Names of the Deathwing and their Translations 
  Akkad (Stone Heart)  
  Ezekiel (Razor Wing)  
  Azrael (Weasel Fierce)  
  Sergio (Lame Bear)  
  Aradiel (Two Tongues)  
  Conrad (Bloody Moon)  
  Lionus (Long Spear)  
  Gabriel (Fire Walker)  
  Gideon (Hawk Talon)  
  Marcus (Lonely Hunter)  
  Lucius (Stalking Death)  
  Matthias (Red Fox)  
  Raphael (Grey Mane)  
  Nathaniel (Wind Runner) 
   Pluvius (Blood Blade)  
  Octavius (Swift Wing)  
  Antonius (Flying Eagle)  
  Caliban (Iron Fist)  
  Claudius (Red Crow)  
  Adonai (Stone Hand)  
  Uriel (Great Bear) 
  Sammael (Doom Walker) 
  Vicconius (Laughing Sun)  
  Saphon (Pale Crow)  
  Malloc (Rain Bringer)  
  Amael (Spirit Runner)  
  Bethor (Snarling Bear)  
  +++Leman Russ+++
  Leman Russ is one of the most famous of the ancient heroes of the Imperium. Many legends tell 
  of his deeds during the dawn of Imperial History.
  He was one of the twenty bio-engineered superhumans who would become the founding fathers. 
  or Primarchs, of the original Space Marine Chapters. They were created by the Emperor to be 
  stronger and tougher than any Human before or since. From their bio-engineered genes the 
  Space Marines were cloned. Yet even they were a pale reflection
  of their awesome progenitors, whose genetic material had to be diluted a thousand times for a 
  single Marine.
  Even before his birth, Leman Russ was the subject of titanic events. As the twenty foetal 
  Primarchs slowly developed, suspended in their bio-support medium, Daemonic eyes
  observed them from the warp. The Daemons saw the pink and naked Primarchs lying in their 
  amniotic tanks, and perceived the Emperor's plan. From the twenty Primarchs, a whole race of 
  superhumans would be created. They would be Humanity's
  greatest champions and the scourge of aliens and Daemons alike. The Daemons saw this and 
  raged. Aware that they could not face the Emperor himself, for he was a being of god-like power, 
  the Daemons hatched a plan. Combining their strength, they broke down the mental barriers 
  constructed by the Emperor to cloak the infant Primarchs, and, prevented from hurting them, 
  sucked them into the warp. The babes were scattered throughout the galaxy, thrown onto twenty 
  different worlds to be adopted by whatever parents they could find - parents that were not always 
  Human.
  Thus it was, on the planet of Fenris, that a mewling infant was discovered by a she-wolf as she 
  
  hunted for her new-born cubs. A lesser child would have been torn apart by the giant wolf that 
  stood as tall as a man, but no such fate would befall this golden man-cub with eyes like a wolf-
  king. Gently taking the child in her mighty claws, the she-wolf bore him back to the safety of her 
  cave where he grew up amongst the wolf pack as part of the she-wolf's family. Within a few short 
  years the child was an adult, for as a Primarch he was more than a normal man and grew as 
  rapidly as his wolf-brothers.
  He might have lived out all of his years with the wolves, had not Thengir, King of the people of 
  Russ, sent his hunters into the forest to clear the pack from his land. The old grey she-wolf, and 
  many of her cubs and claw-kin, died upon the spears and arrows of the King's hunters, but the 
  wolf-man was spared, and brought, bound and gagged, before King Thengir himself.
  The King took the wild man from the forests into his care, and named him Leman - Leman of the 
  Russ. Amongst men for the first time in his life, Leman quickly learned their skills, showing a 
  natural aptitude for the way of the warrior. He mastered their weapons - iron axes and swords - 
  and won many glorious victories. Great tales were told of his strength and courage: how he could 
  pluck a tree from the ground and break it over his knee; how he could stand against a hundred 
  men in battle, and within mere minutes have them begging for mercy; and how he could 
  consume an entire ox and wash it down with a whole barrel of beer. When Thengir died, Leman 
  became King of the Russ. Under his leadership, they won many victories, for in battle Leman was 
  all but invincible When his armies marched, the howling of wolves heralded their path; when he 
  fought, a pair of giant wolves battled by his side. Kings themselves, they were Freki and Geri, his 
  wolf-brothers that had escaped from the King's hunters, and now had countless wolf-packs of 
  their own to command.
  The tales of King Leman were told far and wide, and came to the notice of the Emperor himself. 
  Recognizing the power of a Primarch at work, he traveled to Fenris and confronted the Wolf-King, 
  who blindly refused to pay him homage as the Master of Mankind. Challenged, Russ boasted that 
  he could out-eat the Emperor, and proceeded to consume three whole oxen. Forcing the Emperor 
  to back down, Russ boasted he could out-drink the Emperor, and drained the royal cellars dry to 
  prove the point. Russ boasted he could defeat the Emperor in combat; the Emperor held his 
  powerglove aloft for a moment, and brought it down on the Primarch's head, felling him with a 
  mighty blow which would have killed a lesser man. Leman Russ admitted defeat, acknowledged 
  the Emperor, and swore to serve him faithfully.
  Within years, all the Primarchs had been found, and became the fathers of twenty Chapters of 
  Space Marines. Leman Russ became the progenitor of the Space Wolves. and was counted as a 
  loyal servant of the Emperor.
  Within a hundred years the Space Marines had reconquered the galaxy, and the Imperium was 
  born. Throughout the Great Crusade the Space Wolves were at the front line, their leader at the 
  head of the battle with two great wolves at his side, his coming announced by the howling of the 
  pack.
  On the world of Dulan, the Space Wolves and Dark Angels were to assault an enemy held fortress. 
  Russ claimed the right to lead the attack, but 'Lion' EI'Jonson, commander of the Dark Angels, 
  refused and started the attack early. Russ was furious, and began a feud which was to continue 
  for three centuries. The Emperor intervened to quell the fighting. and ordered that the 
  disagreement be settled with a duel. Leman Russ faced his friend in combat and took a blade 
  through the heart; the duel was declared a draw, and the normally fatal wound healed within 
  weeks.
  The Primarchs were to fight four more times before the death of El'Jonson. Friends to the end, 
  they were united by shared rivalry and sense of honour. The feud would arise again. but not in 
  Russ's lifetime.
  Then came the betrayal. Like Russ, Horus was a Primarch. Unlike Russ he bore the title of Imperial 
  Warmaster, and had complete control over five Chapters of Space Marines. Perhaps Horus was 
  tainted by Chaos when abducted as a babe, or perhaps he was weakened by the exposure to the 
  warp. Whatever the cause, Horus was responsible for the largest treachery Mankind has even 
  known. In a single moment he threw away his love for the Emperor and the Imperium, he cast his 
  pride into the dirt, discarded everything he stood for, and struck out. Across a hundred worlds, a 
  thousand million men wept for their Emperor, who had been so cruelly betrayed by a man he 
  called friend. For the first time, Marine would fight Marine in what would become known as the 
  Horus Herecy.
  
  +++The Fang+++
  Towards the center of Asaheim there is a range of mountains taller than any others on the planet 
  of Fenris. The tallest peak of all lies in the very middle of the range and rises like a single gnarled 
  tooth above the surrounding mountains. This peak, and the Space Marine fortress that is built 
  upon it, is called The Fang. The Fang is many times as high as the mountains around it, so that it 
  stands alone as a citadel hewn from the rock. Like a dagger driven into the belly of the sky, The 
  Fang pierces the atmosphere of Fenris.
  The fortress of The Fang is clad in armour of immense thickness and strength and is cloaked by 
  void shields more powerful than those found on even the most mighty of the Emperor's warships. 
  Outside Earth, The Fang is said to be the greatest fortress in the human galaxy. Dark shafts cut 
  miles into the mountainside, concealing laser cannons which are capable of crushing the most 
  heavily armoured spacecraft. These huge weapons are as ancient as the Space Wolves Chapter 
  itself, and the thermal reactors that power them are testament to the precious technology from 
  the distant past. Upon the tip of The Fang is the Space Wolves' fleet dock, where hundreds of 
  spacecraft are maintained in armoured hangars inside the mountain. From here the Space 
  Wolves journey to distant battlefields throughout the galaxy.
  +++The Planet Fenris+++
  Fenris is one of the deadliest worlds in the Imperium. Its weather is infamous: winters are cold 
  and icy; the brief summers are almost intolerably hot. However, once every few years or so 
  comes the season known as Helwinter. The planet's long orbit takes it far from the sun, and it 
  becomes cold for many standard years. At the same time the planet passes through a swarm of 
  meteors that bombard its surface like a rain of bombs. The contrails of the descending meteorites 
  fill the night skies, and the impacts cause the earth to shake like a frightened beast.
  During this period the tribes of Fenris take to their ships and search the icy seas for places of 
  safety. Loading all their possessions onto their longships they navigate through the icebergs in 
  search of safety. Some make their homes on the very surface of these floating islands of ice. 
  Others are lost to the mighty tidal waves caused by the impact of meteors. Many more will die 
  when attacked by ice whales and kraken.
  Kraken are the most tterrifying monsters of the deep. They come to the surface only during 
  Helwinter which is just as well, for a full grown kraken can measure as much as five miles long 
  with tentacles that drag a full twenty miles. Normally they dwell only in the deepest of ocean 
  trenches but the tectonic shifts caused by the constant meteor impacts disturb them and cause 
  them to rise.
  One of the most ancient tales of Russ tells of how he went fishing one day and caught the Father 
  of Kraken, the legendary monster whose tentacles girdle the world and hold entire continents in 
  their grip. Russ is said to have pulled the monster from the sea lifting it by its tentacles. When his 
  awed comrades shuddered in terror, Russ declared that it was too small and threw it back, 
  declaring he would return later when the tiddler was full grown.
  Imperial scholars think that this story is mere legend but with a core of truth. Russ may have 
  encountered a kraken and killed one. It would not have been beyond the power of a Primarch 
  such as he. Indeed, this kraken may be the source of the so-called kraken's egg, a giant leathery 
  piece of flesh more than fifty foot across that lies within the Trophy Room of The Fang.
  +++The Mentor Legion+++
  The Mentors are a relatively new Chapter. Formed in the Twenty-Sixth Founding, during the 
  middle part of the current millennium, they received the number 888. This previously belonged to 
  the Star Scorpions Chapter. The latter were a Chapter of the Twenty Fifth Founding and had the 
  dual misfortune of producing redundant gene-seed and being utterly devastated by Warp entities 
  when the Chapter's Fleet became trapped in Warp-space. The exact fate of the Scorpions is not 
  known. However, the Emperor decreed that the chapter be considered dead.
  
  The redundant gene-seed hampered Imperial efforts to rebuild the Scorpions Legion and 
  eventually the Bio-engineers and Chem-architects of the Adeptus Mechanicus were forced to 
  conceed defeat. For a time it seemed that the number 888 would never be raised again, but 
  some years later, a new Founding in the offing persuaded the Priesthood to revisit the chapter 
  regalia. Thus the Mentors were born. They received the uniforms and number of the extinct 
  chapter but instead of the redundant seed, they were given an entirely new generation of genetic 
  material collated from the storage banks of the Earth laboratories.
  +++LEGION OF THE DAMNED+++
  In the year 963 of the current millennium, Space Marine chapter 'Fire Hawks' was ordered into 
  the Crows World sub-sector. Crows World and adjacent planetary systems had fallen into anarchy 
  following heavy raiding by Eldar Pirates. The 'Fire Hawks' intervention would drive the Eldar from 
  the human worlds, restoring Imperial rule and teaching the alien invaders an important lesson. 
  The entire chapter-fleet, including the chapter's mobile space-fortress, made a successful warp 
  jump from the Piraeus system a mere 120 light years from Crows World. The five ships, over eight 
  hundred brethren, and two thousand other personnel expected to reach Crows World years after 
  the event the chapter was officially declared lost in the warp and presumed destroyed. The great 
  Bell of Lost Souls tolled a thousand times, and it said that the Emperor himself ordered a Black 
  Candle to be lit in the Adeptus Chapel of Fallen Heroes.
  On 9667986.M41 a routine Imperial patrol passed through the Ork held system of Jakor-tal. The 
  squadron uncovered altogether unexpected scenes of devastation. The limited facilities available 
  to the patrol could uncover no clue to the identity of the attacking forces. The incident was noted 
  and passed into the everlasting record of the Administratum.
  A rash of similar incidents within the same and adjoining sectors soon began to arouse the 
  interest of the Inquisition. Squadron commanders throughout these sectors were reinforced and 
  ordered to double their routine patrols. The incidents continued pace, increasing rather than 
  declining in frequency and destructiveness. Even so, no sign of the 3628987.M41, a patrol ship in 
  the Maran sub-sector narrowly avoided a collision with a space-craft at the Cift jump-point. The 
  patrol ship was entering the Cift system as the unidentified craft was leaving. Alerted by the close 
  encounter, the patrol crew scanned the entire jump-area and discovered two long cylindrical 
  objects within the intruder's projected flight-path. These were hauled aboard and proved to be 
  standard space coffins without identification markings.
  The coffins were shipped back to earth and opened by the Adeptus Mechanicus. The coffins 
  themselves were identified as belonging to the Absolute, one of the spacecraft from the vanished 
  Fire Hawk fleet. Inside were the armoured remains of two Space Marines. The unconventional 
  armour colours and unofficial insignia puzzled the investigators, but serial numbers tallied with 
  equipment made by or issued to the Fire Hawks. The armoured suits were expected to house 
  members of the lost chapter, and were carefully broken open. The bodies within were human, but 
  further identification proved impossible due to their advanced state of decay.
  The full truth would not emerge until almost a year later when a besieged Imperial research 
  station received unexpected help. The garrison had been attacked suddenly by Ork pirates. After 
  three hours of fighting the situation looked hopeless. Then, without warning, the Orks found 
  themselves attacked in the rear. The ferocity of the fighting appalled even the station's 
  defenders. Within half an hour, several hundred Orks had fallen to the mysterious, power-
  armoured figures. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the warriors vanished. This time they 
  left behind a banner - the gnarled chapter flag of the Fire Hawks - and inscribed upon it was the 
  motto In dedicato imperatum ultra articulo mortis (For the Emperor beyond the point of death). As 
  well as the banner there was a recorder and sundry other sealed items. These were immediately 
  shipped to Earth.
  From the data contained in the recorder the Administratum was able to determine exactly what 
  had happened to the lost chapter. Following their warp-jump the entire fleet had been caught 
  within a warp-storm of terrific intensity. Stunned by the power of the warp, the chapter was 
  forced to endure the attacks of powerful warp entities. Ship after ship was destroyed and 
  absorbed into the fabric of the warp. Soon only one craft remained. By a daring warp-exit 
  maneuver the craft burst out of warp-space, emerging far in the galactic east, thousands of light 
  
  years off-course and beyond even the psychic light of the Emperor.
  The original survivors numbered two hundred brethren. All gene-seed had been lost, all initiates 
  killed, and most of the chapter's masters were gone. None of the ordinary human staff have 
  survived at all. To make matters worse the brethren had changed. This change became more 
  obvious over the next few months. Skins began to blacken and blister, flesh began to fester and 
  putrefy. Slowly they began to die. Within days of the transition into normal space it became 
  obvious that the chapter had been exposed to some form of dangerous mutation or disease. It 
  took many years to navigate a way back into the Imperium, during which time almost half the 
  brethren succumbed to the malady. Those who remained were no longer sane. Pain and despair 
  had driven even their hardened minds beyond the point of rationality. Doomed to agonizing 
  deaths, they gradually became obsessed with their fate. Now they only wanted to die. But they 
  were still marines, still loyal to the Emperor and humanity. They would not die without purpose.
  So began the unstoppable war of the Legion of the Damned! The marines elected to remove all 
  insignia from their armour. Instead their armour would be black, decorated by each brother with 
  whatever emblems of death he chose (the accompanying illustrations show some typical 
  variations). Most brothers employed a similar theme - skeletons, bones and skulls. 
  All ranks and companies were abolished, most of the chapter's officers were already dead and 
  the remaining warriors were too few to make up a fully functional chapter hierarchy. all brothers 
  were to be equal before death - leveled by the certainty of their assured extinction. The warriors 
  decided to expend their lives attacking enemies wherever they could be found. The disease had 
  robbed them of their sanity, but not their loyalty! And their condition gave them powers - powers 
  that endow them with incredible fighting abilities.
  As the fatal malady takes a firm hold, the victim begins to degenerate and putrefy. However, 
  even as his body decays, he grows in supernatural vigor. Even though the marine's limbs become 
  rotten and twisted he gains strength far beyond that of a normal marine. These powers heighten 
  as the disease rages through the victim's body. At the moment of death, each brother reaches a 
  peak in power, at which point the raw energies of the warp transmute the death throes of the 
  doomed marine into a berserk orgy of destruction. These changes are reflected by the profile and 
  special rules given later. Make no mistake - the Legion of the Damned may be few in numbers, 
  but their powers are awesome!
  Just as their bodies are changed by contact with the warp, so their minds are hardened too. 
  Brethren are completely immune to all forms of psychic attack or interference. They cannot be 
  affected by the special psychic attacks of warp-creatures - although they may be harmed 
  physically by physical attacks that such creatures may have. Astral specters and other immaterial 
  creatures cannot harm them in any way.
  +++The Draconians+++
  The Draconians were created in the Second Founding from the geneseed of the Salamanders. 
  They were given the world Draconus as their recruiting world, and to build their chapter fortress 
  upon. From this world they take their name, and they recruit the hardened individuals who work 
  the Great Forges of the world, and who have adapted to the great heat and dangers of a world 
  that is covered with volcanic activity.
  The Legion has fought continuisly since its Founding in the service of the Imperium and to defend 
  Mankind against the incursions of Chaos, the Ork Hordes, and the ravenous Tyranids. They have 
  been called upon on many occasions to respond to Tyranid invasions due to their special affinity 
  for fire and its effectiveness against the Tyranids. They have developed special tactics to take 
  advantage of their preferred weapons, and the Techmarines have developed unique weapons 
  and vehicles that use the eternal flames of Draconus.
  For the thousands of years since the end of the Horus Heresy the Draconians have continued to 
  faithfully serve the Emperor, and even during times of isolation from Earth, the Legion's loyalty 
  and faith has never wavered. The history and lore of the Legion is filled with the heroic deeds of 
  individuals and units as a whole in their service in the continuing struggles against the enemies 
  of Mankind.
  
  +++Ultramarines+++
  The Ultramarines are a Codex Chapter descended from the Ultramarines Legion led by Roboute 
  Guilliman (Row-baut Jewl-a-man). When the Primarch was rediscovered by the Emperor, Guilliman 
  had ruled the planet Macragge for five years. In that short period of time, the planet had gone 
  fome a corrupt aristocrasy supported by impoverished slaves, to a world where the people were 
  prosperous and well fed. Guilliman destroyed the old social order, and in its place he instituted a 
  system that rewarded honest and hard work, placing honorable men in charge of the 
  government. It became a world who's "cities had been rebuilt in glittering marble and shining 
  steel". Macagge's small fleet of spaceships ran regular trade routs between the local systems. 
  Bringing raw materials, more people, and prosperity to Guilliman's thriving planet. "The Emperor 
  was astounded to find a world so well ordered and prosperous, and realised at once that Roboute 
  Guilliman was a Primarch of great ability and vision." During the Great Crusade, he commanded 
  the Ultramarines who's base had been relocated to Maccrage. His greatest talents were waging 
  war, and he led the Ultramarines to many great victories in the Galactic South. Guilliman 
  succeeded in liberating more worlds than any other Primarch. In addition, through his 
  organizational skills and tactical expertise during the Crusade, the Ultramarines suffered fewer 
  casualties and grew to be the largest Space Marine Legion. Unfortunately, the great success of 
  the Ultramarines had taken them to the southern edge of the galaxy just when they would be 
  needed the most.
  The 'Horus Heresy' plunged the Imperium into a savage civil war, far from the loyalist forces of 
  the Ultramarines. The traitor Horus had moved with such speed, that even the news of his 
  treachery did not reach Guilliman until Terra itself was under siege. Being so far out of position, 
  the Ultramarines were unable to provide much help to those heroic forces fighting on Earth 
  against far superior numbers. Their most notable action during those times was the destruction of 
  a large force of Traitor Marines moving to reinforce Horus' position. (Most likley, of the Night 
  Lords. Possibly of the Alpha Legion.) After the death of Horus and the retreat of the Treacher 
  Legions, the Ultramarines liberated many human worlds from Chaos occupation.
  Due to the heavy losses suffered by loyal Marine Legions during the Heresy, the Ultramarines 
  were divided and deployed across the entire Imperium in order to keep or restore order. They 
  defended much of the galaxy from Ork hordes, Eldar pirates, and other threats to Imperial order.
  Roboute Guilliman is credited as being the primary author of the 'Codex Astartes'. The holy tome 
  created subsiquent to the Heresy which detailed the reorganization of Imperial forces. Its 
  objectives included the recognition and correction of gene-seed defects revealed as a result of 
  the corruption of the traitor marines by the Powers of Chaos. Seven years after the Heresy, the 
  Codex was implimented in the Second Founding. The Ultramarines Legion was divided into a 
  large number of 'Chapters', consisting of about one-thousand men. The exact number and names 
  of Chapters created from the Ultramarines Legion has been lost through time. However, the 
  'Apocrypha of Skaros' is said to list the total as twenty-three, without listing the Chapters by 
  name. Because the Ultramarines were divided into so many more Chapters than other Legions, 
  their Gene-seed became the stock type for Marine Chapters.
  In 698 M41 the Chapter was part of a combined Space Marine force led by Marneus Calgar, 
  consisting of the Angels of Absolution, Lamenters, Marine's Errant, and the Silver Skulls. During 
  this seven year crusade the force inflicted a series of major defeats on the Ork empire of 
  Charadon "delaying the invasion by Waaagh Argluk by some thirty years."
  +++Lamenters+++
  The Lamenters are a Successor Chapter of unknown origins. However, the Blood Angels Chapter 
  banner depicts Sanguinius wearing a robe with a symbol like the Lamenters Chapter badge. In 
  698 M41 the Chapter was part of a combined Space Marine force led by Marneus Calgar, 
  consisting of the Angels of Absolution, Marine's Errant, Silver Skulls, and the Ultramarines. During 
  this seven year crusade the force inflicted a series of major defeats on the Ork empire of 
  Charadon "delaying the invasion by Waaagh Argluk by some thirty years."
  
  During the Badab War, the Lamenters had, for some strange unknown reason sided with the Tiger 
  Claws; along with the Executioners, and the Mantis Warriors. In 908 M41 the Lamenters were 
  caught in an ambush by the Minotaurs Chapter, and "eventually surrendered after bloody ship-to-
  ship fighting." In 912 M41 they were granted the Emperor's forgiveness, and sent on a one 
  hundred year crusade along the Eastern Fringe. After the chapter had been been forgiven, the 
  Chapter's banner was sent to the Adeptus Sororitas "to be restored and purified. Their handiwork 
  was indeed inspired by the Emperor Deified, and it is said that they wept as they wove, 
  contemplating the Emperor's great sacrifice for humanity. The banner became known as the 
  Banner of Tears and was taken with the Lamentors on their penitent crusade."
  In 992 M41 Tyranid Hive-fleet Kraken invaded from the Galactic East, the Lamenters and the 
  Scythes of the Emperor Chapter were originally alone in dealing with this threat. During the 
  fighting, Lamenters spacecraft "engaged ships of the Tyranid fleet. Boarding parties entered the 
  immense alien craft, gathering vital information about the Tyranids and successfully destroying 
  untold thousands of aliens." But the Marines were outnumbered literally millions to one, and 
  approximately nine-tenths of the Chapter was destroyed in the fighting.
  Their current disposition is unknown. However, it is possible to raise an entire Chapter from two 
  Zygotes in fifty-five years. Certainly, to completely rebuild the Lamenters would take 
  considerable less time.
  +++The Crimsons Fists+++
  The Crimson Fists are one of the oldest Space Marine Chapters, being part of the Second Founding in the 31st millenium. 
  They are descendants of the original Imperial Fists Legion, which had the great honour of being based on Terra itself. The 
  Crimson Fists took their name from the ritual which Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, conducted to initiate the 
  new Chapter Masters. Both Dorn and the Chapter Master slit the palms of their left hands and clasped them together in a 
  strong warrior's handshake; their blood mingled together, physically strengthening the Chapter Master's gene-seed and 
  forming a symbolic bond between the Primarch and his genetic sons.
  The endeavors of the Chapter have been recorded in the many volumes of the Rynn Chronicles, although much of this 
  valuable history was lost with the unfortunate destruction of the Crimson Fists' Fortress-Monastery on Rynn's World. 
  Those few burnt and tattered tomes that remain tell of nearly ten thousand years of illustrious devotion to the Emperor 
  and unflinching prosecution of the Crimson Fists' duties.
  "Once a Crimson Fist becomes a full Battlebrother, his left gauntlet is painted crimson. Upon becoming a 
  member of the Crusade Company he is allowed to paint his right glove also. The most honoured Crimson Fist 
  warriors are gifted with one of the Chapter's ancient power gloves as a symbol of their might at arms."
  The most legendary campaign executed by the Crimson Fists was the Crusade of Righteous Liberation, conducted for 
  three hundred years during the 36th Millenium. At this time, now known to Imperial historians as the Age of Apostasy, 
  the Imperium was wracked by internal strife and physically disrupted by swirling warp storms. Much of the turmoil arose 
  from a massive schism within the religious organisation of the Ministorum of Terra. After the arch-traitor Goge Vandire 
  was finally killed, the Crimson Fists took it upon themselves to wrest back control of Imperial worlds that had fallen from 
  the Emperor's grace. The whole Chapter left Rynn's World aboard its battle barges and strike cruisers and forged its way 
  through the warp storms to liberate those planets which had fallen into anarchy or been invaded by alien races.
  The first such world they came across was Welte, which they found subjugated by the Ork warlord Ghar Nazzghar - 
  loathed by many at the time as the brutal Plunderer of Polemis. A force taken from four different Companies descended 
  upon Welte, whilst the rest of the Chapter dropped back into the warp to locate other such stricken worlds. Led by the 
  valiant Captain Sandriaz, the Crimson Fists fell upon Ghar Nazzghar like a blue storm. They struck at his ore mines, 
  burnt the slave factories and wrecked the ramshackle convoys that transported food and weapons across Welte's 
  treacherous dust bowls. Ghar Nazzghar's Orks soon found themselves scattered across much of the world trying to protect 
  the few installations that still stood.
  It was then that Brother-Captain Sandriaz mustered his force once more and attacked Nazzghar's stronghold in the ruins 
  of what was once Welte Prime, the world's capital. With most of his warbands chasing ghosts across the dust bowls, Ghar 
  Nazzghar could do nothing as the blue-armoured Space Marines advanced relentlessly through the shattered town. 
  Nazzghar himself led a final counter attack, but he and his cadre of burly Ork warriors were wiped out as they ran the 
  gauntlet of the Crimson Fists' deadly fire. With Ghar Nazzghar dead, the Crimson Fists left Welte, leaving the fragmented 
  Orks to the Imperial citizens who had been so brutally enslaved and repressed.
  Welte was just the first of eighty four worlds re-conquered by the Crimson Fists during the Crusade of Righteous 
  Liberation. Over the Crusade's three hundred years, the Chapter's numbers dwindled through age and battle losses; whilst 
  crusading, the Crimson Fists were unable to recruit initiates to replace their losses. Finally, after breaking the four-century 
  long rebel siege of Barenthal on Excelsiva II, Chapter Master Kordova declared the Crusade of Righteous Liberation to 
  
  have ended. Only one hundred and twenty eight Space Marines were left and ever since then, the numbers of the 
  Chapter's First Company has always been kept at one hundred and twenty eight warriors, and its Captain is also always 
  the Chapter Master. They are known amongst the Crimson Fists as the Crusade Company, and it is considered a bad omen 
  if the Chapter goes to war without the Company being at full strength.
  Like other Imperial Fists descendants, the Crimson Fists have always been noted for their zealous devotion to the 
  Emperor, even more so than other Space Marine Chapters. On at least two occasions this has led to the Crimson Fists 
  being called upon by the High Lords of Terra to exterminate a fellow Space Marine Chapter. The first of these was the 
  Sons of Gideon, who were deemed Excommunicate after a routine Inquisitorial inspection had found the Chapter's 
  geneseed had been corrupted to such a degree that chemical imbalances in the Space Marines' brains had driven them 
  insane. The Crimson Fists destroyed their homeworld of Gideon IV and the proceeded to hunt down the remnants of the 
  Third Company which had escaped the attack and was butchering it's way through the four billion inhabitants of the Colar 
  star system The second Chapter to have suffered the wrath of the Crimson Fists were the Marines Vigilant. The Chapter 
  had fallen under the mind-control of a rare warp entity which had eradicated all martial instinct of the Space Marines, 
  rendering them useless as a military force. The unfortunate Marines Vigilant put up no resistance at all as the Crimson 
  fists used orbital mass drivers to turn the renegade Chapter's verdant home planet into lifeless desert. The Crimson Fists' 
  willingness to turn on their brother marines has earnt them something of a reputation as the Adeptus Terra's lapdogs 
  amongst the more unorthodox Space Marine Chapters, such as the Space Wolves, White Scars and Exorcists.
  "Nothing is known of the fate of Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists. Some myths claim that he yet lives, 
  secretly commanding the Companions of the Adeptus Custodes - the exceptionally deadly warriors who guard 
  the Golden Throne itself."
  At the present time, the Crimson Fists are currently recovering from a catastrophic war against yet more Orks, during 
  which a malfunctioning missile detonated the armoury of their Fortress-Monastery, totally destroying it and wiping out a 
  large proportion of the Crimson Fists' initiates and stored geneseed. However, if there is one thing that rings clear in the 
  annals of the Crimson Fists, it is their stubborn tenacity to fight to the end. Lord Kantor, the current Chapter Master, has 
  already combated several attempts for the Chapter to be disbanded due to irrecoverable battle losses and has vowed 
  bloody vengeance on all of Ork-kind; those who are wise in such things know that this is not an empty boast. 
  Chapter Organization: 
  The Crimson Fists are in most respects a Codex chapter. As a result of a large crusade the Crimson Fists were once 
  reduced to a mere 128 Marines. From that day the chapters 1st Company, known as the Crusade Company, has been kept 
  at 128 Marines, and its Captain is also always the Chapter Master. It is considered a bad omen if the Chapter goes to war 
  without the Company being at full strength.
  Chapter Colors: 
  The Crimson Fists took their name from the ritual which Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, conducted to initiate 
  the new Chapter Masters. Both Dorn and the Chapter Master slit the palms of their left hands and clasped them together 
  in a strong warrior's handshake; their blood mingled together, physically strengthening the Chapter Master's gene-seed 
  and forming a symbolic bond between the Primarch and his genetic sons. The Crimson Fists have also carried this on into 
  their colours. Their basic armour colour is a deep blue, usually with metallic trimmings. Once a Crimson Fist becomes a 
  full Battlebrother his left gauntlet is painted crimson, upon becoming a member of the Crusade Company he is allowed to 
  paint his right glove also. The most honoured Crimson Fist warriors are gifted with one of the chapter's ancient power 
  gloves as a symbol of their might at arms. 
  >>The Horus Heresy
  +++The Corruption of+++
  +++Warmaster Horus+++
  On the feral world of Davin, the adjutant came smartly to attention before the vast wooden desk.
  "The local representatives are outside, my lord Warmaster." The Warmaster nodded once, 
  without looking up from the stack of reports.
  "Thank you, Bejand. Make them comfortable and tell them I shall join them directly." Bejand 
  
  cleared his throat nervously.
  "Permission to speak freely... my lord?" This time, the Warmaster looked up. The adjutant tried to 
  hold his ice-blue gaze, and failed.
  "I know, Bejand," said the Warmaster. "You're not happy about this warrior-lodge initiation."
  "So soon after your illness, my lord..."
  "From which I am fully recovered. I had the Apothecaria of five Space Marine chapters fighting for 
  the honour of healing me. I've been back to full duties for a week now, with no ill-effects. Your 
  concern is touching, but unnecessary." Bejand shuffled uncomfortably.
  "But, my lord, we don't know what's involved..."
  "I have a reasonable idea. A little pain, to be endured without crying out; duels with a range of 
  promitive weapons; trials of strength and speed; a few primitive rituals - little different from 
  mystic warrior lodges in any other feral-world culture. You know Imperial policy; establish ties 
  which can be exploited in later recruitment."
  He paused.
  "This really is bothering you, isn't it?"
  The adjutant tried to meet his gaze, and failed again.
  "Listen, Bejand. You are an outstanding staff officer, and I value your loyalty and concern. But 
  why does one warrior-lodge initiation on one feral world disturb you so? I've gone through more 
  than twenty of these rituals in the past. I've been a Space Marine and a commander of Marines 
  for more than a century. You need have no fears for me."
  "My lord, I..."
  The Warmaster rose abruptly.
  "Enough." His voice was softer, more dangerous. "I am Horus, General and Warmaster. The first 
  soldier of the Imperium, subordinate only to the Emperor himself. Shall it be said that Horus ran 
  away from a hutful of savages?"
  Bejand struggled for words.
  "My lord... I have had - dreams..." His distress was genuine. Horus laid a hand on his shoulder.
  "Control yourself." he said gently. "You are excused for the rest of the day. Go to the 
  Apothacarion for a psychological update. And then, perhaps, to the Chapel. A few hours' 
  meditation will do you good. Unless you prefer to report these dreams and submit yourself to the 
  Inquisition for psychic potential testing?"
  Bejand swallowed hard. "No, my lord."
  "Well, then." Horus patted his shoulder gently. "Go now, and we'll say no more. Meanwhile, I must 
  meet the elders of the Knife of Stone."
  And in the Warp, something smiled
  +++The Horus Heresy Campaign++
  +
  Expansion & Conquest
  The birth of mankind's Imperium began with the death of the Eldar race. The innate psychic 
  powers of the Eldar brought about their own destruction by the forces of Chaos. Their psychic 
  death scream was echoes in the warp by the birth of a new and terrible god of Chaos. This 
  emergent entity was Slaanesh the prince of pain and pleasure, bane of the Eldar. The psychic 
  shock of Slaanesh's birth had two immediate effects. The catharsis effctively blew away the warp 
  storms created by the millennia long build-up to Slaanesh's creation, thus ending Earth's long 
  isolation. However, the unleashed energies were so great that they could not be wholly contained 
  within the warp. 
  Where the populations of Eldar were greatest, the warp literally spilled through their minds and 
  mixed with material space. This created the scattered zones of warp overlap in the material 
  universe, the largest and most significant of which is the Eye of Terror. 
  The Emperor of Mankind had long forseen the creation of Slaanesh and had prepared for that 
  fateful day. By the time that the warp storms were ended by the birth of Slaanesh, the Space 
  Marines and other Imperial forces were ready to begin their reconquest of the galaxy. The forces 
  
  of Chaos were already strong, and many human worlds had been taken over by Chaos Cultists or 
  aliens. It was a long hard struggle, but with every victory the Imperium grew stronger as new 
  warriors joined the Great Crusade. 
  Led by the Emperor himself and his mighty Primarchs the Great Crusade of mankind swept 
  through the galaxy like a firestorm. Untold billions of humans on thousands of worlds were 
  liberated by the triumphant Space Marine Legions. The dark and sinister hold of the gods of 
  Chaos was shattered, alien domination was overthrown and he Imperium was forged in a heroic 
  age of conquest and rediscovery. Humanity rose to the task of rebuilding its ancient heritage, and 
  everywhere the alien oppressor was defeated and driven out. Chaos retreated to its own realms, 
  to the zones of warp-real space overlap such as the Eye of Terror.
  Pride and Betrayal
  But the forces of Chaos were not quite so easily beaten. They whispered to the Primarchs from 
  the warp, disturbing their dreams with promises of power, appealing to their pride, their martial 
  prowess, and their courage. No single Primarch was wholly resistant to these unspoken 
  temptations. The character of each was sorely tested, and fully half of them failed that test. So 
  subtle was their temptation that they never even suspected how their own loyalities were 
  changing. 
  For example, Mortation Primarch of the Death Guard Legion fully believed that he was the herald 
  of a new age of justice, Angron of the World Eaters geneinely thought that he alone could save 
  humanity from destruction. Horus too, the greatest Primarch of all, was convinced of the virtue of 
  the martial ideals for which he fought. 
  By appealing to their virtue and courage, the Primarchs were tempted to lead their Space Marine 
  Legions against the Emperor. Initially, even the Primarchs had little idea that they had fallen to 
  Chaos, but when they rebelled their good intentions gradually fell away as Chaos saturated their 
  souls. The Space Marine Legions that they lead also turned slowly but inevitably to Chaos. The 
  corrupting influence of Chaos soon spread to the Imperial Guard and Adeptus Mechanicus forces, 
  including the Titan Legions and the Legio Cybernetica. From there the rot spread further into the 
  Imperium itself. Over half of the Adeptus Mechanicus alone were ready to join an Empire 
  dedicated to Chaos. 
  The leader of the rebellion was the Warmaster Horus, the greatest and most trusted Primarch of 
  all. He had stood by the Emperor's side throughout the long years of the Great Crusade. They had 
  fought back-to-back at the siege of Reillis when the Emperor saved Horus's life. On the battlefield 
  of Gorro, Horus had repaid the debt by hacking the arm from a frenzied Ork as it struggled to 
  choke the Emperor's life out of him. The Emperor had entructed Horus with leading the crusades 
  along the Eastern Fringe while he returned to Terra to consolidate the rule of the vast Imperium 
  now under his control. 
  In the Emperor's absence Horus's plans were just coming to fruition when the Imperial 
  commander of Istvaan III declared the whole of the Istvaan system an independent principality. 
  The Emperor, ignorant of the change in the Warmaster, ordered Horus to pacify the system. 
  Horus chose to do so by virus bombing Istvaan III from orbit. The voracious life-eater virus slew 
  every living thing on Istvaan III in a matter of minutes; twelve billion souls died with a death 
  scream that pulsed louder than the Astronomicon. Whole continents and hive cities were charred 
  to ash as the mass of oxygen released by the instant rotting of all organic material on the planet 
  burned in the atmosphere and covered the world in a gigantic firestorm which raged for days. 
  Before the last fires were out Horus despatched the Titans of Legio Mortis onto the planet's 
  surface to root out any who had survived in protective shelters or underground bunkers. 
  During the bombardment a handful of Space Marines still loyal to the Emperor seized control of 
  the Frigate Eisenstein. They had discovered the taint of Chaos spreading through Horus's 
  command and as the Warmaster withdrew to Istvaan V to mashal his forces the loyalists fled into 
  warp space to warn the Imperium.
  Outright Rebellion
  Horus's fall came as a great shock to the Emperor. He hesitated, stunned by the extent of the 
  Warmaster's treachery, unable to beleive that his friend and general was really gathering forces 
  against him. The Inquisition began a purge of the Adeptus Mechanicus and Imperial Guard but 
  fighting broke out almsot immediately as both organisations were shattered into loyalist and 
  rebel factions. On Mars Tech-priests fought with ancient, forbidden weapons as both sides strove 
  to win dominance. 
  
  The corrupted Imperium tore itself apart as old feuds were revived and ambitious planetary lords 
  seized the opportunity to declare their independence or join with the Warmaster. Many of them 
  did not realise what manner of monster they were allting themselves with but others embraced 
  Chaos wholeheartedly. Planterary battles raged across the galaxy as rebels attacked loyalists or 
  vice versa. The Imperial fleet dithered and only succeeded in driving the rebel ships from the 
  Imperial home system. In the process they suffered such heavy casualties that they withdrew to 
  their Luna bases. 
  After an almost fatal delay the Emperor finally ordered seven Legions of the Adeptus Astartes to 
  destroy Horus and his rebels. Only with the death of Horus, the figurehead and inspiration of the 
  rebellion, would the revolt come to an end. But organising and mobilising such a crusade to the 
  other side of the galaxy took precious months. Horus used the time well, consolidating his 
  position and establishing his claim as the "New Emperor" within hundreds of systems. Wherever 
  Horus was accepted, the worship of Chaos followed. 
  The assault of the loyalist Legions against Horus's strongholds on Istvaan V were a disaster. The 
  Legions struck with their customary ferocity and cunning but this time they fought brother Space 
  Marines. Both sides possessed troops as fully capabale and hardened as the other, every 
  stratagem and ploy was met and countered. In the end strategy was overturned by treachery as 
  the initial wave of three loyalist Legions were first mauled during their landings and then 
  destroyed in detail. Only five Space Marines, bearing the gene-seed of their departed brethern, 
  eventually managed to escape and carry news of the disaster to the Emperor. Somehow Horus 
  had managed to corrupt four of the seven Legions sent against him. After the initial landings the 
  'loyalist' follow-up waves had attacked their allies instead of the rebels. 
  Horus now controlled nine Space Marine Legions and had destroyed three loyal Legions. 
  Throughout the Imperium loyalists and rebels were fighting each other to a virtual standstill, 
  although the tide of battle was turning, ever so slowly in the Emperor's favour. Horus knew that if 
  he could crush the heart of the Emperor's resistance he could remould the Imperium in his own 
  warped image. He ordered an assault on Earth.
  Total War
  The real tragedy of the Horus Heresy was the ruination of the Emperor's finest creations - not 
  only the Primarchs but the Space Marines as well. The rebel forces spread the corruption of Chaos 
  everywhere they went. 
  Throughout the galaxy the forces of Chaos became stronger as humans were seduced by the 
  values represented by the Chaos Powers and even to their worship. The Emperor's great spirit 
  was weakened as the better qualities of humanity were perverted and misdirected by the subtle 
  warping influence of Chaos. 
  Such was the position when the forces of Chaos gathered around Earth. The Luna bases, the 
  bastion of Earth's defences, fell to Horus after a hard fight, and the rebel fleet moved into Earth 
  orbit. After a brief battle the Terran defence lasers were quashed by heavy bombardment from 
  space. The last squadrons of the loyal fighters poured volley after volley into the huge ships but 
  failed to penetrate even their shields. Once their last shots had been fired the pilots steered the 
  fighters directly into the enemy craft. It was a gesture of defiance - no more. 
  Horus's drop ships fell like rain upon the Imperial palace, disgorging company after company of 
  Traitor Marines. The palace spread over many square miles of bastions, walls, corridors, sky-
  scraping towers, vast space ports and the fighting was fierce and determined. The Traitor Marines 
  and rebel Imperial Guard units supported by Chaos Titans and huge daemonic engines gradually 
  forced back the loyal Marines and Emperor's Guards. 
  The defenders refused to give way, and the attackers were forced to win their way foward step-
  by-step over the casualties of both sides. In places the dead lay so thickly that corridors were 
  blocked by the press of bodies. Still the loyalists could not prevent the battle becoming a siege, 
  and fighting raged along the walls of the outer palace for over a month. Eventually Titans of the 
  Legio Mortis demolished parts of the towering walls and the Traitor Legions poured through to 
  assault the inner palace.
  The Emperor at Bay
  As the rebel forces slowly closed the drawstring upon the loyalist troops, the Emperor readied 
  himself for the final battle with his bodyguard of Space Marines and Custodes. Two of his 
  Primarchs stood by him: Rogal Dorn of the Imperial Fists and Sanguinius of the Blood Angels. The 
  last hour of humanity had come and the few gallant defenders prepared themselves for certain 
  
  death. It was then, when his victory seemed certain, that Horus made his one and only mistake. 
  Horus lowered the defense shields on his orbitting battle barge. At the time it seemed that he 
  wished to use a psychic probe to witness for himself the final moments of the Emperor. It was his 
  undoing, for a soon as the shields fell the Emperor became aware of his presence. The Emperor 
  did not miss this crucial opportunity. Within a matter of seconds the teleport links were keyed to 
  Horus's barge and the Emperor, his immediate entourage and the two loyal Primarchs, Rogal 
  Dorn and Sanguinius, were transported right into the nest of Horus himself. 
  Horus was the greatest of all Champions of Chaos, an Arch-Champion and Captain of the Great 
  Powers - a Chaos Lord of the highest rank. As the Emperor and his band of warriors materalised 
  inside Horus's battle barge they saw for the first time the full extent of the Primarch's treachery. 
  The ship had been transformed into something so horrible that some of the Space Marines were 
  sent instantly mad. Their minds were completely blasted by the sight, they gargled incoherently 
  as they crawled and twisted on the deck. The faces of men and daemons leered at them from the 
  bulkheads, they had not bodies, their flesh melted into the slimy black walls. With a disgusting 
  sucking sound the creatures heaved themselves into the corridors, clawing and grabbing at the 
  members of the boarding party. 
  It took only a few minutes to reach the bridge, though many brave men died in those minutes nd 
  hordes of no-longer-human things perished amidst the flames and singing boltguns. There on the 
  bridge the Emperor confronted his old Warmaster, only to discover Horus poised over the broken 
  body of Sanguinius - the Primarch had found Horus first and had died at his hand. 
  The Emperor launched his attack, as much a struggle between two old friends as it was a struggle 
  for the fate of humanity. Both knew that whichever of them won would inherit the rule of the 
  galaxy and become the undisputed Emperor of Mankind. If Horus won then Chaos would reign 
  supreme and mankind would join the Eldar as a dead race.
  The Golden Throne
  The fight with Horus was waged both in the material universe and in the warp, their bodies and 
  their spirits battling for survival. Though Horus dealt him grievous wounds the Emperor fought 
  not only for his life but but of untold billions across the galaxy. It was Horus who faltered first, 
  perhaps because some shred of humanity survived in the Primarch and betrayed him in the end. 
  The Emperor destroyed his friend with the last vestiges of his strength, his body was all but 
  destroyed, and his psychic powers were also dealt a severe blow. 
  With the death of the Warmaster the forces of Chaos on Earth melted away. Some of those not 
  too long in the service of Chaos were suddenly free from its illusions and quickly switched sides, 
  fighting with all the more vigour in their attempts to make amends for their treachery. Others 
  whose corruption was more deeply rooted, seeing that all was lost, retreated to their ships and 
  fled into open space. The Emperor's body was hastily returned to Earth and palced in a life-
  preserving stasis field. 
  The life support unit known as the Golden Throne was quickly built to encase the Emperor. His 
  powers survived, but his body was shattered. At first he was able to communicate semi-
  coherently for brief periods; later he lapsed into complete silence. That silence has remained 
  undisturbed now for almost ten thousand years.
  Bitter Defeat
  As news of the Warmaster's defeat spread out from ancient Terra loyalists attacked rebels with 
  renewed vigour. Hard on the heels of the news came loyalist reinforcements and the tide of battle 
  turned decisively against the rebels. The battles still raged on long and hard for a full seven years 
  before the last rebel formations were destroyed or exiled. 
  Those rebels that could flee to the Eye of Terror did so. Many had declared for the Warmaster 
  without comprehending that daemon worship was the rebellion's cause. They rapidly fell victim to 
  the Traitor Legions, who, it is said, grew bored of the diet of human flesh. 
  With the future of the Imperium assured the Emperor passed judgement upon the rebels. They 
  had broken faith with him and trafficked with daemons. They had become enemies of humanity 
  and could not be suffered to live in the Imperium of Mankind. All record of the Traitor Legions 
  would be expunged and they were to be driven into the dust nebulae and hell worlds of the Eye 
  of Terror, banished from the material universe and obliterated from history. It would be as if the 
  Traitor Legions had never existed. 
  In this decision the Emperor tempered his vengeance with reality - the Imperium was so 
  weakened by its inner struggle that no other punishment was possible. But the Eye of Terror 
  
  remains a dreadful canker in the heartwood of the Imperium, an open wound that drips 
  corruption into surrounding systems and serves as a haven for deviants and heretics. Worst of all, 
  the Traitor Legions still lurk in the Eye of Terror, consumed with hatred of the Emperor, The 
  Imperium and all mankind.
  +++The Assault on Earth+++
  On the thirteenth of Secundus, 30,014, the bombardment began. From orbit the Warmaster´s 
  ships laid down an unrelenting barrage of missiles and deadly energy beams. The aim was to 
  cripple the defences around the Emperor´s Palace and make possible a massive invasion of 
  Earth. The lunar bases had already fallen and the defending fleets had been scattered. On Mars, 
  as across the entire vast Imperium, bitter civil war raged.
  On countles worlds blood-mad warriors clashed. Some had pledged loyalty to the Emperor. 
  Others had sworn fealty to Warmaster Horus, and, through him, to the dark powers of Chaos. The 
  Emeror´s realm was in turmoil and some of the greatest battles in human history were being 
  fought. On the hive-world of Thranx over a million warriors died in a single day on the killing 
  fields of Perdagor. On the blazing deserts of Tallarn, at the Ka´an Sailent fifty thousand tanks 
  clashed in the greatest armoured action of all time. During the spacedrop on Vanaheim three 
  hive-cities were depopulated by rebel forces as a warning against resistance and still the 
  defenders fought to the last man. 
  Like a cancer the Hersy infected the entire structure of the Imperium. Everywhere brave men 
  gave up their lives to try and excise that cancer. 
  It was on Earth, at the very heart of humanity´s realm, that the fate of the galaxy was to be 
  decided. In those last days, the sky was black with dustclouds and the earth was split by gigantic 
  fissures. Tectonic plates shifted under the stress of the bombardment. Mountain chains shivered 
  and seas evaporated and became salty deserts. Rains of blood and ash dripped from the dark 
  sky. Everywhere oracles muttered evil portents and men went mad with fear. 
  Hideously twisted ships full of the lost and the damned hung in orbit over the ravaged world. 
  Shielded from the devastation by the cunningly wrought defences of the Adeptus Mechanicus a 
  pitiful few stood ready to repel the invaders. 
  The embattled remnants of the Emperor´s army were desperately trying to hold out until 
  reinforcements arrived. The Emperor himself oversaw the defence of his fortress-palace, 
  personally commanding the Adeptus Custodes, his elite guard. He was accompanied by 
  Sanguinius, white-pinioned Primarch of the Blood Angels and his Chapter of Space Marines. In the 
  palace grounds stood the stalwart Adeptus Arbites. 
  The palace was not the only bastion of resistance. There were others; each an awesome fortified 
  city filled with daunless soldiers. Beneath their Fortress-Monastery, grim-visaged Rogal Dorn led 
  the stern Imperial Fists in final prayers. Within the armoured factory complexes of the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus, techpriests put aside their tools and girded on the fearsome weapons of their order. 
  In the rubble of burned-out habareas Primarch Jhagatai Khan mustered the White Scars, the 
  Chapter of Space Marines he had personally instructed in the art of lightning warfare. Three full 
  Titan legions stood ready to defend their Emperor. 
  As the earth shuddered under the bombardment, tank divisions roared across the tortured 
  landscape to take up their position against the coming invasion. Brave men checked their 
  weapons and offered up last prayers. Defence lasers swivelled to face the turbulent threatening 
  sky. Suddenly, the night was streaked by the plasma contrails of drop-pods. Within the Emperor´s 
  halls even the Space Marines shuddered damned brethren. The terrifying prospect of facing those 
  corrupt Primarchs who had sold their souls to Chaos filed every man´s mind with indescribable 
  horror and dread. 
  * * *
  The pods touched ground and from them erupted the mightiest champions of Chaos, the 
  renegade Space Marines of the lost Chapters. These were no longer the fine human warriors of 
  legend but twisted creatures, bodies warped by the energies of Chaos, minds twisted by their 
  
  devotion to the dark powers. If what had happened to the Space Marines was bad then what had 
  happened to their Primarchs was worse. They had been created higher in the Emperor´s esteem 
  and had fallen further. None of their former comrades would have recognised them - they had 
  been transformed into creatures both daemonic and exultant. 
  Mighty Angron bellowed orders to his blood-drinking followers, the World Eaters. Brandishing his 
  great runesword he led them against the defenders of Eternity Wall Space Port. Around his red-
  armoured followers bolter shots whined. Unflinchingly they advanced, determined to spill blood 
  for the Blood God. 
  At Mortarion´s soft-spoken command the Death Guard emerged silently from the festering 
  cocoons of their drop-pods and advanced on their terror-stricken foes. The dread runes on 
  Mortarion´s scythe glittered eerily in the night as he gestured for them to advance. 
  Magnus the Red glared triumphantly about him with his one watchful eye before ordering the 
  mage-warriors of the Thousand Sons to cast their spells of doom. A hail of deadly bolter shells cut 
  down dozens of the Emperor´s Children. Undeterred, the wounded howled with pleasure at the 
  experience and chanted the praises of their Primarch Fulgrim. The Renegade Space Marines 
  surged forward to carve a path through their foes.
  Perhaps some defenders went mad with fear. Perhaps the corruption of Chaos ran deeper than 
  anyone suspected. Perhaps some were foolish enough to think that they could negotiate with the 
  ultimate enemy. Whatever the reason one last vile treachery was to take place. Many units of the 
  Imperial army that had pledged loyalty to the Emperor turned blasphemer even as the Traitor 
  Space Marines made their drop. It was almost as if it were a pre-arranged signal. In one of the 
  basest acts of betrayal in humanity´s history they turned their weapons on their brother warriors 
  and cut them down like dogs. Thus did the Lions Gate Space Port fall to the rebels. As the heretics 
  chanted and howled their mad prayers, the air shimmered and slavering daemons emerged from 
  the warp to spread terror and dismay. 
  Then indeed did it seem to the defenders that they were living in the last days of mankind. Huge 
  bat-winged Bloodthirsters swept triumphantly across the weeping skies. Clawed Keepers of 
  Secrets danced lasciviously on piles of corpses. Great Unclean Ones chuckled as they lumbered 
  through the ruined streets spreading trails of filth and slime and disease. Enigmatic Lords of 
  Change perched atop the towers and statues and supervised the coming of Chaos to the heart of 
  the world. 
  Mighty ships began the descent from orbit, hoping to overwhelm the defenders by sheer weight 
  of numbers. Unlike the drop-pods these presented fine targets for the weapons of the defenders. 
  And thus did the battle for Earth begin in earnest. 
  Defence lasers blasted many renegade ships from the sky, sending thousands of tons of fused 
  metal death raining down onto the ground below. One giant craft span out of control and crashed 
  into a hab-unit, killing a hundred thousand people. Another was welded to the ground, disgorging 
  its passengers into a lake of bubbling tar and plas-crete. The vessel of the Warped Dogs was 
  vapourised and that Titan Legion´s name passed into history. 
  As quickly as they disembarked the Traitors surged forth from the space ports to besiege the 
  bastions of the defenders. Their first objective was to silence the defence lasers inflicting such 
  casualties on their comrades. The rebels were met by a wave of Imperial defenders, desperate 
  men who knew that they were giving their lives for their home and their Emperor. 
  In the tightly packed streets around the space ports the fighting was close and deadly. Bolters 
  chattered and missile launchers delivered cargoes of death from building to nearby building. 
  Traitor tanks rumbled through the avenues, turrets swivelling to bring weapons to bear on the 
  hastily improvised barricades of their former comrades. Soon the defenders of Eternity Wall 
  Space Port had been swept aside by the merciless assault and the hordes of the Warmaster were 
  in total possession of the spacefield. More and more intricately wrought dropships descended 
  from orbit. They towered over the landing ground like nightmare skyscrapers. The dark runes on 
  their sides glowed evilly in the gloom. Hundred-meter high doors opened in their kilometre long 
  sides. From their red depths Titan ten times the height of a man emerged. They were warped 
  giants; the armour of their carapace fused and moulded inte new shapes by the power of Chaos. 
  Within them were men melded to their machines. Some of the hideous Titans had strange potent 
  weapons, others were a bizarre hybrid of the organic and the machine. Metal tentacles lashed, 
  spiked tails whipped back and forth. Engines roared like the voices of angry beasts. Banners 
  fluttering, the Titans of Storm Lords and the Flaming Skulls legions marched forth. At Lions Gate 
  
  Space Port the traitors welcomed the towering black war engines of the Khornate host. Minotaurs 
  and trolls and cultists seethed like angry ants around their bases. 
  Reinforced by this fresh wave of troops the hordes of Horus swept on, driving through the 
  exhausted and demoralised Imperial troops to the very walls of the Emperor´s palace. Khornate 
  warriors mounted on bestial daemonic Juggers raced towards the marble and steel outer ring. 
  Hordes of horn-headed Tzeentchian disc riders soared on the wind, bolts of mystic power 
  erupting from their clenched fists to rake the defenders. Slaaneshi beast riders swept aside the 
  Imperial Guard infantry and reached the Saturnine Gate. 
  Round the walls bitter fighting ensued as the Imperials sallied forth, trying to drive the attackers 
  back before the main body of the assaulting troops arrived. Men died in their thousands. From 
  pillbox emplacements in the palace walls Imperial gun crews rained death down on the relentless 
  attackers. Again and again the streets outside the palace were swept clear of heretics. Again and 
  again new foes stepped forward to take their place. 
  Now indeed it seemed the tide of battle had turned against the Emperor. The space ports were 
  firmly in the grasp of the minions of the Warmaster. Hundreds of thousands of troops poured 
  down from orbit. Goat headed beastmen, gibbering mutants and hideous amorphous Chaos 
  Spawn surged out of the drop ships. Under the banner of the great eye, the sign of Horus, the 
  lackeys of the four Great Powers of Chaos marched united. Mounted on Rhinos, lurking within 
  mighty Behemoths and clinging to the sides of gigantic war engines they made their way en 
  masse to the Emperor´s palace. 
  Looking down on the seething sea of foulness the defender's hearts went cold. Mingling with the 
  daemons and the mad-eyed cultists, the trolls and the beastmen they could see heretical Space 
  Marines and traitor Guardsmen. These were people they might have once fought alongside, who 
  had once been as loyal to the Emperor as themselves. They looked upon a dark mirror of their 
  souls. Down there they could see martial honour become berserk madness, human cleverness 
  become sly treachery, hope become foulness and love become abominable lust. The brave men 
  on the walls knew that there was no way out. Here they must stand and fight and die. There 
  would be no mercy from those below. This was a war where there could be no honourable peace. 
  It was destroy or be destroyed. 
  For a moment all was silence, then Angron strode forth. In his brazen voice he demanded that the 
  loyalists surrender. He told them that their cause was hopeless, that they faced a foe who could 
  not be defeated. They were cut off, outnumbered, and defending a ruler too weak to be worthy of 
  their loyalty. In that moment the men on the walls felt their resolve weaken. Looking at the 
  transformed face of the Primarch wo had been one of the Emperor´s finest warriors, they saw an 
  invincible, relentless foe backed by a numberless horde and all the daemonic might of Chaos. 
  There was a clamour on the walls as Sanguinius and the Blood Angels arrived. Standing on the 
  wall, the angel-winged man glared on Angron with angry contempt. For long moments their gazes 
  locked. Each Primarch seemed to be measuring the other, searching for chinks in the armour, for 
  any sign of weakness and lack of resolve. Who knows what they saw there? Perhaps they 
  communicated telepathically, brother Primarch to brother Primarch. The truth will never be 
  known. Eventually Angron turned and walked back to his lines. He told his troops that there would 
  be no surrender; they should kill everyone they found within the palace. No stone should be left 
  upon stone. 
  With a roar the horde advanced towards the walls. Great Lords of Battle lurched forward on iron 
  wheels, crushing anything in their way, unloading racks of missiles and turning the area on the 
  top of the walls into blazing storms of death. Doom burners sent tongues of superheated metal 
  licking out at the emplacements. Molten brass filtered through the windows and scalded those 
  inside. Multi-tracked Cauldrons of Blood squirted jets of obscene daemonic ichor onto the 
  defenders. Enormous fleshhounds of Khorne loped forward in their wake. Titans armed with 
  specially constructed siege weapons lumbered inte position. Battle cruisers dropped megatons of 
  explosive death onto the defenders. 
  Every loyal warrior knew that he was already dead; that there was no way he could survive the 
  coming of the daemonic army. The soldiers fought with the desperate feorcity of hopeless men, 
  firing until their weapons were empty, snatching up the bolters of the fallen, and facing monsters 
  with the butts of their guns when all ammunition was exhausted. Three times the horde managed 
  to scale the walls, and three times it was driven off by the valiant efforts of Sanguinius and the 
  Blood Angels. Wearily the Primarch marshalled the defenders, rallying the broken, speaking 
  
  words of comfort to the mortally wounded, fighting with cold, implacable fury when he was called 
  upon to do so. Slowly though, despite his efforts, the Chaos forces managed to erode the 
  defence. They seemed numberless as the grains of sand on a sea shore and Horus spent their 
  lives carelessly. 
  Outside the walls Imperial forces frantically raced from their bastions to try and relieve the 
  palace. Titan legions boldly cut their way towards the centre of the rebel army. The Whitescars 
  harried its flanks. No attempt to break the rebel line succeeded. Breaking through that blood-mad 
  horde was a near impossible task. All four of the daemonic Primarchs inspired their followers to 
  feats of fiendish bravery. For every Chaos warrior who died it seemed two more stood ready to 
  take his place. 
  In orbit the Warmaster watched approvingly. If the palace fell and the Emperor died loyalist 
  legions across the galaxy would lose heart and the war would be over. Without the psychic shield 
  of the Emperor´s power, humanity would swiftly fall prey to Chaos. Horus would stand triumphant 
  amid the rubble of humanity´s greatest empire. He would become a new and angry god. If he did 
  not win soon reinforcements would filter in from the corners of the Imperium, and his attack 
  would falter. For the Warmaster this was the desperate ultimate gamble. Everything was staked 
  on this attack. It had to succeed, and at that moment it looked as if it might. 
  Day by day the siege wore on, casualties rose from the thousands to tens of thousands to 
  hundreds of thousands. Bodies had to be bulldozed from the accessways to the Saturnine Gate 
  by war machines. Chaos Titans blazed at the walls, specially constructed missiles ripping great 
  chunks from the masonry. The Titans of the Fire Wasps answered their fire with volcano cannons. 
  The smell of burning flesh filled the air as the corpses of the dead were incinerated in funeral 
  pyres a hundred foot high. Obscene ash parched the throats of the defenders. The World Eaters 
  built a pyramid of scorched skulls sixty foot high in Temple Square. By night the chants of 
  degenerate cultists echoed through the streets and daemons flitted among the ruins of Eart. 
  Slowly, foot by torturous foot, the defenders were forced back. The great walls of the palace were 
  riddled with hundreds of kilometres of bulkheads and corridor. Within this maze bitter hand to 
  hand fighting ensued till entire sections of passage were filled with bloated corpses. Feeling 
  progress was too slow, Horus ordered the Titans of the Death´s Head Legion to demolish entire 
  sections of the wall. Despite taking tremendous casualties the great Warlord Titans broke 
  through, and the forces of the Warmaster flooded inte the palace grounds. 
  While all this was taking place Jhagati Khan had implemented a change of plan. Rather than 
  throwing away his forces against the near invincible bulk of the main Chaos army he launched a 
  lightning raid against Lions Gate Space Port. This night attack was spearheaded by the shaven-
  headed warriors of the Whitescars, wo led the remnants of the 1st Tank Division and elements of 
  the surviving Gurad armies against te surprised heretics. Khan threw a defensive perimeter 
  around the space port and held it against all counter-attacks. The flow of men and materials 
  towards the palace was halved at a stroke. 
  This success gave heart to the defenders. They swiftly attempted to seize Eternity Wall Space 
  Port but here the forces of the Warmaster were better prepared. The attackers were ambushed 
  and driven back by traitors. Horus knew it was imperative to keep his beachhead secure. The 
  final push on the inner palace had begun. 
  The battle raged across the grounds of the Inner Gardens. What had once been a vast parkland 
  was swiftly turned into a killing ground. Men used statues for cover and monuments for bunkers. 
  Blood swirled in the waters of the ornamental lakes. Groves of ancient redwoods burned. The 
  smell of the burning mingled with the acrid odours of weapons and engines and death. Red-eyed, 
  snatching sleep when they could, both sides fought a total war. Tranches were hurriedly 
  excavated in the meadows. Snipers killed men as they tried to sip brackish water from the ruined 
  fountains. 
  Both sides fought with unimaginable naked ferocity. Both sides sensed the end was near. 
  Eventually Sanguinius was forced to retreat to within the palace itself, personally holding the 
  Ultimate Gate against the oncoming horde while the last of his wounded men was carried 
  through. Just as the giant ceramite gate was about to close a Bloodthirster of Khorne leapt upon 
  him. The daemon´s huge talons closed around his throat. Sanguinius took to the air. Angel and 
  daemon wrestled over the warring armies. Both sides halted for a moment to watch the titanic 
  struggle. It was a conflict such as has been rarely seen; two beings of awesome power wrestled. 
  Sanguinius was weary and near the end of his strength and the daemon gouged great wounds in 
  
  his flesh. The heretical throng roared its approval as the Primarch was cast to the ground, the 
  impact splintering the granite. For a moment the Primarch lay still and a groan rose from the 
  Blood Angels, the daemon stood over him and howled in exhultation. Then slowly and painfully 
  the Blood Angel rose and seized the creature, raised it high and broke its back across his knee. 
  Then with a halo of power playing round his head he tossed its broken carcass back amid its 
  followers. They beat their chests and rent their hair and wailed in dismay as the Ultimate Gate 
  shut. 
  The great Sky Fortress bore Rogal Dorn and the remnants of the Imperial Fists to the inner 
  palace. The loyal old general was determined to stand and die with his Emperor in the final hour. 
  The Sky Fortress raced away from the palace in a desperate attempt to reach Jhagatai Khan and 
  return him to the palace. It was destroyed by a blaze of fire fron the Death´s Heads Titan Legions. 
  Even in death its commander wrought havoc on the enemy, bringing the crippled vehicle down 
  into the entre of the Chaos Horde. It seemed as if a new sun was born on Earth as the plasma 
  reactor exploded, blasting out a crater three kilometres across. Those within the palace knew 
  they were cut off; now they were truly alone. Only a miracle could save them.
  Now the final siege began. Through great breaches in the outer walls more and more armaments 
  and reinforcements were brought to bear. The Warmaster himself prepared to teleport down to 
  the surface and supervise the destruction of his former lord. Then a daemon from the Warp 
  whispered to him the words that he had dreaded.
  A loyalist fleet under Leman Russ and Lion´el Johnsom bearing a fresh army of Space Wolves and 
  Dark Angels was only hours away. It would take days to break humanity´s last citadel, even with 
  Horus leading his troops. It seemed that time had run out for the Warmaster, that his gamble had 
  failed. 
  Horus was first among the fallen, with the power of a god and the cunning of a daemon. He 
  resolved to try one final desperate gambit. he could still kill the Emperor. He ordered all comm-
  net communications blocked so that the defenders would get no word from their rescuers and 
  then he used his psychic powers to the full to prevent the Emperor becoming aware of this. 
  Finally he dropped the shields of his command ship. It was an invitation and a personal challenge 
  that he knew the Emperor could not resist. He was being offered a chance finally to smite the foe 
  who had harried him for so long. 
  The Emperor rose to the challenge, and he and his surviving Primarchs teleported aboard the 
  Warmaster´s battle barge. Horus used his powers to separate the Emperor from his loyal 
  followers. The loyalists were transported to different spots within his hideously altered ship. 
  Sanguinius he had brought directly to his throne room. In his evil cunning the Warmaster offered 
  the Blood Angel a chance to switch sides, reasoning that the winged Primarch´s followers would 
  be useful when the Space Wolves and the Dark Angels arrived. 
  Sanguinius refused. Horus grew wrathful and attacked him. At the peak of his powers the Blood 
  Angel would have been no match for the Warmaster and now, sorely wounded and weary he had 
  no chance at all. Horus strangled him with his bare hands before the throne the Powers of Chaos 
  had gifted him with. 
  The Emperor found Horus shortly after this and what happened next is the subject of legend. The 
  two mightiest beings in the history of mankind clashed. They met blade to blade, power to power, 
  mind to mind and tested sinew and psychic power to the ultimate. 
  +++Aboard the Warmasters Ship++
  +
  Even through the shields the impact makes the Imperial Palace shake. With a Screech of tortured 
  stone an angel topples from its alcove high on the throne room wall and crashes to the marble 
  floor a kilometre below. It shatters into a million pieces. Splinters of stone flash across the hall 
  like shrapnel. 
  From his throne the Emperor watches his warriors mill around in confusion. This hall holds ten 
  thousand men, seasoned veterans, and all are now panicking. He knows they are more frightened 
  by his silence than by the enemy. They look to him for leadership and he can give them none. 
  
  For the first time in his millennia-long life the Emperor knows despair. The magnitude of his 
  defeat stuns him. The lunar bases have fallen. Most of the Earth is under the Warmaster's heel. 
  Rebel Titans surround the palace and are held at bay only by the desperate efforts of a few 
  loyalists. It is only a matter of time before the palace's defences fail and the last bastions of 
  resistance fall. 
  "Sire, what are your orders?" asks Rogal Dorn, massive dark-haired Primarch of the Imperial Fists. 
  His golden armour has lost its lustre, is dented in a dozen places by bolter shells. The Emperor 
  doesn't answer. He is lost within himself seeking answers to his own questions. 
  He has come at last to the dark place, the time of testing, the era hidden from his precognitive 
  vision and beyond which he cannot see. The moment he has always dreaded has arrived. Is my 
  time over, he wonders? Is this where it all ends? Is this why I have reached the limits of my 
  prophetic powers. Is this where I die? 
  He feels bewildered. Even now, with the Traitor Warmaster's forces battering at the gate, he finds 
  it difficult to believe that he has been betrayed. 
  Horus was more than a trusted comrade, more like a favoured son. Of all the Primarchs the 
  Emperor relied on him most. Not for a second had the Emperor doubted him, not even when word 
  had come from the Savage Worlds that the Warmaster was gathering forces. He had deluded 
  himself that Horus must have good reason to do so without consulting him. I should have been 
  warned by the failure of my precognition, he thinks. 
  "Sire, what are your orders?" asks Kane, acting Fabricator-General of the Adeptus Mechanicus. He 
  stares at the Emperor, a trick of the light turning the glass slits of his brass mask into accusing 
  eyes. Once more the Emperor does not reply. Kane's presence reminds him that not even the 
  head of the Adeptus is to be trusted. His superior, the former Fabricator-General, has chosen to 
  side with Horus. 
  On Mars civil war rages between factions of Tech-Priests. Ancient, forbidden weapons are being 
  deployed. Viral plagues kill millions. Fusion bombs scar the earth. 
  So much will be lost. He thinks of the slow piecing together of the old science. The Librarium 
  Technologicus is in flame now, ancient core data systems in meltdown. The Great Crusade, as 
  much a quest for knowledge as a war to reclaim the human worlds, is ended. The Warmaster's 
  treachery has seen to that. 
  "Sire, what are your orders?" Asks Sanguinius, angel winged Primarch of the Blood Angels. He 
  gazes at the Emperor with blazing eyes, his face a mask of terrible beauty. 
  The Emperor knows they rely on him for guidance. They still believe in him. They think he can 
  lead them from this trap. They are wrong. 
  Horus is the greatest general the galaxy has ever known. Who should know better than his 
  creator? He is schooled by a century of warfare. There will be no way out, no loopholes, no flaws 
  in the plan. The Warmaster would have to be mad to leave one. 
  The Emperor looks down on the faces of his followers, sees the trust written there, feels the 
  weight of responsibility it brings. He knows that for their sake he must try, even if it is hopeless. 
  He casts forth his clairvoyant sight, lets his mind drift beyond the ruined gardens of the palace, 
  over fields where colossal Titans battle by the twisted light of the sculpted moon. He sees the 
  whole war spread out beneath him, his pitifully outnumbered legions being mowed down by the 
  traitor hordes. He reaches up to the sky, where he senses the fleet of battlebarges that rain 
  orbital doom upon the tortured Earth. Amid those thousand glittering points he finds the 
  Warmaster. 
  Hope flickers within him. The shields of Horus's ship are down. Briefly he wonders why. Is the 
  traitor's confidence so overwhelming? Does he wish to witness the battle himself. Or is it a trap? 
  The Emperor touches the ship and recoils from what he senses within. How could Horus have 
  done this, make a pact with the ultimate abomination? 
  The Emperor comes to a decision. Trap or not, this is the only opportunity he will get. He has no 
  option but to sieze it; the position is so desperate. Even as his spirit returns to his body, the 
  ominous thought strikes him that the Warmaster must know this. 
  "What are your orders, Sire?" Sanguinius asks again. The Emperors eyes snap open. His voice is 
  full of authority. 
  "Prepare to teleport. We will take the battle to the enemy." 
  The men smile confidently. They now have a purpose. While he reels off the teleport co-ordinates 
  they move, without question, to obey. 
  
  A flash of light, a feeling of coldness. They have teleported into the Warmaster's ship. The 
  Emperor takes an instant to reorientate himself and realises that something has gone wrong. He 
  stands in a vast, warped chamber with only a few marines in attendance. The Terminators and 
  the Primarchs are not present. How is this possible he wonders. Could Horus have disrupted the 
  teleportation beam? Is he so powerful? 
  Insane voices gibber madly inside his skull. There are figures trapped in the stone walls of the 
  vast room. Hands reach out for him, grasp at him with rock-like strength. He shrugs them off 
  easily. His comrades are not so lucky. Bolters chatter and flash as the marines attempt to fight off 
  their daemonic assailants. 
  A man screams as he is drawn into the dark and slimy walls. As he vanishes, ripples spread from 
  his point of disappearance. The Emperor's sword lashes out, severing limbs, freeing trapped 
  marines. He summons his psychic energies. A nimbus flickers around his head as he unleashes 
  his power. A tidal wave of destruction rips through the daemons, leaving his own men unscathed. 
  He scans about him, seeing the Primarchs but the walls of the Warmaster's Battle Barge are 
  resistant to his mindsight. He gestures for the surviving Marines to follow him. 
  They wonder through a ship distorted beyond all recognition by the warping power of Chaos. 
  Great sphincter-doors distend from walls of flesh-like stone. Transparent veins bear rivers of 
  blood along conduits in the floor. Carpets of mucous cover a road of tongues. 
  Winged and distorted things that might once have been human flit through archways of bone and 
  pearch on ledges of rib. The marines gasp in horror. He exerts himself to calm them, psychically 
  soothing their fear of this dreadful place. All the while he scans the area looking for the spoor of 
  Horus. He knows now the nature of the pact the Warmaster has made and the dreadful 
  consequences of his victory. 
  They pass pits that gape like glistening gullets in the floor and echo the beats of a distant giant 
  heart. They are showered by waterfalls of stinking yellowish liquid that cascades down cliffs of 
  carved cartilage. Sometimes they hear weapons fire but when they arive at the source they find 
  nothing. 
  Mists of rainbow vapour drift across their field of vision obscuring corridors of carnivorous stone. 
  Clouds of insects swarm over their faceplates and choke the extractors of their airpipes. They 
  switch over to internal oxygen supply. 
  They are ambushed by scuttling skull-faced things in the armour of marines. They fight hordes of 
  mutated beasts. One by one they die. In the end the Emperor stands alone. Then and only then is 
  he allowed to enter the presence of Horus. 
  The Warmaster bestrides the body of a broken angel. Behind him the tortured Earth fills the 
  viewport, a bauble for Horus to sieze with one clawed hand. Corpses of massacred marines lie 
  everywhere. 
  Face glowing with internal bloodlight, Horus speaks. "Poor Sanguinius. I offered him a position of 
  power in the new order. He could have a seat at the right hand of a god. Alas he chose to align 
  himself with the losing side." 
  The Emperor stands transfixed, trying to force frozen words from his tongue. In the end he can 
  only wisper; "Why?" 
  Mad laughter rings out. "Why? You ask me why? Have all those millennia tought you nothing? 
  Weak fool, your timidity prevented you from binding the forces of Chaos. You shied away from 
  the ultimate power. I have bound it to my will and will lead humanity into a new age. I, Horus, 
  Master Of Chaos."
  The Emperor looks at his former friend and shakes his head. He sees the trap that has ensnared 
  Horus. "No man can master Chaos," he says quietly. "You have deluded yourself. You are the 
  servant not the master." 
  A look of rage transfigures the Warmaster. He stretches out a hand and a bolt of force leaps forth. 
  The Emperor screams as agony wracks his body. "Feel the true nature of my power then tell me I 
  am deluded," roars Horus, in the voice of an angry god. 
  Beads of sweat stand out on the Emperor's forehead, he steels himself against the pain. "You are 
  deluded," he says. 
  Once again Horus gestures and lances of pure poison sear through the Emperor's veins. "I let you 
  come here, old friend, so that you could witness my triumph. Kneel before me and I will spare 
  you. Acknowledge the new master of mankind." 
  Desperately the Emperor summons his power and lashes out. Lightning flicker between the 
  
  combatants. The stench of ozone fills the air. The Emperor leaps forward, sword raised. Weapons 
  clash as the battle is joined on every level: physical, spiritual, psychic. 
  Bolts of force flicker as mortal gods clash, balancing the fate of the galaxy on every blow. 
  Runesword and lightning claw ring against each other with a sound like thunder. Energies potent 
  enough to level planets are unleashed. 
  A backhand buffet from Horus knocks the Emperor through a stone bulkhead. The counterstroke 
  tears a supporting column out of the ceiling as the Warmaster ducks. 
  In the warp the Emperor hears the Chaos Powers howl as they feed their pawn more power. The 
  Lord of Humanity stands alone against their massed might and knows that he is losing. Somehow 
  he cannot bring his full force to bear on the Warmaster. Horus shows no such restraint. 
  A lightning claw cuts the Emperor's armour as if it were cloth, sheers through flesh and bone. The 
  Emperor ripostes with a psychic stroke intended to disrupt the Warmaster's nervous system. 
  Horus laughs as he deflects it. 
  His claws take the Emperor across the throat, opening windpipe and jugular. Another blow severs 
  the tendons of his wrist, causing the sword to drop from nerveless fingers. 
  Insane laughter echoes round the chamber. Horus breaks several ribs with an almost playful 
  punch. A surge of energy seers the Emperor's face, melting the flesh till it runs, bursting an 
  eyeball, sets the hair alight. The Emperor stifles a whimper, wonders how he can be losing. 
  Blackness threatens to engulf him. 
  Horus grasps his wrist, splintering bones. Bl+ood pumps from the Emperor's throat. Horus lifts his 
  foe above his head and brings him down across his knee, breaking his spine. 
  For a second the Emperor knows only darkness then a flare of agony brings him back to 
  consciousness as Horus rips his arm from its socket. The Warmaster howls with bestial triumph. 
  Suddenly the battering stops. Through his good eye the Emperor sees a solitary Terminator has 
  entered the room. The marine charges toward the Warmaster, stormbolter blazing. Horus looks at 
  him and laughs. For a moment he stands triumphant, allowing the marine to see what he has 
  done to his Emperor. 
  The Emperor know what is going to happen next, sees the gloating triumph on Horus' face. There 
  is no trace of his friend left there. There is only a daemon driven by insane destructive fury. 
  Horus turns his burning gaze on the Terminator and the marine's flesh flakes away to reveal his 
  skeleton then even that is gone, reduced to dust. 
  The Emperor sees the trap that has been set for him. He has been restraining himself, trying not 
  to hurt one who has been as a son to him. Now he sees that there is no trace of his trusted 
  comrade left. He knows that he must stop this semblance of his former friend and avenge the 
  fallen Terminator. He must strike one deadly blow. He will get no other chance. 
  He gathers every particle of his power, focuses it into a mighty bolt of pure force, more coherent 
  than a laser, more destructive than an exploding sun. He aims it at Horus, a lance of power 
  destined for the madman's heart. Horus senses the upsurge of energy and turns to face the 
  Emperor, a look of horror on his face. 
  The Emperor lets fly. It strikes the Warmaster. Horus screams as destruction rains down on him, 
  twisting and writhing in titanic agony. He strives frantically to counter the Emperor's deathblow 
  but his struggles become ever more feeble as the lethal energies play over him. 
  Driven by all the force of his rage and pain and hatred the Emperor wills Horus's death. He 
  senses the forces of Chaos retreat, disengaging themselves from their pawn. As they do so sanity 
  returns to the Warmaster. The Emperor sees realisation of the atrocities he has commited flicker 
  across Horus' face. Tears glisten there. 
  Horus is free but the Emperor knows he himself is dieing and that the Powers Of Chaos may once 
  again posses the Warmaster and he will not be there to stop them. He cannot take that risk. 
  Horus must die. Yet for a second, looking into his old friends face, he hesitates, unable to do the 
  deed. Then he thinks of the slaughter that still goes on outside, may go on forever. Resolve 
  hardens within him. 
  He forces all mercy and all compassion from his mind, empties it of all knowledge of friendship 
  and love. 
  His eyes lock with Horus and see understanding there. Then with full cold knowledge of what he 
  is doing the Emperor destroys the Warmaster. 
  Rogal Dorn enters the chamber. Horror fills him as he sees the mutilated form of the Emperor and 
  the shrivelled husk inside the warmaster's armour. He curses himself for taking so long to fight 
  
  through the Chaotic hordes. He knows now why their attacks ceased and why the ship is reverting 
  to normal. 
  He rushes to the Emperor's side, detecting the faint pulse of life. Perhaps there is yet hope. 
  Perhaps the ruler of the Imperium may live. Dorn will do his best to ensure it
  +++The Death of Sanguinus+++
  During the dark days of the Horus Heresy the Blood Angels Chapter of Space Marines found itself embattled upon Earth 
  itself. The full force of Chaos was arrayed against them, and as the armies of Horus fought their way toward the centre of 
  the Emperor's palace, all appeared lost. Yet, as the most lowly Adept of the multitudinous offices of the Adeptus Terra 
  knows, in the end the Earth was saved and Horus defeated, though at a terrible cost. The story of the Death Company of 
  the Blood Angels is just one of the many echoes of those great events which still affect the Imperium today. 
  As the forces of Horus closed in around the Emperor the position seemed hopeless. The battle, and with it the fate of 
  humanity, would be resolved within a matter of hours at the most. The outcome seemed no longer in any doubt, and the 
  Emperor and the remnants of the loyal Space Marine Legions prepared for final stand. They were doomed and humanity 
  was condemned to eternal damnation in the hells of Chaos, yet they were determined to prove their defiance to the last. If 
  Chaos must triumph, as it surely would, then it would do so only in the face of the greatest resistance possible. 
  The Blood Angels had fought long and hard since the bombardment began. They were already battle weary, but within 
  them the human spirit burned as vigorously as ever. The winged Primarch Sanguinius seemed to be everywhere at once. 
  Wherever the fighting was thickest he appeared, soaring over the battlefield and swooping down upon the daemonic 
  hordes below. Together with his Space Marines he had defied the might of Angron, the Chaos Primarch of Khorne whose 
  World Eater Chaos Space Marines had devastated a hundred human worlds. Yet the onslaught was too great, and the 
  Blood Angels had been beaten back to the Ultimate Gate in the Emperor's Palace. 
  As the Emperor and his Primarchs gathered for a final stand, Horus made the fatal mistake which cost him victory. To 
  this day no-one can say why Horus chose to drop the defensive shields around his ship, allowing the Emperor to teleport 
  aboard and destroy Horus. Historicii of the Adeptus Terra point to the expected arrival of the Space Wolves and Dark 
  Angels Legions, maintaining that Horus was deliberately throwing down a challenge to the Emperor in an attempt to lure 
  him into a trap. If this is correct, Horus was determined to resolve the conflict before the arrival of the other Space 
  Marine Legions. But it seems unlikely that Horus did not know the relief force was still several days away. Even with 
  these additional Space Marines it is hard to imagine how the Emperor could defeat the inexhaustible hordes of Chaos. 
  The Ecclesiarch Deacis IX wrote, "Perhaps it was some vestige of humanity within the monster that he had become which 
  finally betrayed Horus. His love for the Emperor, once sincere but long since turned hate, may yet have overcome Chaos 
  in the end." Maybe it was so. The veil of history was drawn over those events 10,000 years ago, and such things will 
  never be known for certain. 
  According to all records of those troubled times the Emperor, Sanguinius, and a small force of Space Marines in 
  Terminator Armour boarded the Warmaster's space fortress. The story has become part of the folk-myth of the Imperium, 
  and is told a hundred different ways, but on the following details most versions agree. As they materialised the boarding 
  party found themselves divided, and Sanguinius was positioned closest of all to Horus himself. It is said that the 
  Warmaster offered Sanguinius a place beside him, a Princedom in Hell, and everlasting life as a minion of the Chaos 
  Gods. For the last time in his life Sanguinius renounced Chaos and prepared for battle. Horus was once the most mighty 
  of all the Primarchs. Now he bore heinous marks of his Chaos Masters. He was swollen with power, gigantic of size and 
  distorted in his daemonic form. Now he was more powerful than any mortal creature. For his part Sanguinius still bore the 
  wounds of his battle on Earth. He had fought Daemons and survived, but against Horus he was as an insect to a hungry 
  and gigantic monstrosity. 
  It was a short and bloody battle before the brazen throne of Horus. The blade of Sanguinius sang as it spun through the 
  air, cutting and stabbing at the Warmaster's Armour. The armour of Horus bled where that blade touched it, for now the 
  Warmaster and his armour were one, it had grown to be part of him. It was not for long that Horus endured this whirling 
  dance. He lashed out clumsily. Lightning Claws arced through the air, catching upon bulkheads and doors, tearing great 
  gashes and sending molten metal shrieking across the floor. Soaring over Horus' head, Sanguinius easily avoided those 
  sluggish strokes, and eagerly sought out a weak spot in Horus' defenses. As he flew he spotted a damaged link of armour 
  on the Warmaster's neck, and Sanguinius stabbed out with all his remaining strength. His blade lodged at once in the 
  Warmaster's armour. Horus screamed more with anger than with pain, and reached out to strike the winged Primarch. 
  Steel talons dripping with plasmic energy closed upon the winged Angel of Baal. 
  
  According to some versions of the tale it was this wound that Sanguinius struck which opened a chink through the armour 
  of Horus, enabling the Emperor to slay his enemy. The Blood Angels certainly say as much in their doctrine. They pray to 
  Sanguinius as they do to the Emperor, for he remains their patron and guide in death as he once was in life. In any case, 
  when the Emperor found the Warmaster it was as he stood over the broken body of Sanguinius, the Primarch's wings 
  twisted and feathers still at last. The rest of the tale has no direct bearing upon the future of the Blood Angels and is well 
  known. Suffice to say the Emperor defeated Horus after a long and hard-fought battle in which the Emperor was himself 
  mortally wounded, and after which he was placed in the eternal stasis of the Golden Throne from which he has ruled the 
  Imperium ever since. 
  After the final battle was over, and the forces of Chaos were retreating towards the Eye of Terror, the established Space 
  Marine Legions were reorganized into the smaller Space Marine Chapters. The Blood Angels had lost many warriors in 
  the war, but worst of all the genetic banks which provided their implants had been partially destroyed. The only way to 
  make good the damage was to reculture gene-seed from the body of Sanguinius, the Primarch whose genetic structure had 
  been used to create the Blood Angels. Live germ cells were isolated within Sanguinius' body, and eventually new 
  implants were cultured. In this way the Chapter was rebuilt using the gene-seed of Sanguinius taken from his dead body. 
  At the time all seemed well, and it was only over the following millennia that the gene-seed showed traces of mutation. 
  Such matters are not unusual. Every Chapter's gene-seed is subject to a process of evolution or decay, and so must be 
  vigorously examined and periodically purged of fault. As a result most Chapters have idiosyncrasies, but in the case of 
  the Blood Angels these were to prove very strange indeed. 
  Excerpt from 2nd edition Wargear
  Of all the sorrows of the Horus Heresy the doom of the Emperor weighs most heavily. Yet even 
  this woe would have been greater were it not for Sanguinius Primarch of the Blood Angels, the 
  Winged Angel at the Emperor's right hand, and foremost Guardian of the Master of Mankind. As 
  battle raged across the orbital fortress of Horus the Great Betrayer, Sanguinius found and fought 
  the enemy, and was destroyed by the Warmaster, a broken angel cast down at the feet of 
  abomination. This was how the Emperor found his greatest enemy and his most loyal friend, and 
  so began the battle for the Heart of Mankind, over the body of the Winged Angel. 
  It is said it was through the chink in Horus' armour opened by Sanguinius that the Emperor was 
  able to deliver the fatal blow. Thus the brightest of all the Emperor's host did not die in vain, 
  crushed upon the steps of Horus' foul altar, but dying gave the Emperor the one chance to 
  destroy forever the Great Betrayer. 
  Of all the Primarchs of the Space Marines it is Sanguinius whose temples rise aside those of the 
  Emperor, and whose name is cherished by ordinary folk in gratitude for the life that was taken 
  and the life that was spared. Alone of all the Primarchs his memory is honoured by a sanctified 
  day of celebration, the Sanguinala, when Adepts across the galaxy wear upon their breast the red 
  badge of the Lord Angel.
  >>The Imperial Guard
  +++THE IMPERIAL GUARD+++
  The Imperial Guard is not a single army but many armies of countless millions of men and 
  fighting machines. At any one time the Imperial Guard fight across a hundred warzones and upon 
  ten thousand planets. Its forces may be fresh and hopeful of a quick victory, or they might be 
  waging wars that have been going on for centuries and claimed billions of lives. Each army and 
  each war is unique in at least some respects.
  The Structure of the Imperial Guard
  Imperial Guard armies are amassed to take part in specific wars or campaigns and are usually 
  recruited as close to the fighting as possible. For example, during the brief but bloody war against 
  invading Orks on the world of Ryza, an army was raised from worlds such as Catachan, Ulani, 
  
  Barac and Dulma'lin, all of which lie within ten thousand light years of Ryza. 
  Ten thousand light years can be traversed within 10-40 days by warp-capable spacecraft. By the 
  time ships have been moved into position, munitions collected and troops assembled, the 
  response time over this distance is in the order of between 30 and 120 days, typically about 75 
  days. This is the standard response time for the raising of Imperial Guard armies, though for 
  prolonged conflicts troops may be brought in from much further away.
  It is the speed of space travel that has shaped the way in which the Imperial Guard operates. The 
  distribution of the fleet and settled human worlds is such that armies can be assembled only 
  slowly. This process is too slow to guarantee the safety of any individual world at any moment. 
  Fortunately, the Imperium has other forces which can react more rapidly, such as the fleets and 
  Space Marine Chapters. In any case, a planet's initial lines of defence are its orbital fortresses and 
  its own Lord's troops. These defences have only to hold out long enough for an Imperial Guard 
  army to be collected together and transported into position.
  Recruitment
  Every planetary Lord in the Imperium recruits, equips and maintains his own planetary defence 
  forces. The number and types of troops vary tremendously from world to world. The forces of a 
  multi-billion population hive world like Necromunda are vastly different from those of a sparsely 
  populated forest world like Ryza. Regardless of the size of its armies, each world is obliged to 
  make 10% of its total armed forces available for recruitment into the Imperial Guard in any year.
  An army is gathered from a number of worlds, usually over a radius of no more than ten thousand 
  light years, and its theoretical size is a tenth of the entire armed forces of those worlds. In 
  practice, planetary Lords are often called upon to provide greater forces and more frequently, 
  especially if the immediate danger is great. On the other hand a planet which is far from any war 
  zone may not be called upon to provide troops for many decades.
  Troops recruited from a world at one time are formed into a single Imperial Guard regiment. As a 
  result there is no such thing as a typical size for a regiment. Regiments can consist of a few 
  hundred men or hundreds of thousands, depending on the size of their Lord's armies.
  When a regiment is recruited it is named after its home world and given a number, such as the 
  Necromundan 9th, the 1st Catachan, and so on. Regiments continue to serve until they are 
  disbanded, after which their number is given to the next regiment to be recruited from their 
  home world. In this way regiments acquire a degree of continuity and tradition, even though 
  successive regiments bearing the same name and title are recruited at different times. Some 
  regiments have acquired common nicknames such as the Necromundan 8th which is recruited 
  only from the Palatine hive of Necromunda, and which is always known as the Spiders. Another 
  example is the 3rd Attilan, which is known as Jakai's Raiders after a notoriously savage former 
  colonel of the regiment.
  Equipment
  Regiments join the Imperial Guard uniformed and equipped as their planetary Lord's own forces. 
  Inevitably this means that the appearance of regiments is very varied. Jungle Fighters from the 
  steaming death world of Catachan are hardly likely to wear the heavy insulating cloths and cloaks 
  of the Valhallans whose world is covered in thick ice and where anyone caught on the surface 
  would quickly freeze. Similarly the barbaric skins and furs of the nomadic Attilans are a far cry 
  from the glittering formal uniforms of the Mordians.
  Regardless of their appearance almost all newly recruited troops carry the universal lasgun. This 
  weapon is easy and cheap to manufacture and maintain, and hence ideally suited to the needs of 
  planetary forces. Other weapons are more-or-less standard across the Imperium although 
  individual planetary forces may favour one kind over another. The Emperor's demand is simply 
  that troops be equipped and trained ready to fight in his armies.
  As well as providing troops a planet's Lord may be called upon to provide heavy equipment in the 
  form of locally built tanks, artillery, troop carriers, etc. As with lighter armaments these tend to a 
  standardised basic form across the Imperium, with only minor variations in design and build 
  quality. Indeed, planetary Lords are obliged to provide heavy weapons of a basically standard 
  type for the Imperial Guard, as well as stocks of spares, fuel processors, and logistic support as 
  appropriate. Although a planet's defence forces will almost certainly include locally designed 
  vehicles, often of the most wild or specialised kind, these are almost never recruited into the 
  Imperial Guard because of the difficulty of maintenance and impracticality of keeping them 
  running.
  
  Gathering The Armies
  Once an army is recruited its first task is to rendezvous near to its destination. The Adepts of the 
  Departmento Munitorium must organise the recruitment and transportation of new regiments and 
  their supplies. Sometimes the fleet will detour to a nearby Forge World of the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus to take on extra heavy weaponry, siege machines and super-heavy tanks as well as 
  fuel and general munitions.
  While travelling through the warp the new regiments continue to train and receive many hours of 
  induction from the fleet's Commissars. Inquisitors keep a wary eye upon the recruits for signs of 
  psychic disturbance or daemonic possession. Equipment is checked and passed for Imperial use, 
  or else found wanting and discarded to be replaced by more suitable items. Tanks and other 
  vehicles are repainted in campaign schemes.
  By the time it reaches its destination the new army is ready for battle. Many wars are mercifully 
  short. The sledge-hammer of the Imperial Guard comes down upon the enemy with such force 
  that all resistance may be crushed within a matter of days. Other wars drag on year after year, 
  decade after decade, becoming bogged down in a stalemate with no foreseeable respite.
  Once a war is underway it will absorb fresh Imperial Guard regiments from all over the galaxy. If 
  victory is not swift the Departmento Munitorium will draw in regiments from beyond the normal 
  10 thousand light year range, including troops from worlds in the relatively peaceful Segmentae 
  Solar and Pacificus.
  War Zones
  Once a regiment has been raised it does not normally return to its home world. If it is victorious it 
  will be moved from one war zone to another. Casualties will inevitably reduce the size of a 
  regiment over time. Regiments that fall below combat strength, or which lose their senior officers, 
  are placed under the command of other regiments and effectively incorporated into them. This is 
  very common practice in permanent war zones, so that a typical regiment may in fact consist of 
  the remnants of many regiments, all gathered under the command of a surviving colonel.
  Regiments which have served for more than ten years are usually transferred from protracted 
  war zones into armies of conquest. Not only are these the best troops but they are also the 
  oldest, having fought gallantly for the Emperor for a decade or more. Their reward is to take part 
  in the conquest of a new world. If they are successful the entire regiment earns the highest 
  honour the Imperium can bestow, the gratitude of the Emperor and the right to settle a new 
  planet. All over the Imperium there are worlds which were originally populated in this way. Their 
  people are the hardy descendants of victorious Imperial Guard regiments.
  Long wars lead to high rates of attrition of both men and their equipment, so that regiments 
  gradually lose their distinctive appearance as their original gear wears out and is replaced. 
  Regiments that have been in the field for several years may bear little resemblance to the units 
  which left their home worlds. Replacement clothing may not match their original uniforms, or it 
  may have been adapted from that of other regiments. Improvisation to suit the local conditions 
  will undoubtedly change the appearance of units, especially if the battle zone is radically 
  different in climate or bio-type to the regiment's home world.
  Abhuman Regiments
  The incorporation of abhuman regiments into the Imperial Guard is a controversial matter. 
  Abhumans are human descended creatures such as Ratlings, Squats and Ogryns, whose physical 
  appearance and mental capabilities are quite different from those of their human ancestors. They 
  represent the descendants of the first wave of human exploration into the galaxy. Over tens of 
  thousands of years of isolation they have evolved into creatures capable of living in high-gravity 
  worlds, in deep space, and in all kinds of polluted or dangerous environments.
  Today it is generally accepted that abhumans are a part of the human race and not aliens. Many 
  thousands of years ago the Inquisition led wars of destruction against human-descended 
  creatures which its masters deemed unworthy of full human status. When human settled worlds 
  were discovered the Inquisition would conduct a lengthy process of DNA analysis to determine if 
  the population was still fully human by the Inquisition's stringent standards. As a result the 
  populations of many planets were eradicated and their worlds resettled.
  In time the Imperium developed a much broader definition of humanity. Ogryns, Ratlings and 
  Squats came to be regarded as fully human. Other individual abhuman mutations were treated 
  with comparative toleration. However, even today the Inquisition is distrustful of these newly 
  evolved races and of those in the Adeptus Terra who advocate the integration of newly 
  
  discovered abhuman races into the Imperium of Man.
  The Departmento Munitorium recruits from all worlds in the Imperium regardless of human type. 
  As a result the Imperial Guard includes Ogryns as well as Ratlings. Nowadays there are no Squat 
  Stronghold planets in the Imperium itself, the last having seceded during the Age of Apostasy.
  Ogryns are characteristically large and tough if somewhat stupid. Their combat role tends to be 
  as close assault troops where their bulk, determination and lack of imagination give them a 
  considerable advantage. Ratlings, on the other hand, are too small and slight to make good 
  troops, although they are famously good shots. Because Ogryns and Ratlings have very specific 
  areas of competence it is quite usual to divide regiments into smaller units which are placed 
  under the command of other regiments in the field.
  The Strategic Command
  The strategic command of the Imperial Guard is provided by the Departmento Munitorium of the 
  Administratum. This department of the Adeptus Terra forms the general staff of the Imperial 
  Guard responsible for munitions, supply, recruitment, training, transportation and all aspects of 
  the Imperial Guard establishment.
  The chief of strategic staff of the Departmento Munitorium is the Lord Commander Militant of the 
  Imperial Guard, a powerful official and often one of the High Lords of Terra. Within each of the 
  four outlying Segmentae of the Imperium there is a separate strategic command base alongside 
  the fleet bases at Cypra Mundi, Bakka, Kar Duniash and Hydraphur. The fifth base is on Earth in 
  the Segmentum Solar. Each of these has its own strategic command staff and reserves. The Lord 
  Commander of each Segmentae is in charge of all military operations within his area, an 
  awesome responsibility indeed.
  In any active war zone there are hundreds of senior commanders with thousands of personal 
  staff. In addition there are tens of thousands of scribes, observers and organisational officers of 
  the Departmento Munitorium. Indeed, for every fighting man there stands behind him a virtual 
  army of bureaucrats and support personnel whose efforts keep the armies going. However, within 
  the Imperial Guard itself there is a complex system of high ranking officers responsible for the 
  strategic and grand tactical military operations.
  These staff officers rarely take part in the fighting. Occasionally an Imperial Guard general might 
  find himself embroiled in the action, but this is likely to be by accident rather than by intent. The 
  only staff officers who regularly fight at the front are Commissars.
  Commissars
  Imperial Guard regiments are recruited from all over the human galaxy. Warriors from one planet 
  speak different, sometimes unintelligible, dialects or practice strange customs which are baffling 
  to soldiers from other worlds. These vast differences make it hard for some regimental 
  commanders to operate closely with troops from different worlds. If colonels, captains and 
  lieutenants are to function as part of a cohesive army they must be united in their common 
  purpose no matter how culturally diverse their backgrounds might be.
  Commissars provide the link between regimental commanders and strategic officers. Commissars 
  have to be tough. Some regiments are composed of savage former gang fighters, or vicious 
  barbarians, who are naturally antagonistic to authority. The colonel of such a regiment is likely to 
  be as wild and anarchic as his men, if not more so! The loyalty of such troops must be earned and 
  the Commissar must be prepared to demonstrate his courage in battle.
  Commissars are recruited into the Departmento Munitorium from the Schola Progenium, the 
  rigorous orphanages for families of Adepts run by the missionaries of the Adeptus Ministorum. 
  Many serve as Storm Troopers before becoming Commissars, so they are hardly strangers to 
  warfare. Every regiment has at least one Commissar and many large regiments have several who 
  remain with the regiment while it is deployed in a war zone.
  The chief task of the Commissar is to preserve the fighting spirit and loyalty of the regiment. If 
  discipline is lax the Commissar will step in to reinforce it. If the regiment's officers are 
  incompetent or lack courage the Commissar must retrain and fortify them or, failing that, allow 
  the regiment's squads to be dispersed to other commanders. If troops are rowdy and troublesome 
  the Commissar must keep order. A Commissar knows that the best troops are the hardest to keep 
  in line. He embodies strength, bravery and loyalty, and serves as the ultimate example of human 
  courage.
  Commissars are also zealots fiercely loyal to the Imperial Cult. In the Schola Progenium they are 
  schooled to love the Emperor and desire nothing more than to serve to the best of their abilities. 
  
  They tolerate no disloyalty and remain vigilant for spies, mutants and agents of chaos that may 
  have infiltrated the men under their charge. They are versed in the Imperial scriptures and will 
  frequently give readings before battle is joined. Most of all they despise the Emperor's enemies 
  and desire nothing more than the chance to crush the foe beneath the righteous heel of Imperial 
  might.
  +++Storm Troopers+++
  The Storm Troopers are the Imperial Guard's best fighting regiment. Unlike other regiments they 
  are recruited from all across the Imperium, from the very best Imperial Guard units. Companies or 
  battallions of Storm Troopers are sent to war zones to bolster the fighting strength of other 
  Imperial Guard regiments. In combat, they provide a core of well-trained, well-equipped squads 
  that can bedeployed amongst other Imperial Guard regiments as needed.
  Storm Troopers are also recruited from the orphan sons of Imperial officials from all over the 
  galaxy. The families of men who die in the Emperor's service are looked after very well by the 
  missions of the Imperial Cult, the most famous of which is the Schola Progenium. Here young 
  orphans are schooled to love the Emperor. They are shown the many ways in which they can earn 
  the Emperor's gratitude and thereby attain the highest honor in the Imperium. They gladly 
  embrace a demanding and unremitting regimen of prayer, study, and physical training. Though 
  hard, the path is trod willingly for all know that those who excel are marked for greatness.
  Many students of the Schola are recruited into the Inquisition, the Ecclesiarchy, the Guard Staff 
  Officer Corps, and the Storm Troopers. The best of these often attend the School of the 
  Commissar, and become the Emperor's representatives on the battlefield.
  +++Imperial Guard Rough Riders++
  +
  ROUGH RIDERS
  There are many worlds in the Imperium where the horse is still widely used. Not all of these are 
  feral or mediaeval worlds. Some, like Avar III, have a privileged class which spends a great deal of 
  time on horseback, whiling away their leisured hours with equestrian sports and hunting. Others, 
  like New Klondike, have rough terrain and low native fuel resources, which make the horse a 
  more practical form of transport than a motorized vehicle.
  Even among the feral and mediaeval worlds, there is an enormous range of cultural types which 
  may give rise to elite cavalry forces. There are the outriders of nomadic herding cultures, as on 
  Dolgan IV and Temujin's World; there are mounted raiders such as the Horse Lodges of Cochise 
  and the kozaki of Novgorod; and there are formalized horse-warrior aristocracies such as the Holy 
  Orders of Avalon and the badokai of Epsilon Tokugawa III.
  Common to all these planets with diverse cultures and customs is their equestrian elite, a warrior 
  class that has accumulated generations of experience and tactical wisdom in the use of cavalry 
  on the battlefield. These horse-warriors are always subject to close inspection by the Imperium, 
  and they are frequently drafted by the Imperial Guard when a regiment is raised from their home 
  world. On the move advanced worlds, cavalry units are always incorporated into the Planetary 
  Defense Force and it is from this that the Guard recruits. On some of the more primitive worlds, 
  the Guard recruits directly from tribes and clans of horse warriors - legends and great epics are 
  born at these times, and tales of undying heroes joining the Star Riders to battle on the Fields of 
  the Night are commonplace.
  The bond between a rider and his mount is not easily broken, and the horse-warriors are not 
  recruited merely for their courage or skill at arms. The Guard does not overlook their specialized 
  skills, and riders arc always accompanied by their mounts when they are drafted into a regiment. 
  After retraining with the weapons and tactics of the Imperium, these horse-warriors are formed 
  into mounted platoons, universally known as Rough Riders.
  
  I have seen war in all its forms, I have seen feral world savages braining each other with stones, 
  and I have monitored the death of a whole planet at the hands of a virus bomb. I have seen 
  Space Marines drop to certain death, and win. I have seen Titans crush whole platoons underfoot. 
  But there is no more stirring sight in war than the charge of massed cavalry. Dravin Gratz, 14th 
  Tharinga. Regiment, Imperial Guard
  TRAINING
  During the long period of transit to thew regiment's posting, Rough Riders are trained in the use 
  of Imperial Guard weapons and tactics, just like their infantry counterparts. They are also trained 
  in the use of the imperial Guard hunting lance with its shaped-explosive head, and in advanced 
  cavalry techniques. Imperial Guard transit ships are large enough to provide extensive training 
  areas even for mounted units, as well as the stabling and accommodation needed for the horses 
  and their riders.
  It is not only the riders who learn new skills - their mounts are given biochem treatment and 
  extensive training to prepare them for modem battlefield conditions. Once they arrive at the 
  combat zone, months or years after leaving the familiar terrain of their home world, Rough Rider 
  horses will not panic under fire, or shy away from unusual sights and smells such as Orks and 
  Dreadnoughts.
  Over the cratered terrain of a battlefield that has suffered a heavy bombardment, horses have 
  often proved superior to motorbikes or armoured vehicles. A platoon of skilled Rough Riders can 
  be an effective assault and skirmishing force, able to move rapidly over the broken ground, and 
  equally able to climb steep slopes as to gallop along narrow ravines. And when they finally 
  confront the enemy, Rough Riders can charge into the opposing lines with their explosive lances, 
  quickly changing to chainswords and laspistols after the initial onslaught.
  CUSTOMS AND RITUALS
  Like other members of the Imperial Guard, Rough Riders retain many of the customs of their 
  home worlds. The use of tattoos, ritual scarring, unofficial uniforms and tribal symbols is 
  widespread amongst the Riders, and many platoons retain the pennants of their old tribe or unit, 
  flying them from 'their lances below an official Guard banner. The horses of the Rough Riders are 
  freeze-marked on the rump with Imperial Guard insignia: the freezing brand painlessly destroys 
  the pigmentation of the hair and leaves a permanent mark in the shape of a stylized eagle 
  surrounding the head of a horse. Many horses also retain the brands and markings they carried 
  before recruitment to the Guard; among some of the Riders drawn from more barbaric cultures it 
  is even the custom to ritually scar or tattoo the mount along with its rider, leaving raised welts or 
  colourful markings to commemorate the platoon's most heroic actions.
  In many regiments, the officers of the Rough Riders are drawn from a long-established ruling 
  elite. Despite their recruitment into the Guard and their official ranks, these nobles are regarded 
  by both themselves and the other troops of the regiment as natural leaders, able to command
  the service and respect of their home world inferiors beyond the call of duty. It is common for 
  these noble Riders to pass their leisure time in the hunt, using infantrymen as beaters to flush out 
  the exotic wildlife of the planets on which they are stationed. Their training and the use of 
  explosive lances hardly makes for a fair competition between hunter and hunted, and it is usually 
  considered poor sportsmanship to arm the lance unless the prey is especially large and ferocious.
  Other customs are upheld even on the battlefield, and the Guard may condone unusual tactics by 
  Rough Rider platoons if the skills of their home worlds are shown to be effective against the 
  Imperium's foes. The most common Rough Rider tactic is to charge the enemy with explosive 
  lances, switching to chainswords and laspistols once the platoon have made their initial 
  breakthrough. Some Rough Riders, especially those who were accustomed to fighting with 
  cavalry sabers, prefer to arm themselves with chainswords, slashing fiercely to either side as they 
  contact the enemy. Other units tend to stand off, firing at their opponents with lasguns, often 
  galloping past and making themselves hard targets to hit. Whatever their tactics, the mobility 
  and speed of Rough Riders always make them a potent force on the battlefield, able to spearhead 
  an attack as easily as run a flanking maneuver, thus keeping enemy commanders on their toes 
  watching for unexpected attacks by the mounted Guardsmen.
  
  +++WHITESHIELDS+++
  The air was bright with laser fire above Three Platoon's position. The 
  Whiteshields watched as four Ork Dreadnoughts lumbered through the smoke - 
  an armoured spearhead, trying to break through the Imperial Guard line.
  Super-attack Onslaughter, Yarren though automatically: two power claws, one 
  las-cannon, one heavy bolter. And they were heading straight for Three Platoon.
  Six las-cannon fired almost together. Two Dreadnoughts fell amid crimson sheets 
  of flame, but the other two kept comming. A deadly curtain of bolter fire wiped 
  out half of A and B squads.
  Yarren darted out from behind a heap of rubble, zigzagging through the smoke 
  and fire to the wreckage of the Command Section. Captain Murdin was dead, and 
  Commissar Traidir was serioysly wounded. Yarren prised the platoon's standard 
  from the dead fingers of the Orderly, and knelt over the Commissar.
  "Permission to advance, Commissar?" he asked. His eyes were bright - here was 
  his chance to prove himself.
  The Commissar raised his head a little, and smiled weakly.
  "The Emperor guard you." he whispered horsely. Then died.
  Children, you call them! They pull a trigger just as well as veterans, and they have the spirit of a 
  bull narthax. Call them childeren if you wish - I call them troops. Good troops.  -Colonel Marus 
  Cullen 5th Pannonia Regiment
  When the youngsters come of age - the precise age varies according to the regiment's 
  homeworid culture - they begin their training as Guardsmen. During their trainning period they 
  are officially designated probitors; in practice, they are given names from the regiment's 
  homeworid culture, such as Cadets, Probationers or Gun Babies. But by far the most common 
  name for probitors, especially in regiments from feral or mediaevil homeworids, is Whiteshields. 
  On these worlds, the young warriors carry shields with no markings - not until they have proved 
  themselves in battle can they claim the right to display the tribe's colours or the heraldry of their 
  fathers. This practice has been continued in the Guard, and all probitors have blank insignia: they 
  show neither regimental, company nor platoon symbols until they earn the right on the 
  battlefield.
  In most regiments, recruitment to the Whiteshields represents the first phase of the youngsters' 
  passage into adulthood, and is accompanied by appropriate rituals from the regiment's home 
  culture. Whiteshields continue to perform menial and support duties, but combat training takes 
  up an increasing proportion of their time, until they are Judged to be ready for action. Finally, 
  they get a chance to prove their mettle in combat and to demonstrate that they are worthy of 
  becoming true warriors in the Guard.
  Regiments of the Imperial Guard are generally posted to combat zones immense distances from 
  their homeworlds, and it is rarely practical to recruit from the homeworid to make up for combat 
  losses. The Guard therefore uses various other methods of bringmg regiments up to strength, 
  depending on the circumstances: amalgamating depleted regiments into a single fighting force is 
  common practice, especially when the regiments are being constantly transported to new battle 
  zones. Regiments that are left to garrison a world they have conquered, on the other hand, 
  recruit from local sources - the most common method (and by far the safest on hostile planets) is 
  to draft the sons of the regiment into the Guard when they come of age.
  The children fathered by members of an Imperial Guard regiment are usually brought up 
  completely within the regiment itself. It acts as a kind of extended family. infusing the youngsters 
  with the culture of the homeworld they have never seen, and assigns them menial and support 
  duties which would otherwise eat into the regiment's fighting strength.
  RITES OF PASSAGE
  It is often observed that Whiteshields work faster, train harder and fight more fiercely than most 
  experienced Guardsmen. For a Whiteshield, passing from probitor to true Guardsman is far more 
  
  than a simple promotion; it is their entry into adulthood - this gives them the status and respect 
  due a Guardsman and. most important. the right to bear the regimental insignia and the ritual 
  markings of a warrior
  When a Whiteshield takes to the battlefield, he is driven by a desire to prove his courage and 
  skills that borders on the fanatical. Whiteshields are fearless in the face of enemies that older, 
  and wiser, Guardsmen treat with caution. For a Whiteshield, failure to win his colours is a terrible 
  blow - showing cowardice is unforgivable. and an honourable death is certainly to be preferred to 
  the dishonour and ridicule heaped upon the weak-hearted.
  Whiteshields serve alongside the other squads in their regiment. distinguished only' by their 
  bravery. and the white badges and helmet stripes on their uniforms. Each Whiteshield squad has 
  an experienced sergeant to guide it through training and in its first battles. The squads are 
  usually put into a normal platoon to learn from the example of the troopers around them - 
  occasionally a company will form up a platoon solely of Whiteshield squads, trusting that their 
  courage will compensate for lack of experience.
  Only those who distinguish themselves in battle are allowed to become Guardsmen proper. Some 
  regiments merely demand that a Whiteshield take part in a battle without giving way to fear. 
  Many only accept those who have drawn blood or killed an enemy, sometimes requiring the 
  young warrior to collect a trophy to prove his claims: an opponent's back banner or weapon 
  perhaps, or a more gruesome and bloody memento taken from the body of a fallen enemy.
  At the end of his training, after he has shown his skill, a Whiteshield is ceremonially awarded his 
  colours: his blank, white badge is replaced with the regimental number and the colours of his 
  platoon; he takes the sholder motif of his company; and the helmet markings of the squad to 
  which he is assigned. More important than this, however, are the unofficial rituals in which the 
  new Guardsmen is welcomed by his fellows into the regiment. These rituals are taken from the 
  regiment's homeworld culture and vary widely throughout the Guard; tattoos and ritual scars are 
  common and receiving these rnarks without a cry of pain is as much a test of the youngster's 
  courage as his bravery on the battlefield.
  At last the Whiteshield emerges from his training as a full member of the Guard, wearing his 
  scars and tattoos with as much pride as the uniform of his regiment, ready to return to the 
  battlefield with his new experience and, perhaps, a little more caution.
  Only in the Space Marines of the Legiones Astartes are courage and expertise perfectly blended. 
  ln other troops they are present in varying degrees and proportions, and many scholars have 
  debated their relative merits.  For my own part, I come down on the side of courage. For courage 
  can sometimes make a virtue of inexperience. I myself have commanded Imperial Guard troops 
  whose probitor units have achieved great things, because their courage was infinite and because 
  they were too inexperienced to realise that their goal was impossiblc - Leman Russ DC Natura 
  Belli, Book XIV
  Every man in the regiment who could stand was in the assembly hall. Yarren stood at rigid 
  attention in front of the dias, along with the other two survivors of the Whiteshields. His body felt 
  like one huge bullet-hole, and he was dizzy from loss of blood, but elation forced everything else 
  to the back of his mind. He hardly heard Colonel Tarvit's words.
  "...Because of Probitor Yarren's courage and quick thinking, and the dedication of the 
  Whiteshields following his example, the Ork spearhead was destroyed. It is my judgement that 
  the Whiteshields have proved themselves worthy of full Guard status. I order that the survivors 
  be assigned to One Platoon to replace losses, and the others buried with full regimental honours. 
  Does any man here know of any reason why this order should not be carried out?"
  Silence.
  "Then let it be done." The Colonel's orderly came forward, and removed the blank white badges 
  from the chests of the three Whiteshields. Yarren found himself holding his breath ar the 
  Regimental colours were affixed to his flak tunic.
  "When they are judged to be fit, these three men shall recieve the scars they won today. And 
  Guardsman Yarren shall be inducted into the High Eagle Lodge, under my own patronage."
  The hall resounded with cheering as the three were led away to the med-bay. Yarren thought of 
  the rituals of full manhood that awaited him, and of the mysteries of the High Eagle Lodge, most 
  respected of the regiment's warrior lodges. He had proved himself today.
  But now he was tired. More tired than he had ever been.
  
  Yarren gritted his teeth against the pain and concentrated on staying perfectly still. Not only was 
  it a disgrace to flinch or cry out, it was also dangerous - and he didn't want to end up with a 
  severed artery instead of the first scares of manhood.
  At last, Adjudant Morth straightened up, wiping his Torathim hunting knife. Yarren relaxed - and 
  then yelped in pain as the two sargents rubbed a black powder into the cuts.
  "This will sting a litle." said Sergeant Raddon in his deadpan voice, and Sergeant Ferth laughed. 
  Yarren Reddened.
  "Don't worry, little warrior." said Ferth cheerfully. "They all jump a bit - I did - but the powder 
  makes you scare well."
  "Well." said Morth, stepping back, "You're no longer a child, Yarren. You have your uniform, you 
  have your lasgun, and when those cuts heal you'll have your first scars." He sheathed his knife 
  and stood at attention. "Report for training, Guardsman."
  Guardsman. The word echoed round Yarren's head as he marched down the corridor, flanked by 
  the two sergeants. From now on, there would be no more kitchen duties. He had proved himself 
  in the field - he was now a Warrior.
  +++Penal Legions+++
  "The Penal Legions are made up from the scum of civilisation, the heretical, criminal element that 
  is active on every planet across the galaxy. It is the Adeptus Arbites who deal with these lawless 
  souls, and the best way is to send them to the Penal Legions."
  There are those who serve the Emperor unwillingly. Those that are disloyal and rebellious. Those 
  that are willing to spread anarchy and disenssion through the ranks of the Imperials. These men 
  and woman are rounded up by the Emperors police force.
  The Adeptus Arbites, and shuffled off into dank dark cells never to be heard from again. Those 
  that are lucky enough, the toughest of criminals are inducted into an oraganisation like none-
  other. The Legions Penatante, or the Penal Legion as it is more commonly known. The Penal 
  Legions ranks are swelled with the undevout. Mass-murderers, rebellious PDF, thieves, rapists, 
  and hijackers all form the Penal Legions for their sins.
  The Penal Legion is not an army in its own right, but is useful where greater numbers are 
  necessary to win the day. New troops have their heads shaved and tattooed with unit insignia, 
  and explosive slave-collars are put around their necks. The collars are a disciplianary device 
  rather than a means of turning the troops into Human Bombs. The Penal Legions are part of a 
  regular fighting force of the Imperial Guard, and a commander who regards Penal troops merely 
  as cannon-fodder and uses them wastefully is liable to end up in a Penal Legion himself.
  "There are those who undervalue the Penal Battalions. But they should consider this: should a 
  man who has wronged the Emperor be allowed to wrong him further? For each man executed is a 
  man who can no longer serve, and to fail in service to the Emperor is the greatest of sins" 
  -Leman Russ, Meditations on Imperial Command, Book XXI
  This Penal Legion....Legion 999 was formed from the scum in the Segmentum Solar. Men, women 
  and beasts (unusual, yes...), prisoners all, during the Dark Founding, were gathered, and rather 
  graciously granted a trip among the stars with Crusading Marine Chapters. Many agreed, and 
  adventure and terror would be kinship to them all.......  Demitri lowered his rifle, 'damned his 
  foolishness on Armageddon, running from the Orks was folly. And whats worse was surviving the 
  Commissars Bolt Blast to the back. If one thing was certain the Emperors divinity was involved'. 
  He had been placed among the thieves and cut-throats, to serve out the rest of his miserable life 
  among the legions of Penal warriors. He was better than that. Or so he thought. Large of stature, 
  Demitri had been a Heavy weapons trooper with F Company 3rd Platoon 9th Armageddon Army. 
  Demitri clutched the Las-rifle. 'So small' he thought. Nothing like the Heavy Bolter he used to 
  tote. A noise followed him out of past thoughts, a clanging from the claxon above his head. This 
  had been a damned upset. Everything had run smoothly for 7 months. Up until now. Now the ship 
  was being boarded, but by what? Screams were heard on decks above, getting louder. The 
  fighting had begun. Arbitrator Malux clutched his Bolter and beltched out commnads. 'Ah right ya 
  lads, its been quite a pinic fer you so far. Lets give these pirates, these scallywags a whipping 
  they've never had. Lets send em back to da ships they've come from' Demitri looked at the young 
  
  Arbite and grinned. ' Just a boy' he thought 'but devout'. The noises grew louder, and seemed a 
  bit discerning, growling? With that the Arbite released the blast doors, they heaved open under 
  the pressure of steam, smoke and fire. 'What a mess....' Dimitri was cut short. 'CHARGE!! ya 
  rabble...its into the mouth of Hell for ya!! ' With that the Penal Squad lunged forward. Smoke 
  filled the room and nothing could be seen. Dimitri grasped his weapon tight. Aboard the Obsidian 
  tooth, Chapter Master Kabal felt an emptiness in his bowels. The adepts voice was monotone on 
  the PA. 'Penal Ship 305- mark Alpha registered Segmentum Solar overrun.'
  +++Ogryn Fighters+++
  Ogryns are an invaluable assett to the Imperial War Machine. Ogryns come from cold, harsh 
  worlds with are barren and rocky. To survive these adverse conditions, their bodies have adjusted 
  admirably. Their stocky frames are accustomed to long periods of starvation and prolonged 
  darkness. With this physical enhancement, their mental abilities have also diminished 
  considerably.
  However, they are excellent fighters. Specially trained Commissars spend long periods of time 
  patiently training these lumbering beasts, and instilling the necessary procedures to handle their 
  weapons in their simple minds. There are two qualities which make Ogryns excellent fighters:
  1) They are absolutely without fear. No psychology affects them whatsoever, and they cannot be 
  broken under any circumstances.
  2) Once befriended, they are absolutely loyal. They will go to any measures to please their 
  masters.
  +++COMMISSAR TRAINING 
  SQUADS+++
  The Schola Progenium teach and train orphans of Imperial Officials until they are ready to 
  become Cadet Commissars. As such, their training continues on the galaxy's battlegrounds where 
  they are formed into special squads. Fighting alongside Imperial Guard units, they are completely 
  devoted servants of the Emperor whose loyalty and bravery know no bounds.
  Devotion to the Imperial cause, sound judgement, unshakable resolve and honour are the 
  qualities required in a Commissar. Personnel selected to become Cadet Commissars are drawn 
  from schools run by Missionaries of the Ministorum. There are many such schools throughout the 
  Imperium, known as Schola Progenium. Here, orphans of Imperial Officials who gave their lives in 
  the service of the Emperor are educated by the Missionaries. They soon learn to regard the 
  Emperor as their spiritual father and build a strong personal devotion to the Imperial cause. Their 
  sole ambition is to serve the Imperium and Humanity in some way, and the special qualities of 
  theft education make them well suited for service in the Imperial Guard or the Inquisition as 
  Cadet Commissars.
  It is the duty of the Commissars in the Imperial Guard to maintain the highest standards of 
  discipline and inspire the troops by their own example. They have the power of absolution in 
  order to restore the morale of the troops at critical moments on the battlefield. Commissars are 
  both feared and respected. They do not often need to exercise their powers because their 
  presence among the troops is enough to instil devotion and confidence.
  It is important that Commissars remain aloof from ordinary troops in the Imperial Guard. 
  Commissars need to exercise authority over ordinary officers, often in front of the officer's own 
  unit. The Commissar must be seen as representative of the Emperor and thus a superior authority 
  to any officer. Furthermore, a Commissar is required to deal with troops from many different 
  tribal and racial origins, so cannot be associated with any particular group himself. Consequently, 
  the origins and recruitment of Commissars is of vital importance to their efficient exercise of 
  discipline.
  COMMISSAR TRAINING SQUADS
  
  CADET COMMISSARS
  The Commissar-General of an Imperial Guard Regiment selects the most promising recruits from 
  those recommended to him by the schools of the Ministorum. After basic Imperial Guard training 
  these become Cadet Commissars and proceed to special training for their demanding 
  responsibilities as Commissars. The best way to achieve this is for the Cadets to be instructed 
  under battlefield conditions.
  For a Cadet Commissar to learn how to function according to his vocation, he must understand 
  the nature of the troops for whose morale and spiritual welfare he is accountable. You cannot 
  teach in theory what has to be practised in a storm of energy beams, was how Commissar-
  General Obin Heethe summed UP the need for Cadet Commissars to live, fight and if necessary 
  die alongside the troops they were supposed to inspire. For this reason, Cadet Commissars use 
  the same standard weapon as Imperial Guardsmen, the lasgun. This training forms the basis of 
  much of the respect accorded to Commissars by Guardsmen, for they know that only those 
  Cadets who have shown bravery and devotion in the face of enemy fire are selected.
  For an experienced Commissar, there is no greater recognition of his service to the Emperor than 
  to be deemed worthy of instructing a new generation of Commissars.
  Commissar Training Squad
  The Commissar-General is the senior Commissar of the regiment with the longest service and 
  most extensive campaign experience. He assigns Commissars to Imperial Guard officers 
  according to his Judgement of the battlefield situation or the character of the Imperial Guard 
  Officers in question. Cadet Commissars are allocated to Commissar Training Squads by the 
  Commissar-General of an Imperial Guard regiment. These squad members are identified by a 
  blue uniform trim and Cadet badge.
  The Commissar-General assigns one of his Commissars to take the regiment's Cadets and form a 
  tactical unit in its own right, known as the Commissar Training Squad. The unit is made up of one 
  Commissar and nine Cadet Commissars. The Commissar Training Squad accompanies Imperial 
  Guard forces into battle and takes part in some of the fiercest fighting.
  The training of a Cadet Commissar has no fixed duration. A Cadet qualifies as a full Commissar on 
  the judgement of the Commissar-General. He will be awarded his Commissar status as soon as he 
  is deemed worthy of it by his actions. This provides great inspiration to the other Cadets on the 
  battlefield. The new Commissar can then be allocated Commissarial duties in his own right.
  Commissar Training Squads are highly motivated fighting units, respected by all other troops in 
  the Imperial Guard. Any Imperial Guard force accompanied by such squads will consider itself 
  fortunate and probably destined for victory.
  When a Commissar decides that a Cadet has failed in his duty, but has not shown cowardice or 
  insubordination, the Cadet is relieved of his position and duties. Commissar Cadets who fail their 
  training can often get a commission in a penal battalion. Others volunteer for service in a Rogue 
  Trader entourage. Sometimes, their destiny will be decided by the Commissar-General or 
  Commissar under whom the ex-Cadet trained.
  COMMISSAR TRAINING SQUADS IN ACTION
  The Commissar Training Squad is often deployed in the most critical zone of the battle or with the 
  most hard-pressed detachment of the Regiment.
  Qualifying as a Commissar
  Players who deploy Cadet Commissars in their Imperial Guard force may check to see if any 
  qualify as fully fledged Commissars during the action. A Cadet must accumulate 25 merit points 
  to be deemed a full Commissar by the Commissar-General. If these are accumulated during a 
  single battle, the Cadet can be awarded battlefield promotion. Otherwise merit points can be 
  carried over into another game and accumulated during a series of battles. Merit points are 
  earned by the following actions: 
  •Restoring the morale of a faltering unit …5 points, 
  •Slaying an enemy personality ...........….2 points, 
  •Surviving a battle .......................1 point, 
  •Capturing an enemy standard or personality.. 3 points, 
  •Assuming command of a halted or retreating unit 1 point, 
  •Bearing the Commissar Standard ........... 3 points, 
  •Character judgement of Commissar-General D6 points * Roll once for this at the end of the 
  battle. 
  
  When a Cadet is promoted his qualities are sometimes tested by his appointment to different 
  kinds of unit. Qualified Commissars axe often attached to Abhuman units, Rough Rider units, 
  Ogryn and aerial units. Those who have performed in an outstanding manner can be seconded to, 
  the Secutor regiments of Titan Orders. A Cadet Commissar, who achieves battlefield promotion 
  continues to function, normally for the duration of that battle, acting as adjutant, to the 
  Commissar commanding the squad..
  Commissar Standards
  The Commissar Training Squad may carry a standard. This standard bears a motto chosen by the 
  Commissar-General. The standard marks the position of the Commissar Training Squad on the 
  battlefield. It may be borne by one of the Cadet Commissars as a test of character and must 
  never be allowed to fall into enemy hands. It is entirely up to the player as to whether his squad 
  carries a standard.
  COMMISSAR TRAINING SQUADS
  Retreating Ork units returned to their battered stronghold by passing through a breach in the 
  wall. Guard units followed up mercilessly and now intended to swarm into the stronghold by the 
  same route. C and K Companies engaged Orkish defensive units on the flanks while the recently 
  reinforced E Company drove straight into the heart of the remaining enemy firepower. 
  Commissar-General Tagullen allocated his Training Squad to E Company for the assault.
  Frask listened to the muffled sounds of battle get louder and clutched his lasgun as the 
  lumbering Rhino shook up its occupants. Your sacrifice does not go unnoticed, he thought as be 
  looked at them. He knew few of them by name but it did not matter that the faces changed. It 
  was the expression those faces held that was important. He saw devotion in their eyes and be 
  knew that the Emperor was with them.
  The machine lurched once more and halted. The driver's voice shouted over the intercom. ' 
  'Disembark The heavy door of the carrier opened and the terrible roar of weapon fire bit the 
  troops. The unit ran from the rear of the vehicle. Other troops were disembarking from tbetr 
  carriers too. The Rhinos had halted halfway up a steep pile of rubble and debris that bad once 
  formedpart of the fortress wall.
  One squad scrambled most of the way up the slope immediately but were cut down by a sudden 
  intense burst of boiler fire. Frask was with another two squads of Guardsmen who threw 
  themselves to the ground as frag grenades exploded around them. Frask ptcked himself up and 
  quickly glanced around. The troopers saw him and and rose to their feet, shouting cries of 
  Imperial loyalty and charging forwards. The cadet saw no doubt in the eyes of his comrades and 
  he ran with them. And they were united as they surrendered themselves to the embrace of the 
  Emperor's will.
  +++THE BATTLE FOR 
  ARMAGEDDON+++
  On the day of the Feast of the Emperor's Ascension. 40,941. a massive Ork assault on the hive 
  world of Armageddon began. System ships from space hulk Alveus Alpha Alpha Sextus smashed 
  through the orbital cordon of the planet, annihilating the obsolete orbital monitors. A massive 
  space drop swiftly overwhelmed most of the western continent of Armageddon Prime. Lightning 
  assaults by the highly mobile Ork forces encircled hive after hive. Tens of thousands of Ork Boyz 
  blasted through the hives' outer defences and massacred or enslaved the populations within.
  Across the continent the forces of humanity were driven into retreat. Due to criminal negligence 
  on the part of Overlord von Strab (cross-reference to Administratum file: Armageddon 40004, 
  Prosecutions for war-crimes), the ill-prepared human forces were nearly swept away under the 
  green tide. Divisions of the Planetary Defence Force were sent out piecemeal by von Strab only to 
  be outflanked and destroyed by the enemy.
  Endless columns of Ork war machines raised plumes of dust hundreds of metres high as they 
  raced across the ash-wastes of Armageddon Prime. The voices of a hundred thousand Orks 
  roared their brutal cries of victory. Reports came in from battlefield after battlefield where the 
  blood of brave human warriors stained the multi-coloured sands. It became obvious that von 
  
  Strab had seriously underestimated the cunning and strategic ability of his foe Warlord 
  Ghazghkull Thraka, Overboss of all the Goffs, Prophet of the Waaagh!
  Von Strab fled to the relative safety of thc south, to Armageddon Secundus, the industrial 
  heartland of the hive world. Two days later the Orks invaded Armageddon Secundus and the true 
  battle for Armageddon began. Armageddon Secundus contained 80% of the world's industrial 
  capacity, vital not only for fighting the campaign in hand but also for securing surrounding star 
  systems against alien threats. Ghazghkull wished to rip the industrial heart out of his foe. The 
  only hope of relief was from the Space Marine Chapters but von Strab refused to call for help, still 
  believing he could defeat the Orks and claim victory for himself.
  The Orks' assault started in the Season of Shadows when the volcanic mountains of Armageddon 
  erupt, sending great clouds of smoke and dust swirling across the turbulent blood-coloured skies. 
  Massive armoured columns smashed into the thinly-held Imperial border positions. War buggies 
  raced across the blazing sands towards the human lines. A howling mass of green-faced devils 
  overran the hard-pressed human defenders. By the flickering light of the Palidus Mountains, as 
  Mount Eschatus itself erupted and lava bubbled and hissed down its slopes, man and Ork fought 
  and died. Bolters thundered relentlessly. Gargants lumbered forward, dwarfing fleeing human 
  warriors, myriad turrets spitting death. The Orks punched holes through the human lines and 
  drove south. Two tribes swept east of the Palidian range heading south towards Hades hive. The 
  remaining Ork tribe struck out west towards the port of Helsreach.
  As the Season of Storms broke, blowing the clouds from the sky, the Orks' drive south continued. 
  They punched through the pitiful improvised defences the human survivors had built along the 
  riverbanks and swept round the Palidus Mountains to Infernus hive. Demoralised by continuous 
  news of defeat, with no faith in the promises of the planetary overlord and dismayed by the sheer 
  size of the mechanised Ork hordes, the Governor of Infernus surrendered without a fight. Bike-
  mounted Ork outriders harried the hundred kilometre-long refugee columns that fled the city, 
  herding them back to Infernos and slave labour in the factories.
  Given the fact that the Orks measured senior citizens, women and children against their own 
  inhuman standards of toughness, hundreds of thousands were to die in captivity.
  Soon Hades hive cluster was besieged and the site of the heaviest fighting yet seen during the 
  campaign. The legendary Commissar Yarrick supervised the defences. In those dark days he 
  seemed to be everywhere, supervising the welding shut of the great blast portals, personally 
  negotiating treaties of allegiance with the hive gangs and inducting them into the army, raising 
  the spirits of a people demoralised by starvation and defeat with his own unquenchable belief in 
  ultimate victory. Amazingly he welded together a ragtag army capable of standing off the Orks. 
  At Hades they halted.
  One can only imagine what it must have been like. The hundreds of kilometres of earthworks 
  hastily thrown up by the slave gangs overseen by whip-cracking Ork Runtherdz, the giant 
  Gargants blasting away at the distant hive spires, guns thundering like the laughter of mad gods. 
  Hundreds of thousands of red hate-filled eyes glaring at the prize, so near and yet so 
  unreachable. The human population scuttling through the shadows of the hive, endless 
  kilometres of corridor darkened from the need to save power. Thousands starving or eating rats 
  and roaches. Who knows what feats of heroism and horror took place in that place, at that time? 
  Those who survived do not talk much about it, save to praise the bravery of Yarrick.
  In the west the defenders of the port of Helsreach, heartened by the resistance in Hades, put up a 
  brave fight. They defended the dock yards and refineries bravely. Street gangs using improvised 
  weapons ambushed the Orks at every turn. Hastily converted armoured supertankers were 
  pressed into service to evacuate non-combatants. There was not enough room to take everyone 
  so lots were drawn for berths on the ships. Weeping families parted knowing that they probably 
  would never see each other again.
  Once the last ship had sailed the defenders knew there was no refuge for them; each member of 
  the assembled Hive Defence Units swore a mighty oath to sell his life as dearly as possible. 
  Driven by hate and rage they fought the Orks with the fury of a berserk rhinodon. Suicide 
  bombers leapt amid Ork patrols and detonated their chest bombs. The corridors of Helsreach ran 
  with blood. The drivers of the great loading cranes in the harbour welded themselves into their 
  vehicles and attacked the Gargants. Wave after wave of Ork attacks were repulsed until even the 
  Ork generals began to doubt the wisdom of their attack. Messages of hope from Hades hive were 
  broadcast over the comm-net in Helsreach.
  
  It was the people of Helsreach's darkest hour when the port finally fell. Defeat, when it came, 
  arrived from a most unexpected quarter. Ork Weirdboyz summoned a monstrous psychic storm. 
  Waves of pain burst into the minds of the hive's defenders. Some went mad, some died of shock, 
  the heads of some exploded. Under cover of this storm the Orks entered Helsreach and wiped out 
  the defenders to the last man. When word of the fall of Helsreach reached Hades Commissar 
  Yarrick ordered an hour of silence and then locked himself in the Emperor's Chapel to pray. Some 
  say that the old man communed with the deity and found fresh inspiration. Those who knew him 
  well say he wept.
  Ghazghkull himself arrived to supervise the siege of Hades. He had heard tales of bitter human 
  resistance and thought he'd better oversee the defeat of Yarrick personally. For weeks a long 
  duel was fought out under the dreadful yellow sky. Ghazghkull tried every stratagem. He feinted 
  assaults on one part of the hive while the main strength of his troops attacked elsewhere. He 
  airdropped Stormboy kommando units onto the peaks of the hive spires and ordered them to 
  seek entrance through the ventilation system. He ordered his Mekboyz to build him mighty siege 
  engines, enormous towers with huge jackhammers, modified Gargants with earthmoving blades 
  and great scoops, giant earthboring drills which sought to eat through the surface of the hive. 
  For every strategy implemented by the Orks Commissar Yarrick found an answer. Mobile reserves 
  used the hive's transport infra-structure to respond to the feints. The kommandos were met by 
  volunteer cadres of tunnel fighters, drug-crazed madmen chosen from the depleted ranks of the 
  city's maintenance engineers, many of whom had lost all their loved ones during the siege. These 
  men slipped into the maintenance shafts stripped naked, armed only with bolt pistol and knife 
  and an extensive knowledge of the system that enabled them to lay traps and ambushes. These 
  men fought a lonely and unsung war in the terrible darkness but they did their job. Not a single 
  Ork kommando emerged from the air shafts alive. Suicide squads from the Hive Defence Force 
  sallied out at night and assaulted the siege machines with melta bombs and power axes.
  While the siege of Hades continued Ork columns rolled south from Helsreach and Infernus. They 
  were heading for Acheron and what appeared to be the last bastion of human resistance. It was 
  the beginning of the Season of Fire and temperatures outside the hive cities had started to soar. 
  The hardy Orks and the specially equipped human military didn't have to worry but the refugees 
  who had escaped the Orkish net began to die in droves.
  The Acheronians steeled themselves for battle. They knew their time had come. Looking out 
  through their hive's ocular monitors they could see the endless ranks of Orks approaching. Horn-
  helmed bikers, kustomised war buggies and great siege engines stretched out to the horizon. The 
  only promise of support they had was from Overlord von Strab. It consisted of his personal good 
  wishes and twenty of his elite personal bodyguard who had displeased him. With an earthshaking 
  roar the Orks advanced, the air itself vibrating with the thrum of thousands of powerful engines. 
  They swept through the outer hives of the cluster and laid siege to the core hive itself. Poorly 
  provisioned and inadequately armed as his forces were, the hive governor refused to surrender. 
  "We will fight to the last man," he announced. "And then our ghosts will come back to haunt the 
  Orkish scum."
  The Orks charged, confident of victory. Suddenly great holes were torn in their ranks. Mighty 
  explosions tossed their vehicles into the air like chaff. The inhabitants of Acheron looked on in 
  amazement as the orbital bombardment continued. Great ships filled the sky and Imperial 
  Thunderhawk gunships dropped earthward, delivering advance squads of Space Marines into the 
  fray. Taken by surprise, the Orks reeled back. The Space Marines continued to pour from their 
  landing craft, bolters spitting death. The hive defenders rallied and emerged to aid their saviours. 
  For the first time since the campaign started the Orks tasted defeat.
  A relief force headed by the Salamanders, the Ultramarines and the Blood Angels raced north in 
  an effort to relieve Hades hive. Just as the Space Marines broke through the Ork front lines, Hades 
  fell. Ork boyz scoured the corridors, the last blast doors were cracked and fighting raged through 
  the former homes and workplaces of the people. In the last few hours the fighting was deadly and 
  virtually hand-to-hand as battle raged through the last secure areas of the hive. Commissar 
  Yarrick was one of the few survivors. His terribly wounded body was found in the ruins, dozens of 
  Ork bodies heaped about him. Fortunately for the Imperium this exceptionally brave warrior lived 
  to fight another day.
  In the west a new wave of Ork reinforcements had arrived and a massive push against Tartarus 
  hive began. The Imperial lines had been stripped bare in order to mount the ill-fated relief 
  
  operation on Hades hive and the Orks easily broke through and pushed on south to besiege 
  Tartarus hive. Ghazghkull himself took personal command of the assault and launched his last 
  desperate attempt to win the war. For days everything hung in the balance. If the Orks could take 
  Tartarus they could break the back of Imperial resistance, devastating the South's industrial base 
  to the point where the war would become unwinnable. It looked for a while as if the Warlord 
  might succeed as headlong assaults swept over the city.
  In a desperate gamble the Blood Angels returned to their ships. The Space Marines descended by 
  drop pod and Thunderhawk gunship behind the main body of the Ork spearhead, cutting off an 
  entire Goff Ork tribe and Ghazghkull himself. A thin line of red-armoured Space Marines held the 
  handful of intact bridges across the viscid flow of corrosive sludge known as the Skeletus river.
  Unless they recaptured the bridges over the Skeletus the Orks could not retreat from the trap 
  Tartarus had become and would soon run low on food and ammunition. Soon the Salamanders, 
  Ultramarines and Imperial Guard forces returning from Hades hive would crush the Orks once and 
  for all. The only way the Orks could escape would be to overrun the bridgeheads and fight their 
  way across the Skeletus.
  +++COMMISSAR YARRICK+++
  The Saviour Of Armageddon
  Commissar Yarrick was an old man when Ork Warlord Ghazghkull Thraka attacked the world of 
  Armageddon and the siege of Hades began. His years with the Imperial Guard had been eventful 
  ones for he had seen action on a dozen warzones with regiments from Necromunda, Luther 
  McIntyre, and Armageddon. His last mission was to run the Departmento Munitorium recruitment 
  program on Armageddon, where the 4th regiment was being reformed. Armageddon being a 
  large and populous world with a substantial military recruitment base, the 4th Armageddon was a 
  big regiment Ä almost an army in its own right.
  In his youth Yarrick had learned the Ork tongue whilst fighting on V'run. Since then he had made 
  a study of the creatures and was considered an expert on the Ork mind. During the battle for 
  Armageddon this knowledge was to prove invaluable, though it undoubtedly could have been 
  used to better effect were it not for the stubborness and arrogance of Herman von Straab, the 
  Lord of Armageddon. Rather than listen to the advice of the old Commissar, von Straab had him 
  banished to Hades, a sprawling hive complex away from the seat of government. As it happened, 
  this was probably the best decision von Straab made during the whole war.
  The Ork assault was swift and seemingly unstoppable. Von Straab's armies were by no means 
  small or poorly equipped, but they could not stand before the savage Ork advance. Only when 
  the Orks reached Hades did the surging tide come to a halt before the well ordered defences that 
  Commissar Yarrick had quickly put into position. Even so, the initial Ork attack led by Warlord 
  Ugulhard would have swept away human resistance were it not for the presence of Yarrick 
  himself.
  The Ork Warlord glimpsed the Commissar across the battlelines and drove his forces directly to 
  where Yarrick stood. With a barbarous roar the Ork threw himself upon the Commissar. He swung 
  his snapping battle claw at Yarrick and severed his right arm at the elbow. The Warlord's bellow 
  of victory was cut short as Yarrick, fighting the pain and shock as no normal man could, swung his 
  chainsword in a crimson arc and severed Uguihard's bony head from his shoulders. The Ork's 
  body collapsed to the ground whilst the head continued to sneer and curse momentarily until the 
  creature's extraordinary metabolism finally conceded that it was dead. Yarrick calmly reached 
  down and plucked the battle claw from the Ork's twitching body He held it aloft so that all the 
  green-skinned warriors could see it and know their champion had suffered defeat. A hush fell 
  over the battlefield as man and Ork gazed in silence upon the gnarled old man brandishing the 
  bloody claw Then the humans cheered and the Orks wailed in horror, and all at once the 
  defenders leapt upon the aliens with indomitable vigour. Only when the Orks had been beaten 
  from Hades did Yarrick allow himself the luxury of passing out.
  News of this incident spread like wildfire amongst the Orks. They said that Yarrick could not be 
  killed and that his gaze was death to even the most powerful Ork. Wherever Yarrick fought the 
  
  Orks would flee in terror, or whatever passed for terror inside their inhuman green skulls. Yarrick 
  understood the Ork mind well and exploited this weakness to the full. He had Ugulhard's battle 
  claw fabricated into a prosthetic limb to replace the arm the Warlord had taken from him. Later 
  he lost his left eye to a splinter shot from a laser, and had a bio-implant made that projected a 
  pulse of laser light. This terrified the Orks even more and they called him the Bale Eye who could 
  kill with a glance.
  For six months following the fight in which Yarrick lost his arm the defenders of Hades held out 
  against further attack. Those who survived paint a confused picture of heroism and dark savagery 
  as the Orks gradually infiltrated the hive complex. But all agree that it was Yarrick who kept the 
  defenders together, who brought them back from defeat time and time again, and whose dogged 
  belief in ultimate victory gave others the strength to go on. The time that he bought was to make 
  all the difference. By the time relief forces of Imperial Guard and Space Marines arrived the Orks 
  had been worn away by the human defence. Even as Yarrick and his few remaining defenders 
  gathered for the last stand the Ork armies were crumbling away.
  Yarrick was one of the few survivors of the fighting around Hades. His barely living body was 
  found by rescue searchers amongst the ruins, dozens of Ork corpses heaped at his feet. It took 
  Yarrick many months to recover from his injuries, by which time the Orks had been defeated and 
  a new Lord installed in place of the insane and incompetent von Straab. The old Commissar 
  accepted nominal retirement and a training post on Armageddon where the planet's armies were 
  being reformed. However, the knowledge that the supreme Ork Warlord Ghazghkull Thraka was 
  still living proved too great a distraction for Yarrick. After only a few months of peace he strapped 
  on the Ork battle claw and reported for duty, vowing that he would not rest until Ghazghkull was 
  hunted down and destroyed at last.
  +++LORD COMMANDER+++
  +++SOLAR MACHARIUS+++
  Macharius was one of the greatest war leaders the Imperium has ever known: a military genius of 
  the highest calibre, a ruthless and ambitious commander whose dreams of conquest reshaped 
  the Imperium at the beginning of the forty-first millennium.
  After millennia of disorder the Imperium was finally united in more than name. At the Conclave of 
  Gathalamor held in the shadow of Mount Amalath at the tomb of the Great Confessor, on the Day 
  of Ascension itself, over eight hundred Masters of the Space Marine Chapters gathered to reswear 
  their oaths of loyalty.
  The old power of the Ecclesiarchy was waning and with it the introspective and self-destructive 
  habits of mind that had divided the Imperium over the previous centuries. The schism of the 
  Apostasy was fading from memory and few remained to champion a cause that seemed 
  increasingly irrelevant. The hard-core of Bucharan dissenters had fled far and wide into the 
  Eastern Fringe away from the Imperium and the persecutions of the Ecciesiarchal Confessors.
  Mars and the Empire of the Tech-Priests, for centuries divided from Earth by religious wars and 
  intolerance on both sides, reforged its old alliance at the Treaty of Ceres. In the past the Tech-
  Priests had found good reason to distrust the Adeptus, and had wisely remained aloof from the 
  turmoil that had enveloped an unstable Imperium. Yet even the Techno-Magi could see that the 
  Imperium had emerged more strongly united than ever. From the Forge Worlds poured 
  armaments and ships to equip the Imperial armies and carry them to new worlds.
  Onto this stage strode Lord Commander Solar Macharius and behind him marched the greatest 
  armies of conquest the galaxy had ever seen. The growing anarchy of the previous centuries had 
  left many old worlds abandoned by the Imperium. Some had fallen to Orks, others to enemies 
  unknown, whilst hundreds had simply stopped paying tithes and had effectively slipped beyond 
  the control of the Adeptus. It was these worlds that felt the first blow of the new armies of 
  reconstruction.
  New Imperial Guard armies swept down upon the enemy without warning or mercy. Planets were 
  laid bare, invaders destroyed and human worlds swiftly brought under the Imperial yoke. 
  Inquisitorial teams which followed in the wake of the conquering forces reported scenes of 
  
  devastation and suffering worse than that caused by rampaging Orks. Missionaries from the 
  Adeptus Ministorum set about restoring the faith amongst the survivors, but so appalling were 
  the conditions left by theconquering armies that many millions died from hunger and disease.
  However, it was years before rumours of Macharius' uncompromising campaign reached the 
  Adeptus of Earth. At first all the Adeptus Terra had were reports of worlds newly liberated and 
  alien hordes defeated and of ancient human communities rediscovered and brought back into the 
  light of the Emperor. Many fierce battles had been fought and at each encounter the new Imperial 
  Guard armies of reconstruction had performed brilliantly. Macharius' strategy of sudden and 
  decisive attack was working better than could have been imagined. A hundred worlds fell to him 
  in one year, three hundred the next, and in the third year of the campaign nearly seven hundred 
  planets were taken by the combined forces of the fleets of the Segmentum Solar and the Imperial 
  Guard.
  It seemed that nothing could stop Macharius. Within five years his armies reached the old borders 
  of the Astronomican. They found planets which had not seen an Adept for over five thousand 
  years, where tales of the Emperor, of Space Marines, and the dark days of the Horus Heresy were 
  treated as myths. They found worlds where humans hadturned to the dark certainties of science, 
  and created many new and wondrous machines. There were worlds which welcomed Macharius 
  with open arms and others which resisted the forces of the Imperium in vain. The Adeptus 
  Mechanicus long lamented the destruction of Adantris Five whose hyper-technology kept the 
  Imperium at bay for two years before it was destroyed in the conflagration of a re-directed comet. 
  Of its secrets nothing now remains.
  At the edge of the galaxy Macharius' armies stood undefeated. But the long battles had taken 
  theft toll. His troops had suffered years of constant warfare and had travelled so far from home 
  that communication and supply were no longer practical. It was as if they had left human space 
  altogether, so dimly did the Emperor's light shine at the fringes of the Astronomican. Even the 
  ships' Navigators could sense only darkness around them. Macharius pressed forward, into the 
  thin halo of Old Stars that surround the galaxy. These are ancient worlds where men have never 
  known the Emperor. Their ancestors left Earth over thirty thousand years ago at the dawn of 
  human history.
  At this point Macharius' generals wavered. They pleaded for him to reconsider. His men, tired and 
  ageing, hesitated. The halo was dark and forbidding. Navigation was slow without the guiding 
  beacon of the Astronomican. The Astropaths were virtually beyond range of psychic 
  communication. There was a sense of growing unrest amongst the armies and fleets. Macharius 
  knew that the end was come. His armies had simply run out of energy at the moment of his 
  greatest challenge. To make matters worse, some of the exploratory teams had failed to return 
  from theft missions, whilst others reported mysterious phenomena. The troops whispered that the 
  Old Stars were haunted, that the worlds which orbited them were inhabited by ghosts, and that 
  the halo was not a place for living men.
  Macharius locked himself in the state rooms of his capital ship and drank himself into a stupour. 
  His generals waited. They had shared in their commander's dreams. For years his ambition has 
  carried them across the depths of space and to the edge of the galaxy. But now they would not 
  go on. Could not go on. Drunkenly Macharius accused his men of betraying him and now he 
  brooded in silence over his maps and charts, reports of new civilisations, and tales of the greater 
  mysteries that lay amongst the Old Stars.
  When he reappeared it was to order the fleets back into the Imperium. His soldiers cheered their 
  hero. His generals sighed with relief. But Macharius was a broken man. He had dreamed of 
  boundless conquest and had awoken to find human fear and frailty. On the return journey 
  Macharius died. The apothecaries said it was a fever contracted in the jungle fighting on Jucha. 
  Those closer to him said he had died so that he could be with the heroes of old who never balked 
  at danger or shunned the unknown. His troops wept openly at the news of their leader's death, 
  for though they had refused to follow him into the void, they revered him almost as a god.
  Macharius' body was carried in stasis to the supply base he had created at the launch of the 
  campaign decades before. Over the interim the world had grown into a busy port through which 
  poured Adepts, ministers of the Imperial Cult, Tech-Priests, and many others all journeying to the 
  new worlds that Macharius had unveiled. The base had been named Macharia by the captains of 
  the fleet. Now the Lord Solar's body returned to Macharia and was interred in a great sepulchre 
  that had been prepared for it. At his funeral march a million men filed past his tomb and a 
  
  hundred generals laid their swords upon his sarcophagus.
  It is said that the whole Imperium wept for the fallen commander, though it is doubtful if the 
  populations of some of the worlds he conquered ever felt so kindly towards him. In truth he was a 
  brutal conqueror and a ruthless soldier, though he was often generous towards his troops and 
  even to conquered worlds whose defenders had impressed him in some way or other. He was 
  certainly a charismatic man, and one for whom others proved willing to lay down their lives. No-
  one has led the Imperial Guard to more victories or greater conquests, nor won so many worlds 
  for the Imperium, nor taken armies beyond the edge of the galaxy and the light of the 
  Astronomican.
  After his death Macharius' old generals could not hold his conquests together. Their own rivalry 
  erupted into civil war, and the conquered territories found themselves divided into warring 
  military empires led by Imperial Guard generals. Some of the newly assimilated planets took the 
  opportunity to secede from the Imperium altogether believing that with the death of Macharius 
  the Imperium's power had been broken. The Macharian Heresy, as this period of struggle is 
  called, was finally ended by a Crusade in which almost a hundred Space Marine Chapters took 
  part. It lasted for nearly seventy years after Macharius' death, a testament to the astonishing 
  speed and wide extent of the Lord Commander Solar's conquests. Though many of Macharius' 
  most distant conquests were lost to the Imperium forever, the majority were pacified 
  successfully. Today these worlds form a substantial and prosperous part of the Imperium.
  +++Tallarn+++
  The world of Tallarn was once a fertile planet bathed in the gentle orange light of its twin suns. 
  Oceans, plains and lush jungles covered its surface, and its people prospered. The world was a 
  virtual paradise. All of this ended during the Horus Heresy.
  CHAOS ATTACK!
  In a devastating surprise attack, the Iron Warriors Chaos Space Marines struck the planet. 
  Thousands of virus bombs rained down on Tallarn and the people ran to their enviro-shelters, 
  deep beneath the surface. As they hid, safe from the devastating bio-infestation, the deadly coils 
  of DNA mutated as they were programmed to do. Animals, plants, even insects died as the virus 
  did its work, destroying the planet's ecosystem and leaving an empty shell devoid of life.
  After seven weeks of isolation the virus had run its course and the remaining people of Tallarn 
  emerged upon the surface. They found a world covered with the acrid slime of plants and corpses 
  not yet decayed - for the world was completely sterile, without even bacteria to aid the 
  decomposition of its dead. The stench was strong, and more than one person died from it.
  The Iron Warriors sent their task-force to repossess the world for the Dark Gods of Chaos. From 
  underground bunkers the Tallarn forces emerged to do battle with the invaders. Soon, 
  reinforcements from both sides arrived, rival space fleets bringing vast armies to fight over the 
  worthless remnants of the dead planet.
  The Battle of Tallarn raged for many months and was the largest armoured conflict of the Horus 
  Heresy. Outbreaks of viral infection from rogue DNA residue made it almost impossible for 
  infantry to operate outside their protective shelters. The battle was finally decided by armies of 
  tanks. When the fighting ended the empty, putrid wastes of Tallarn were littered with the 
  wreckage of more than a million shattered vehicles.
  A HOLLOW VICTORY
  Chaos was driven from Tallarn at great cost, yet for all the millions that died there seemed little 
  gained from the fight. The planet was destroyed and rendered useless for large scale habitation, 
  industry or agriculture. The armies of the Imperium might well have given up Tallarn had their 
  commanders realized the extent of the devastation, but once the armies were in motion there 
  was no going back.
  At the time the Chaos attack made little sense. It seemed insane that even the fickle Gods of 
  Chaos should expend such energy fighting over a devastated world of no particular strategic 
  significance. But in the aftermath of the Horus Heresy there were few left to ponder such 
  questions. Amongst the evils of the time it was just another demonstration of the random 
  destruction of Chaos.
  
  TALLARN SURVIVES
  Within a thousand years of the Horus Heresy Tallarn evolved into a very different world from the 
  prosperous planet of former times. Deserts of sulphurous sand stretched from pole to pole and all 
  water disappeared except for a thin residue in the atmosphere. No vegetation remained on the 
  surface exposed to the blistering, wind-blown sands. All that grew was the carefully husbanded 
  crops of the Tallarn themselves, sheltered in their protective horticultural domes.
  The surviving Tallarn now lived in domed towns or in natural caverns hollowed out in the planet's 
  rock. Fierce winds drove the Tallarn into their shelters, corrosive sulphur storms made all travel 
  risky, and eventually a system of tunnels was built to facilitate travel beneath the surface.
  Above their settlements the Tallarn built vapour traps to catch water from the thin atmosphere. 
  These tall towers still stand above their domes to this day, and all the water they use is caught by 
  these cunning devices and channelled into subterranean holding tanks.
  A SECRET UNCOVERED
  During the construction of an arterial tunnel, Tallarn miners struck an outcrop of hard black rock. 
  They were unable to break through this strange substance which was quite unlike any other they 
  had encountered. After some days they decided to divert their tunnel to go around it. As they did 
  so they discovered something very strange. At first the black wall seemed like a natural 
  formation, but soon they realized they had uncovered a deliberate construction.
  The initial excavations revealed a huge wall of strange black rock carved over its entire surface 
  with weird entwined figures. The figures were human sized yet not entirely human, possessing a 
  grace and beauty which rendered their grotesquely inscribed cavorting all the more perverse. 
  Giant earth movers were brought in to dig out the layer of sulphur sand in which the wall was 
  buried, and bit by bit it was slowly and painstakingly exposed to the daylight.
  The Tallarn soon discovered the wall was not straight but curved, in fact part of a huge circle. 
  Carefully their most skilled technicians worked to uncover the entire thing, a huge ring-shaped 
  mound almost half a mile across.
  THE DANGER AWAKES
  It was not until the whole circle was exposed that the disaster happened. With a blast of power 
  the circle screamed and writhed, its inert form turned suddenly to moaning flesh. Where before 
  there had been carvings now there were the creatures themselves, Eldar creatures, yet twisted 
  with an uncanny evil, locked together by some sorcerous bond into a sickening embrace of 
  depraved passion.
  Within the circle itself, blackness boiled and stars wheeled - stars that belonged in another part of 
  the galaxy altogether.
  THE DARK LIBRARY
  In the Dark Library of the Eldar a custodian shivered as he felt an unaccustomed surge of power. 
  Adrift from time and space his mind searched the endless, strands of probabilities and found the 
  thread t6t led to Tallarn. After so long it had been discovered: the Cursus of Alganar, legend of 
  evil from before the Fall, vortex of unimaginable power, one of the three mythical Gateways of 
  the Gods.
  His mind shifted into synchronicity with -the Farseers of his race, tracing the paths that linked his 
  mind to the Craftworlds of the Eldar. When that knowledge touched the Farseers the Avatars of 
  Khaine would wake. And Khaine would recognise the work of his ancient destroyer Slaanesh - 
  Bane of the Eldar, Prince of the Chaos Gods.
  ELDAR ATTACK
  The Eldar struck from the skies without warning or explanation. To the Tallarn it was an 
  unwarranted act of aggression. Little could they imagine that the fate of the entire Eldar race was 
  bound up with their strange discovery. To the Eldar there was no time for explanation or 
  discussion. They couldn't know whether the Tallarn were in league with Chaos or whether the 
  fierce desert people were unwitting pawns in the Dark Gods' game. As far as they were 
  concerned the only option was to attack, to destroy the Cursus if they could before it was too late.
  The Tallarn fought back with characteristic ferocity. Years of living upon the burning sulphur 
  deserts had honed them into resilient fighters. To the Eldar the deserts were an unknown 
  quantity. Even the hardy Aspect Warriors died under the heat of the sun, whilst the Eldar 
  Guardians fen to the lightning raids of the human fighters. But the Eldar did not give up. They 
  could not afford to abandon their attack. The survival of the galaxy depended on it.
  
  THE DARK GODS AWAKE
  But it was already too late. The gateway that was the Cursus grew in power by the minute. Its 
  screams and wails filled the desert as the dark light brightened and fluxed within its core. Lights 
  and stars swirled and clashed, fountains of spinning incandescence spat into the night sky. The 
  laughter of gods rebounded across the sulphur dunes and Eldar and humans alike shuddered in 
  terror.
  From the Cursus poured the minions of Chaos. There were things indescribable to men. Things 
  that awakened primal terrors in Eldar hearts - horrors of slime and flame that cackled and 
  bounded into battle, transparent bodies of pure energy dividing and reuniting in a cascade of 
  colours, vile fleshy things that pulsed with inner power and sucked at the air with poisonous lips. 
  Long-legged abominations carried slender and elegant creatures upon their backs, beautiful and 
  yet sickening to look upon. It was as if all the 4aemons of hell had fallen upon Tallarn.
  THE BATTLE FOR THE CURSUS
  The human commander called a truce and hurried to the Eldar lines where the alien Seers sat 
  waiting. Knowledge had finally opened their eyes. The runestones lay cast upon the desert floor. 
  Hope in union was predicted. Division would lead to damnation, darkness and death. With their 
  fates so clearly predicted, the Eldar and Tallarn joined forces.
  The two races fell back before the Chaos onslaught. Many were caught and destroyed in the early 
  confusion, but the Chaos advance was slowed by the merciless hit and run tactics of the desert 
  raiders. Humans led Eldar jet-bike riders into the attack, and soon the Tallarn and Eldar were able 
  to regroup.
  As the daemon hordes advanced beyond the Cursus their power waned, as if they were 
  dependent upon its proximity for their power. And so it was, for the tendrils of Chaos though long 
  are very tenuous, and only blood-letting and victory can sustain the link between the Dark Gods 
  and their minions.
  CHAOS DEFEATED
  With skill and cunning the Tallarn drew out the Chaos battle lines. Choosing their targets carefully 
  the Tallarn launched one attack after another, always retreating before the Chaos hordes could 
  turn to meet their fire. It was a tactic calculated to drain the power of the horde, and it worked 
  better than even the wily sons of the sulphur desert could have hoped.
  The Eldar Seers saw the runes change, saw the opportunity develop. The daemons were fading 
  fast, their glittering bodies growing ever more transparent, their cries ever weaker Now was the 
  time to hit them hard.
  With a furious charge the Eldar and Tallarn threw their remaining strength against the gibbering 
  horde. It was a last effort that would result in absolute victory or utter defeat. The Chaos hordes 
  shuddered and the bodies of the daemons seemed to fade and dull. The crackle of energy died 
  and the spark of life vaporised into the oily air.
  Many lay dead, human and Eldar, gored by monstrous claws, crushed by the sensual caress of a 
  poisoned tongue, or torn apart by razor sharp teeth. Many Eldar waystones were collected from 
  the field, and many Tallarn taken back to their domes to surrender the water from their bodies to 
  the hydrotanks. But it was victory nonetheless.
  THE CURSUS
  Once the Eldar had departed in peace, and the people of both races had exchanged their 
  promises of friendship, the Tallarn returned to the Cursus. They found the black stone cold and 
  lifeless once more, just as it was when they had first uncovered it. However, they knew now that 
  the stone was not dead but merely sleeping, awaiting its time again, waiting for the call of its evil 
  masters.
  The Tallarn buried the Cursus beneath the sulphur sands once more and placed within its circle 
  the mysterious devices that the Eldar had given them for that purpose. Then they sealed the 
  surface with plascrete and turned their backs upon it.
  +++Cadia+++
  Cadia is just one world amongst many thousands in the Imperium of Mankind, but it has a special 
  and honoured place in the history of Mankind. Cadia stands upon the edge of the Eye of Terror 
  
  within a narrow corridor of stable space known as the Cadian Gate. This forms the one and only 
  truly predictable passage between the Chaos-infested daemon worlds of the Eye of Terror and 
  Earth. There are other routes, but these are less stable, inherently unpredictable paths that will 
  scatter fleets through time and space. No battlefleet of any size can rely upon these unstable 
  passages, but must pass through the Cadian Gate. Cadia is therefore one of the most 
  strategically important planets of the galaxy, and its defence is vital to the survival of the 
  Imperium of Mankind.
  Chaos Raiders
  On several occasions the forces of Chaos have moved against the world of Cadia, and raging 
  battles have been fought in the rings of Rouran and even on Cadia itself. A large part of the 
  Imperial fleet is stationed at Cadia or nearby. Such huge battles are rare, but the constant 
  intrusion of Chaos raiding craft is commonplace. Chaos Space Marines make frequent forays onto 
  the surface of Cadia, and must be hunted down and destroyed before they can entrench 
  themselves.
  As recently as five years ago, a large force of Chaos Space Marines penetrated the defences of 
  Cadia undetected, and went into hiding in the uplands of the Dorac Alps. Unknown to the 
  Cadians, these troops dug themselves in and established a formidable fortress. Soon they were 
  joined by reinforcements and their forces increased until a large army was ready to attack. 
  Fortunately, the Chaos Space Marines were detected when a ship carrying more raiders was 
  intercepted in orbit. The Cadians' own defence troops were able to contain the invaders and 
  eventually defeat them. Such incidents are not rare by any means, and the Cadians have 
  developed a powerful army which is expert at rooting out and destroying the invaders.
  The Cadian Shock Troops
  The most powerful fighting formations of the Cadian forces are called shock troops. They are 
  chosen from the fastest moving and hardest-fighting of the Cadians. As all Cadians must train in 
  the defence forces, all the best fighters are quickly identified and inducted for further training. 
  When Chaos raiders are discovered the shock troops are sent to hunt them down, and only if the 
  force is particularly large or well equipped will the Cadians send for help. Even the Space Marines 
  that have come to destroy especially large Chaos forces have found the Cadians impressive and 
  powerful allies.
  The Cadians manufacture excellent weaponry and other military equipment. the world itself is 
  heavily industrialised and has many large cities with highly skilled populations. This is reflected in 
  the Cadians' armament and wargear, which is made in uniform patterns and camouflaged in a 
  manner most suited to the mixed terrain of the Cadian wilderness.
  +++The Planet Valhalla+++
  VALHALLA
  The planet of Valhalla was once a temperate paradise of forests and broad fertile plains. There is 
  no record of its settlement, but legends recall a world ripe for colonization and development. Its 
  people spread across the world and prospered. The planet's main land masses were distributed 
  more or less evenly, one centered at the northern pole and the other at the south. The equatorial 
  regions themselves were dominated by a huge warm ocean eleven thousand miles wide.
  Approximately ten thousand years ago, Valhalla was struck by a comet of immense size and 
  weight. The planet's defense lasers poured shot after shot into the comet. This did nothing more 
  than break off several smaller fragments of what proved to be virtually solid iron. A mile wide 
  fragment struck the northern continent causing massive earthquakes and destruction, but the 
  main comet body landed in the sea.
  At first the confusion and devastation made it hard to gauge the full effect of the strike. The 
  boiling seas, clouds of vapor and pall of dust cut off the light. Temperatures plunged to freezing 
  over the whole planet. Even more significantly, the impact had knocked the whole world from its 
  orbit. For ten years Valhalla spun eccentrically until it finally settled some fifteen million miles 
  further from its sun. By then the planet was a very different place indeed.
  ICE WORLD
  Valhalla had become a frozen world of ice. The survivors of the disaster found themselves pushed 
  further and further towards the equatorial oceans as glaciers engulfed the polar continents. 
  Eventually, there was no more land left, and they were forced to live upon the ice itself. Though 
  
  99% of all life had been destroyed the people struggled through, building their cities deep inside 
  the ice, beneath the glaciers and upon the frozen ocean. What little life remained they carefully 
  cultivated, growing nutrient slimes and algae in vats hewed by thermal stills.
  Fate had dealt the world a cruel blow but had not finished with Valhalla. Just as the threat of 
  starvation seemed to be receding, another and equally dangerous foe appeared. Orks came in 
  their thousands, their damaged space fleet blown upon the winds of the warp to the ice world. 
  Finding little to sustain even their undemanding appetites, the Orks launched themselves upon 
  the Valhallans with a ferocity sharpened by hunger. It was a fight for survival. The Orks were 
  marooned and the only food on the whole planet lay inside the cities of the Valhallans - the 
  precious organic cultures and the inhabitants themselves!
  A DESPERATE STRUGGLE
  The fighting raged throughout the sub-glacial cities of the Valhallans The thermal stills which rose 
  above the ice were easy targets for the Orks, but the green-skinned creatures ignored them and 
  battered their way through the duck plasteel shutters that protected the access tunnels to the ice 
  cities. Yelling their foul war cries, the Orks charged downwards instead, right into the heart of the 
  cities. The fighting raged through the galleries and tunnels of Valhalla. The defenders knew every 
  inch of their frozen domain, every gallery and shaft, and they made good use of their familiarity 
  in each encounter As the Orks fought their way inwards they found themselves constantly 
  ambushed, or led unwittingly into dead ends where tunnels would be collapsed behind them.
  By the sixth week of fighting the Orks reached the main food chamber with its hundreds of 
  nutrient slime vats. Almost half the Orks had been killed, but the remainder were every bit as 
  determined as ever The scent of the bubbling green slime assailed their keen nostrils and they 
  licked their scaly lips in anticipation. The Valhallans prepared to put up a final resistance. If the 
  chamber was captured they would starve within a week. Every man, woman and child that could 
  carry a gun crowded into the chamber and its surrounding galleries. The battle would decide 
  which race would survive on Valhalla.
  THE FINAL BATTLE
  The Orks attacked in a great mass. The green-skinned warriors were maddened with hunger and 
  no longer seemed capable of rational thought. If the attack had been better planned it might 
  have succeeded, but as it was the Orks were repelled, though at great cost. Almost half the 
  defenders were slain or hurt. The Orks retreated and prepared for another rush.
  The second Ork attack came in two simultaneous thrusts. The first was repelled easily but this 
  proved to be nothing more than a feint. The second was directed against a small side chamber, 
  part of the nutrient packaging plant that adjoined the main production vats. The packaging plant 
  eventually fell to the Orks, its defenders dead at their posts after exacting a heavy toll amongst 
  the enemy.
  From their newly won position the Orks rapidly moved reinforcements forwards. The humans 
  found themselves in a crossfire, and were soon forced to give ground in the main chamber itself 
  The Orks were amongst the huge vats. These were Pits hewn into the ground and filled with the 
  sticky green algal slime. The raised sides of the pits provided cover for attacker and defender 
  alike. The fighting intensified as the Orks struggled forward, pit by pit, and the humans gradually 
  retreated or fell at their places.
  VICTORY!
  After three hours the Orks had lost half their number but had forced the Valhallans back against 
  the ice wall. The defenders' prospects looked grim as they prepared for a fresh assault, 
  determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible. As the Orks rose and howled their battle cry, a 
  mighty explosion tore through the cavern. Ice pillars toppled and fell into the nutrient pools, and 
  the floor heaved and broke under the Orks' feet. The Valhallans rose in their turn and with an 
  almighty scream fell upon their attackers. The Orks broke in confusion as fiery machines s 
  mashed through the floor, and the broken cavern floor swain in a mixture of slime and green 
  ichor.
  The Valhallans had won the day because se their stiff resistance gave their engineers time to 
  bore an ice shaft under the cavern floor. At the vital moment the old ice burners, industrial 
  machines used to form the sub-glacial chambers themselves, had been allowed to burst through 
  and run amok amongst the Orks. The intensely hot burners, carried by their own high pressure 
  steam, had terrified the Orks. Those who did not run were badly burned or melted, and those who 
  escaped were cut down by the vengeful Valhallans.
  
  Though the planet of Valhalla is no longer a populous or affluent world, the Valhallans are famous 
  throughout the galaxy. After destroying the Orks on their own world, regiments of Valhallans 
  joined with other Imperial Guard to rid many worlds of the Ork invaders. Always the Valhallans 
  fight with the same grim determination they displayed in the ice cities of their home world. In 
  battle their courage and -tenacity earn them the respect of other regiments from all over the 
  Imperium.
  +++MORDIAN+++
  In the long and sinister annals of the Inquisition there are many tales of treachery and horror, of 
  the destruction of worlds and the triumph of man's greed and foolishness. It is a record of human 
  weakness and the power of the Dark Gods of Chaos.
  Yet amongst that record of lost planets and mortal defeat there are a few stories of human 
  victory - rare cases where the daemonic army of Chaos has been turned aside at the moment of 
  success and driven back into the void from which it came. One such place is Mordian - the World 
  of Eternal Night.
  The Mordian day is the same length as the Mordian year, the small planet turning upon its axis 
  once each time it completes a circle of its sun. As a consequence, one side of Mordian is 
  constantly burned by the fierce heat of the sun, whilst the other side lies in eternal darkness. The 
  scorched side is lifeless and barren, a desert of splintered rock and canyons where mighty armies 
  clashed during the Age of Apostasy many years ago. On Mordian, all life is on the dark side.
  The slow revolution of Mordian does little to stir its thick atmosphere, so the weather is constantly 
  hot and still with no natural breezes to move the oppressive air. In the sultry darkness the 
  Mordians go about their daily lives. Ancient and ruinous cities sprawl across the planet's dark 
  surface. Pyramidal, multi-leveled towers reach for the sky and rise like mountains towards space. 
  Hundreds of millions of people exist upon a land surface barely one tenth the size of earth.
  Mordian is a world that seethes with people, a crowded and dark world whose rulers, the 
  Tetrarchs, must fight a constant battle against anarchy. Only the most careful husbanding of 
  Mordian's resources keeps its massive population alive. All food, all clothing, all essential 
  resources and supplies are strictly controlled, rationed and recycled. This enables the Mordians to 
  survive albeit with the utmost effort and in considerable impoverishment.
  Such harsh and demanding conditions naturally breed discontent. Few people really understand 
  the predicament they or their planet is in. Others care nothing for their fellow men and seek only 
  to accrue personal wealth and power regardless of consequences. In the decaying, multi-levelled 
  cities crime is rife. Gangsters and criminal warlords rule an underworld where life is cheap and 
  where the desperate are merely pawns to be expended as their masters please.
  THE IRON GUARD
  The Mordian Iron Guard stands between order and anarchy. They are the champions of the 
  Tetrarchy of Mordian, uniformed in bright colours and fiercely loyal to their cause. Their enemies 
  are all those who would divert the scant resources of Mordian or threaten its continued existence. 
  They fight a constant battle against the criminal warlords of, the undercity, insane gangs of 
  cannibals and misguided rabblerousers who would sooner see universal destruction than endure 
  the sacrifice necessary for the survival of the world.
  The Iron Guard are ruthless in pursuit of their enemies. Their discipline is legendary and their 
  training is as rigorous as possible. All who fight in the Iron Guard understand full well the horror 
  that would engulf their world if they were to fail in their duty. Their loyalty and determination is 
  all that keeps Mordian from plague, starvation and savagery.
  THE CONSPIRACY OF CHAOS
  The greatest threat to Mordian came one hot summer. The stifling heat was unusual even for 
  Mordian, and the planet seethed with unrest. Beneath the streets brooded a secret conspiracy 
  that posed a threat far greater than any seen before. In the depths met a dark conclave, a group 
  of men who knew the extent of Mordian's wealth and wanted it for themselves. Away from the 
  sight of saner citizens they made their incantations and called upon the Dark Gods of Chaos.
  A spell was begun. It is impossible to say how much innocent blood was spilled to fuel their 
  sorcery, or what sinister pledges were made to their dark masters. Those who cast the spell 
  sought only personal enrichment, their lust for power knew no bounds. They would destroy the 
  
  planet itself if they had to. They cared no more for its teeming millions than did the Chaos gods.
  The summer grew hotter as the spell neared its completion. Many strange things were reported in 
  the capital. The cannibal mobs and criminal gangs were restless. Men saw winged monsters 
  hovering in the city lights. People disappeared without trace.
  A SKY OF FLAMES
  At last the spell was complete and suddenly the world shook as its sky erupted into flame and 
  disgorged the Warlords of Chaos itself. From the Eye of Terror distorted and ugly spacecraft 
  soared into the Mordian sides to rain fire and destruction upon the world. Chaos Space Marines 
  poured into the city slaying all around in a great and bloody sacrifice to their gods. Daemons 
  stalked the burning towers and hunted the souls of those that fled from the devastation below.
  From their dark hiding places the servants of Chaos crawled to the surface to bathe in the fire and 
  terror of the world confident of their masters' favour now that their work was done.
  CHAOS WAR
  As the sky exploded into flame the Tetrarchs of Mordian ordered their Astropaths to send psychic 
  calls for help. The power of Chaos was so strong that the Astropaths' minds melted with the 
  effort. It was impossible for anyone to say whether the messages got through or if help was on its 
  way.
  Meanwhile, the Iron Guard fought a gallant resistance against the daemonic assault. Whilst lesser 
  men fled in terror before the might of Chaos the Iron Guard stood their ground, pouring volley 
  after volley into the enemy ranks. At last the Iron Guard captains were forced to give the order to 
  withdraw. Though their men would stand until the end they could achieve little against the 
  hordes that opposed them. Reluctantly the Iron Guard regrouped around the capital, abandoning 
  the rest of the planet to the enemy.
  Whilst the forces of Chaos rampaged throughout Mordian the Iron Guard prepared the capital's 
  defences. Every building became a fortress, every tower a strongpoint, and every street and 
  plaza. a killing-zone for the Iron Guard's carefully sighted weapons. At the center lay the 
  Tetrarchal palace itself, from which the defence of the capital was coordinated.
  When the attack began the Iron Guard was well prepared. Chaos Space Marines fell before their 
  well disciplined fire as shot after shot struck their ranks. Channeled into well prepared fire traps 
  the Chaos Marines were easily repelled, but far greater and more potent foes followed upon their 
  heels.
  ATTACK FROM THE DEPTHS
  From the sewers and service ducts poured an army of those who had sold their souls to the Dark 
  Gods. Clad in rags and armed with no more than iron bars and lengths of chain they threw 
  themselves upon the defenders. Driven by their insane devotion to Chaos they cared little if they 
  lived or died, and thousands were cut down by the devastating weapons of the Iron Guard. 
  Nonetheless, this attack from an unexpected source left the defenders unprepared for the next 
  assault.
  The forces of Chaos moved upon the Iron Guard with purpose. Daemons and Chaos Marines 
  advanced as one. Bloodthirsters of Khorne roared a great challenge to chill mortal blood. Keepers 
  of Secrets stalked the battlefield, slaying those that dared to look upon them with a withering 
  glare. Whirling Horrors skipped and chattered in an eerie blur of incandescent power. It was a 
  terrifying sight, yet the Iron Guard held firm before the onslaught though many paid the ultimate 
  price for their devotion.
  Street by street, building by building, the Iron Guard fell back into the heart of the city. Their lines 
  drew tighter but refused to break, as attack after attack was repulsed. When losses grew too 
  heavy to endure, or as positions were outflanked and became untenable, the Iron Guard withdrew 
  to another line, always preserving what they could of their men and weapons. It was a battle 
  fought with all the tactical brilliance and discipline the best Imperial troops could hope for. Yet it 
  was a battle the Mordians could not win. Eventually they would have nowhere left to retreat to.
  THE BATTLE FOR THE PALACE
  At last the Iron Guard took position around the Tetrarchal palace itself, the last strongpoint on the 
  whole world. Behind hastily constructed defences the infantry waited for the inevitable attack. 
  From the towers and ceremonial balconies the barrels of lascannons and other heavy weapons 
  glinted in the fight of the burning sky.
  Suddenly the horde of Chaos was upon them, screaming and bellowing in its might. Greater 
  Daemons of Nurgle strode clumsily amongst their minions, rising above them four or five times 
  
  the height of a man, giants and lords of their foul kind. The bloated daemons shuffled forward, 
  putrid innards spilling over the ground, nauseous gasses bubbling from rents and tears in their 
  leathery flesh. Beside them were the Chaos Space Marines of that pestilential god, their armour 
  green and rancid with decay, their rank bodies stiff with disease. Before them came a black cloud 
  of flies which buzzed about the Iron Guard, crawling into their eyes and ears, and filling their 
  mouths with black hairy bodies.
  The Iron Guard's lasguns spat a volley of death into the screaming horde. Again the lasguns 
  cracked with a single voice, as the captains ordered shot after shot into the vile mass. From the 
  Tetrarchal palace came the chatter of autocannons, the angry scream of boltguns and the 
  piercing shriek of lascannons. With mechanical precision the weapon crews loaded and fired, 
  loaded and fired, never stopping for one moment or breaking their routine. Daemon gore ran like 
  a foul river in the once white square, but as one beast fell another twice as hideous marched over 
  its body towards the Iron Guard's position.
  The captains ordered their men back to the palace steps and formed a firing line. Their discipline 
  intact, the Iron Guard prepared for a single volley before the forces of Chaos fell upon them. Their 
  final moment had come, though there were few left now to witness their inevitable defeat.
  THE TIDE IS TURNED
  Little could the defenders of Mordian know of the power or purposes of Chaos. How could they 
  imagine, as the hordes of Chaos advanced upon them, that the Chaos gods' hold upon Mordian 
  was but a tenuous one. The spell that had brought them to mortal space and imbued the flesh of 
  their servants with physical energy was almost spent. The fires that burned in the sky were 
  growing dim and the bellows of daemons echoed shallowly in the air.
  As the Iron Guard watched, their enemies dissolved before their eyes. The sky darkened to its 
  customary blackness. In the dark the guiding lights of Imperial spacecraft glittered amongst the 
  stars. The Iron Guard had won not just a battle, but the most precious thing of all - time. From 
  beyond the orbit of Mordian Imperial psykers had wrought a counter spell to break the hold of 
  Chaos. Whilst the Iron Guard fought upon the planet, a separate battle of wills had raged between 
  mortals and gods. Only the Iron Guard's heroic resistance had given the psykers enough time to 
  work their mystical abilities before Chaos won the planet for all time.
  +++Necromundan 8th 'Spiders'+++
  There are many ancient Imperial Guard regiments with long and glorious histories. One of the 
  most famous is the "Spiders," as the Necromundan 8th is commonly called. This regiment is 
  recruited from the barbaric hive world of Necromunda and its warriors come exclusively from the 
  Spider Clan of the Palatine Hive complex.
  The Spiders are raised as warriors in the lower hab layers of the hive. Here amongst the ruins of 
  past millenia they defend a territory where decaying water pipes, power lines and partially 
  collapsed ventilation shafts are the currency of power. Their lives are savage and violent, and 
  their very survival depends upon their skill at arms and determination in close combat.
  The Spiders are paid and armed by the Imperial Commander of Necromunda to keep down other 
  rebellious clans, and so, on paper at least, form part of the planet's own army. This arrangement 
  suits the Spiders admirably and, so long as they stay in the lower parts of the hive, it suits the 
  Imperial Commander too!
  Necromunda supplies many regiments for the Imperial Guard, of which the Spiders are one of the 
  best. At the Battle of Deucalion it was the spectacular heroism of the Spiders that enabled the 
  Imperial Guard to hold onto its landing fields long enough to evacuate the planet. Only the 
  Spiders and Warmaster Solon's own troops remained to hold off the overwhelming enemy forces 
  as regiment after regiment filed into the troop transports. When the last transports landed a 
  massive enemy barrage fell amongst he ships, destroying half of them.
  Immediately and without waiting for orders the Spiders' commander Raevan Mortz advanced 
  towards the foe. The Warmaster Solon and his troops had no choice but to take to the remaining 
  ships, and although they waited until the last minute before taking off none of the Spiders left 
  Deucalion that day.
  
  +++ATTILA+++
  The world of Attila is a bit smaller than Earth with a single continent which covers almost half its 
  surface. The center of this massive continent is prone to such extremes of temperature that it 
  remains uninhabited, a baking desert in the summer which becomes a sub-zero sea of sand and 
  snow over winter. Between the death lands of the continental center and the coasts is a belt of 
  rich steppes thousands of miles deep punctuated with mountain chains, mighty inland lakes, and 
  vast rivers. Only towards the coastal edges does the grassland give way to verdant forests, 
  encircling the entire continent with a thin arboreal band. 
  Humans settled on Attila many thousands of years ago and must have adopted the nomadic life 
  almost immediately. The original landing site of Khanasan has grown into the only city on the 
  whole planet. The bustling metropolis is a gathering place for the tribes of Attila and the center of 
  its government. The bulk of the population are nomads who subsist from their herds of ovigors, 
  gigantic shaggy and savage animals native to the world of Attila. Their rich flesh and dark blood 
  form the basic subsistence diet of the tribes. When the summer comes, the Attilans drive their 
  herds towards the heart of the continent, following the spring thaw and new grown pasture. In 
  winter, they retreat towards the outer grasslands abutting the coasts, and here their animals find 
  enough grazing to keep them alive until the year's turn.
  The Imperium recruits some of the most ferocious mounted warriors from this barbaric world. 
  Attilan regiments of Imperial Guard Rough Riders have fought all over the galaxy in many 
  different theatres of war. On worlds thousands of light years from Attila the image of the scarred 
  tribesman resplendent in his crude furs and bedecked with beads and rings is as familiar as it is 
  frightening.
  The Attilans' warrior prowess is founded upon a tradition of fighting amongst themselves, for the 
  tribes of Attila respect only power and a king must be prepared to demonstrate his might to 
  doubting rivals. When a lord of the Attilans defeats an enemy he cuts off the beaten man's head 
  and his artificers turn the skull into a drinking cup as a permanent symbol of his victory A tribal 
  chieftain may have many such skulls, bound with ornately carved gold or inlaid with silver, 
  embellished with rubies and sapphires of immense worth. The King of Khanasan and Lord of Attila 
  is the most mighty of all, acknowledged as the King of a Thousand Skulls!
  It is said that Attilans are born in the saddle, and they are amongst the greatest horsemen in the 
  galaxy. The horses they prefer are thick-set beasts, ill-tempered and likely to bite or kick anyone 
  unwise enough to give them the chance to do so. The riders depend upon their horses a great 
  deal, and value them more highly than gold. In adversity a warrior will draw off some of the 
  animal's blood and drink it to sustain himself. In this way Attilans can live without food or water 
  for many days, enabling them to operate deep behind enemy lines without supplies.
  Characteristic features of an Attilan warrior are the scars that he bears upon his cheeks, long 
  knife cuts of white tissue which stand out against his weather beaten skin. These marks are cut 
  into his cheeks as a young man, and ashes from the camp fire are rubbed into the wounds so that 
  they leave deep and prominent scars.
  Attilans wear their hair in long braids. They do not wash themselves or clean their clothes, 
  believing that to do so would affront the spirits of water with which they superstitiously people 
  their land. This tradition has proven hard to break, despite considerable effort on the part of the 
  Adeptus Ministorum preachers in the barely tolerated mission in Khanasan. Indeed, it is 
  sometimes said that the stench of an Attilan is as powerful a weapon as his hunting lance!
  >>The Inquisition
  +++The Inquisition+++
  The Imperium is so vast and the task of directing the fate of humanity such an important one, 
  that running the day-to-day business of empire is as beneath the Emperor as is the fate of a 
  
  single planet or a mere handful of billions of people. For this reason the will of the Emperor is 
  executed via two colossal organisations - the Adeptus Terra (also known as the priesthood) and 
  the Inquisition. 
  Inquisitors are special agents of the Imperium; free-roaming trouble- shooters bound by no laws 
  or authority. Every Inquisitor is empowered to investigate any possible or potential threat to the 
  future of humanity, whether that threat comes in the form of political aggression, administrative 
  inefficiency or genetic deviation. There are no bounds to the Inquisitor's field of operation: alien 
  plots, mutation, corruption, crime and incompetence aU come under his jurisdiction. Inquisitors 
  usually operate alone, but where necessary they will requisition, hire or purchase men and 
  materials to help with their duty. Many Inquisitors maintain a small personal staff to aid them in 
  their work. They may also request the cooperation of the Adeptus Terra in matters where their 
  special forces are required. 
  The most common threat posed to humanity, and therefore the most common problem faced by 
  the Inquisitor, is that of psykers. The Inquisitor must be on his guard not only for individual 
  psykers (who are mostly harmless) but for organisations, secret cults and other, so-called 
  revolutionary groups working to protect and hide emergent psykers. Although such groups might 
  start with good intentions, they always fall under the sway of psychically attuned aliens - 
  creatures that wish only to destroy or enslave mankind. Another great threat to humanity which 
  the Inquisition labour to expose is that of mutation - the constant pollution of the human gene-
  pool. Although most mutations are harmless, if the race is to develop into the new, psychically 
  aware creature envisioned by the Emperor, other sinister and potentially dangerous mutations 
  must be destroyed. Mutations which affect psykers can produce creatures almost as great a 
  threat as some of the psychically attuned aliens. 
  His work through the galaxy has earned the Inquisitor the name of witch-hunter, torturer and 
  worse. Where necessary he is both of these, and things more terrible, for any means justifies an 
  end so vital and so endangered. 
  Profile. Inquisitors often come from the ranks of the priesthood. They have human profiles, but 
  onlyan extraordinary human could take on the responsibilities of the Inquisitor. 
  Inquisitors are often drawn from the ranks of psychic members of the priesthood - so any 
  Inquisitor has a 50% chance of having psychic powers. Psychic Inquisitors are also individuals 
  who haw been judged by the Adeptus Astrapathica as mentally strong enough not to require 
  ritual soul-bonding with the Emperor (see the Adeptus Astra Telepathica for a full description of 
  this process). 
  Organisation. Every Inquisitor is a free agent, operating independently of other Inquisitors or 
  central authority. They would, however, regard it as a matter of honour to repond to fellow 
  Inquisitors in trouble or requiring assistance. Similarly, the first loyalty of every Inquisitor is to the 
  Emperor, and an imperial command would be obeyed whatever the circumstances. Of all the 
  Inquisition agents only one, the Master of the Inquisition, may be said to rank above the others. 
  He works directly with the Emperor on Earth, and has direct access to the Emperor himself. His 
  task is to report on the Inquisition's mission to the Emperor, and to communicate the Emperor's 
  commands to scattered agents throughout the Imperium. 
  Equipment. There is no item of equipment which is unavailable to the Inquisition. Their very 
  duty places them in constant contact with exotic, often alien, technology. Equipment carried by 
  each agent is a matter of individual choice, and might be varied depending on circumstances. 
  Most Inquisitors wear powered armour, often discreetly hidden under a tabard and worn without a 
  helmet. An armour energy- field of some kind would feature on the equipment list of almost all 
  agents. Weapons carried at all times would include at least one pistol (usually a bolter) and a 
  sword (often a chain sword or power sword). Older, richer or luckier agents might even boast 
  Jokaero digital weapons, even as many as ten, although 1-4 would be more usual. 
  A typical Inquisitor is represented here by the renowned Obiwan Sherlock Clousseau - a tireless 
  exposer of psychic misdeeds and genetic deviance. He wears a suit of skin tight powered armour 
  under a long, enveloping cloak. Like most Inquisitors, he distains the open wearing of a helmet in 
  favour of civilian head-wear (Inquisitors tend to be eccentric in their dress as well as their life-
  styles). Under his cloak are hidden various energy-field devices - conversion field, stasis field and 
  refractor field (only one can be used at once of course). His favoured weapon is the bolt pistol, 
  although he also carries a power sword and three Jokaero digital weapons; hand flamer, laspistol 
  and needle pistol. He has several grenades secreted about his person, including two each of 
  
  blind, choke, haywire and knock-out, and one each of crack, plasma, stumm, tanglefoot and 
  vortex. He also has a communicator, bio- scanner, energy-scanner, nose filters, photochromatic 
  eye drops, an immune injector, infra-vision contacts, chemicals for the Jokaero needler, a porta-
  rack, a rad-counter, a stimulant chemical, a syn-skin applicator and sufficent chemical for three 
  uses, three suspensors and a can of web solvent. As can be seen, Obiwan Sherlock Clousseau is 
  equipped for just about anything - but then he has to be - he's an Inquisitor. 
  Uniforms. Inquisitors do not wear uniforms, instead they wear civilian dress - itself variable 
  throughout the Imperium. They do wear a badge of office as a sign of authority, but as often as 
  not they will be working under cover and would not display it. 
  +++Inquisitors and the+++
  +++Ordo Malleus+++
  Inquisitors are free-roaming special agents of the Imperium and are boundby no laws or 
  Authority. Every Inquisitor is empowered to investigate any possible or potential threat to the 
  future of humanity; whether that threat comes in the form of political aggression, administrative 
  inefficiency or genetic deviation. There are no bounds to the Inquisitor's field of operation: alien 
  plots, mutation, corruption, crime and incompetence all fall within his jurisdiction. Inquisitors 
  usually operate alone, independant of one another. They may also request aid from 
  theAdministratum of Terra, and this request is rarely not answered. The most prominent threat to 
  humanity is, of course, psykers. They are ruthless in their apprehension and execution of 
  suspected psykers. The Inquisitor's work has earned him the title of Witch-Hunter and Torturer. 
  When necessary, he is both of these and things more terrible, for any means justifies an end so 
  vital as the protection of humanity.
  The Ordo Malleus is also a part of the Inquisition, although, secret. Not even other Inquisitors 
  know much about them... save they keep watch over the other Inquisitors. The origins of the Ordo 
  are very ancient, and predate the Emperors being placed in the Golden Throne. Even though the 
  Ordo watches the purity of the Inquisition Ordinary, it is also charged with safe-guarding 
  humanity against the creeping forces of Chaos (something an ordinary Inquisitor knows nothing 
  about). Unlike the Inquisition Ordanary, the Ordo has a rigid hierarchy. It is controlled by a council 
  of 169 Masters, each of whom has a right to personal audience with the Emperor. Their authority 
  extends to even the Master of the Inquisition, and more than one has been tried and executed by 
  the Ordo Malleus. Below the Masters are the Proctors and the Proctors Minor, each of whom 
  controls a Chamber of the Ordo. There are two Chambers the Chambers Practical (those Ordo 
  who operate in the field) and the Chambers Historical & Theoretical (those Ordo who are to old for 
  field work and simply do research).
  The Ordo acts under the Emperor's warrant, and has a completely free hand. He can demand 
  anything he wants to carry out his duty. An Imperial servant (from the Adeptus Astartes to 
  Chuckus the store clerk) must simply obey, no questions asked (Assassins are exempt from this, 
  however). 75% of all Ordo Chambers are psychic. The military arm of the Ordo is the 666th 
  chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, the Grey Knights. However, both Space Marines and Imperial 
  Guard are often conscripted by the Ordo for troops. It is worth noting that such conscripted troops 
  suffer a terrible fate... not only are they destined to face the mind-warping atrocities of Chaos, 
  but after the battle, they are all killed by the Ordo Chamber and/or Grey Knights. They are, of 
  course, given posthumous honours for their having to die while serving the Emperor and saving 
  Humanity. The Space Marines are too valuable to simply kill, though. So, each Space Marine who 
  is conscripted to assist an Ordo is Mind-Scrubbed. He will not remember anything about either 
  the Ordo Chamber, the Grey Knights, being conscripted and what was battled with. Indeed, those 
  memories are destroyed.
  +++Grey Knights+++ 
  The Grey Knights are unique among the Legiones Astartes as the only chapter to have full knowledge of the dark secrets 
  
  of Chaos - they alone know of the existence of Daemons and their appearance in the real world, and they alone are 
  equipped to battle and defeat mankind's most terrible enemy." While the Grey Knights are technically Adeptus Astartes, 
  they do not involve themselves with the ordinary activities of Space Marines. They are instead, a part of the Inquisition. 
  And act as the military arm of the Ordo Malleus, with their main base being located on Saturn's moon Titan. The Grey 
  Knights are unique in that they have no antecedants. The Chapters Gene-seed was designed from an unknown source by 
  the Adeptus Mechanicus. The high ratio of psykers in the chapter points to a source outside of the normal processes of 
  existing Space Marine Chapters. There are conflicting reports of when this chapter was founded. I believe that the 
  account of their being the first chapter created after the Heresy, to be the most likely. However it is also rumored that 
  they were created upon the direct orders of the Emperor during the Great Crusade. The marines are subjected to training 
  far more difficult than that of normal Chapters. "To date these extraordinary measures have been effective: in 10,000 
  years of combat against the forces of darkness not one Grey Knight has failed in battle or betrayed the Emperor in word 
  or deed. 
  The Grey Knights' color scheme for Powered Armor is a grey similar to that of the Space Sharks. However, their more 
  well known units, Terminators, wear metallic armor. The most common colors are gold, brass, and steel. Each Grey 
  Knight Terminator goes into battle carrying his personally hand crafted copy of the 'Liber Daemonicus', the Chapters 
  sacred book of battle rituals. It can often be seen displayed in its ornately decorated ceremite case, hanging from a chain 
  or fastened to his breast-plate. 
  "Nemesis Force weapons are the standard class of armament use by Grey Knight Terminators. The Nemesis is a double-
  handed weapon and comes in several forms, often as a halberd or a two-handed sword. 
  Whatever their shape, all Nemesis weapons have the same basic design and function: the blade is a powerful force 
  weapon housing a psi-matrix attuned to the unique psychic field of it's owner; and the haft or handle contains a modified 
  storm bolter which can be used in both ranged combat and close assault." 
  The Grey Knights secret fortress-monastery is located on Saturn's largest moon, Titan. The fortess is also the home to a 
  unique library of knowledge known to a select few as the 'Librarium Daemonica'. It contains information about the Warp 
  and the forces of Chaos, "tens of thousands of tomes of arcane lore and diabolism," accumulated over the millennia by the 
  Ordo Malleus. 
  Most of the Chapter is scattered throughout the Imperium, usually organised into small units that have trained and fought 
  together for their entire lives. When reports of possible Demonic incursion are received, they are able to respond 
  immediately and investigate. It is not unusual for Grey Knights to be out in the farthest reaches of the Imperium for 
  several decades at a time. When they die, a Grey knights only request is to have their remains returned to Titan. Where 
  they can rest at last from their constant vigilance in the hallowed crypts far beneath the monastery amongst some of the 
  Imperium's greatest and most unsung heroes.
  +++The Ordo Malleus+++
  The Ordo malleus is an inner college within the Imperium, it's activities and existence shrouded in 
  secrecy. The Inquisition goes to great lengths to hide the existence of Chaos and it's warped 
  servants from the bulk of Humanity. The Emperor and his advisors fear that such knowledge 
  would have a terrible attraction for Humanity, and Chaos would be hastened. The Ordo, when it is 
  mentioned at all, is always referred to as a watchdog on the Inquisition itself. It's purpose, as the 
  Imperium's elite (and only) DaemonHunters, is altogether more serious and sinister. 
  The origins of the Ordo Malleus are very ancient, and predate the Emperor's confinement in his 
  throne-machine. The Ordo was originally established to police the thoughts and deeds of the 
  Inquisition itself, but is now also charged with seeking out and destroying all manifestations of 
  Chaos within the Imperium. It's chief targets are the raiders of the Traitor Legions, and covens of 
  Chaos worshippers who infect the Imperium, and the Sensei, who are regarded as a great threat 
  to the good order of the Empire.
  Unlike the rest of the Inquisition, the Ordo has a rigid and formalized hierarchy. It is controlled by 
  a council of 169 Masters, who have the right to direct audience with the Emperor. Their authority 
  extends even to the Master of the Inquisition who has, on more than one occasion, been tried and 
  executed by the Masters of the Ordo. 
  Below the Masters are the Proctors and Proctors Minor, each of whom controls a Chamber of the 
  Ordo. The Chambers, named for their founding Proctor, are the basic unit of the Ordo. The rank 
  
  and file of these are the Inquisitors Ordinary. Within a parallel organization of 'Chambers 
  Theoretical and Historical' are the Inquisitors Historical. These are the older members of the Ordo 
  who can no longer carry out active duties for reasons of ill- health or infirmity. They are assigned 
  to research and collation projects in the vast Administratum Libraries. The number of Inquisitors 
  Ordinary and Historical in a Chamber varies from only a few score for the Chambers Theoretical 
  and Historical (which are engaged in research and disreputation) to hundreds for some of the 
  chambers Practical (the sector establishments of the Ordo in the field). 
  The Ordo acts directly under the Emperor's Warrant, and has a completely free hand. An Ordo 
  Inquisitor Ordinary can demand anything in carrying out his duty. No explanation needs to be 
  offered; the Imperial servant faced with an Ordo Inquisitor must simply obey. The commonest 
  demand by Inquisitors Ordinary is for troops to support their action. Such forces never survive 
  under an Inquisitor Ordinary's command, but posthumous honors are heaped upon units attached 
  to the Ordo. 
  The Ordo Malleus Inquisitor
  The Inquisitors of the Ordo Malleus are drawn from the ranks of the Inquisition, but are trained 
  and conditioned to a far higher standard. 
  The Ordo prides itself on the psychic abilities of it's members. More than 75% of Ordo Inquisitors 
  have psychic abilities, having been deemed strong enough to undergo the soul bonding ritual 
  with the Emperor. 
  Members of the Ordo favor a simple and sinister uniform. They wear black, loose-fitting habits 
  over their armor with large hoods that hide their faces in shadow. Graphic electoos (a form of 
  tattoo) are a traditional, though unofficial, addition to the uniform of the Ordo. Because graphic 
  electoos appear to move beneath the owner's skin, their appearance can be quite disturbing. 
  Again by tradition, Ordo Inquisitors have one graphic electoo for each coven member they have 
  discovered and cleansed, and it is not uncommon for successful Inquisitors to be covered from 
  head to foot in elaborate designs. The designs for Ordo electoos have fixed for generations, and 
  the motifs chosen are always variations on Daemons and scenes of the daemonic, the Ordo's 
  enemies. This makes an Ordo member's electoos particularly horrifying. 
  The badge of the Ordo, the Imperial eagle clutching a rod and an axe, is usually worn on the 
  shoulder or the right breast. Proctors and Masters are always psykers, and carry a force weapon 
  indicating their authority.
  The Grey Knights
  The Ordo has a complete Chapter of the Legiones Astartes attached to it on a permanent basis. 
  The Grey Knights were a single Chapter created during an unregistered Founding shortly after the 
  (official) Third Founding. Although technically Marines of the Adeptus Astartes, the Grey Knights 
  are, to all intents and purposes, part of the Inquisition. They are listed as a Third Founding unit, 
  and by the Emperor's instruction, were designated Chapter number 666. However, they have 
  never been attached to any Marine force, and by tradition their Chapter Master has always been 
  an Inquisitor of the Ordo rather than a Space Marine. In effect the Grey Knights are a 'Chamber 
  Militant' of the Ordo Malleus, and occasionally refer to themselves as such. 
  The Grey Knights are fully as effective as any other Marine Chapter. They are specially screened 
  to exclude all but the strongest and most resilient psykers, a measure designed to prevent any 
  Daemonic contamination. As a result, few of the Grey Knights have any psychic power 
  whatsoever. Their training and surgery rituals are, if anything, more demanding than those of 
  'ordinary' Marine units. 
  Recruits are conditioned to ignore pain and fear, and undergo neurosurgery to isolate and bypass 
  their fear centers. They are exposed to wild psykers, mutants and deviants of every kind. They 
  are trained to destroy them without conscious thought. This training produces a rigidly disciplined 
  and controlled mind to which the presence of Daemons is less of a shock than for normal beings. 
  Their lives are ones of self-denial and spartan purity, filled with rituals to strengthen the mind and 
  the heart against the horrors they must face. The Grey Knights are also imbued with a zeal and 
  purpose to dwarf that of any other Marine Chapter. Often entire companies are granted an 
  audience with the Emperor, a privilege normally reserved for the Adeptus Custodes. To date 
  these extraordinary measures have been effective: in over 10,000 years of combat against the 
  forces of darkness, not one Grey Knight has faltered in battle or betrayed the Emperor in word or 
  deed. 
  Added to this spirit is the finest equipment in the Imperium. The Grey Knights are given only the 
  
  best Marine equipment, with battle-proven and improved designs being given to them before any 
  other Marine unit. 
  The Grey Knights are based in a secret fortress-monastery on Titan, the largest of Saturn's 
  moons. Here the young aspirants are sent to undergo hundreds of trials of both body and spirit. 
  Finally the handful of survivors (for none who fail survive) are implanted with the Chapter's gene-
  seed and begin their real training. Their bodies are hardened to withstand pain and fear and their 
  minds are disciplined to withstand against the foul machinations of Chaos. 
  The fortress-monastery also contains a unique repository of knowledge about the warp and Chaos 
  which has been painstakingly pieced together by the Ordo Malleus down the millennia in the 
  Librarium Daemonica. This gloomy and forbidding place contains tens of thousands of tomes of 
  arcane lore and diabolism, cracked with age and heavy with the psychic evil they have brought 
  upon the universe. Every Grey Knight Psychic Terminator carries the Chapter's sacred tome of 
  battle rituals, the Liber Daemonicus, in a special ceramite case upon their armor. This holy book 
  contains the essential tenets of warp lore rendered from the dusty shelves of the Librarius 
  Daemonica and is one of the Grey Knight's greatest weapons. 
  The majority of the Chapter's strength is scattered across the Imperium in fast ships guided by 
  the finest Navigators of the Navis Nobilite. these forces are typically organized in small teams 
  that have trained and fought together for their entire lives. Thus they stand ready to respond 
  instantly to the first reports of daemonic incursions anywhere in the Imperium. Grey Knights may 
  be stationed in the farthest reaches of the galaxy for decades at a time. All Grey Knights hope to 
  be returned to their adopted homeworld of Titan when they die. There they can rest at last from 
  their constant vigilance in the hallowed crypts far beneath the monastery amongst some of the 
  Imperium's greatest and most unsung heroes. 
  Only the Grey Knights survive in the service of the Ordo. All other troops die when given over to 
  them. The reason for non- survival is simple: any troops that an Inquisitor Ordinary has 
  commanded have been exposed to Daemons. They are therefore privy to one of the most closely-
  guarded Imperial secrets; that Daemons exist and Chaos is a terrible threat. Those that survive a 
  battle or campaign are executed, with full honors, shortly afterward. They are expendable, and 
  entire Imperial regiments and corps have been dispatched by the Ordo Malleus. 
  The most notable occasion was at the end of the Nexxas Excuplation (M40.561). An incursion by 
  the Traitor Legionnaires of the Emperor's Children was opposed by a complete Imperial Army 
  corps. Once the invasion had been beaten back the corps was destroyed by orbital bombardment 
  from an Ordo warship. The Imperial records were altered to show that a renegade force of Eldar 
  was responsible for the destruction of the unit. 
  The only general exception to this policy of secrecy-by- extermination are Adeptus Astartes units. 
  Execution of a Marine is seen as wasteful. Marine units are mind-scrubbed rather than killed: their 
  memories destroyed rather than their bodies. Mindscrubbing removes any and all memories of 
  the Ordo's true purpose, but requires its victims to be completely retrained. Mind-scrubbed 
  Marines cannot even feed themselves, let alone fight for the Imperium. 
  Of the Adeptus Astartes only the Grey Knights are allowed to retain their memories. The centuries 
  have proved that the Grey Knights can keep the secret of the Ordo's hidden war against Chaos as 
  well as any Inquisitor
  +++Quotes from the Inquisitors+++
  Some may question your right to destroy ten billion people. Those who understand realise that 
  you have no right to let them live!
  - Officio Exterminatum In Exterminatus Extremis
  Of creations most foul I beheld the Lord of All and knew that I was dead.
  - Inquisitor Brand Last Words
  Aye Captain - Faith is the strongest weapon in your armoury now.
  - Inquisitor Lord Kryptman At the Battle of Ymnar
  Strike fast and suddenly. Attack without warning. Secure victory before the foe is aware of his 
  danger. Remember always, a war is easily won if your enemy does not know he is fighting.
  - Inquisitor Lord Kryptman From the Macharian Heresy
  Against the Great Enemy the Eldar have no hope of victory. They hang on to existence, yet their 
  
  grip upon the universe is slipping, their hold becomes more precarious with every passing year.
  - Inquisitor Czevak Discussing with Lord Kryptman
  You are not free whose liberty is won by the rigour of other, more righteous souls. Your are 
  merely protected. Your freedom is parasitic, you suck the honourable man dry and offer nothing 
  in return. You who have enjoyed freedom, who have done nothing to earn it, your time has come. 
  This time you will stand alone and fight for yourselves. Now you will pay for your freedom in the 
  currency of honest toil and human blood.
  - Inquisitor Czevak Address to the Council of Ryanti
  Though I have seen within the Black Library and spoken to its most terrible guardian, I can never 
  reveal what happened there; not to any man nor even the Emperor himself for I am so forsworn 
  to powers beyond your knowledge. I can only say that a time of inconveivable horror is about to 
  begin. A time when mankind will all the might of the Imperium cannot endure when the strength 
  of the Eldar fails. Even now, our doom stalks us across the stars.
  - Inquisitor Czevak At the Conclave of Har
  There is a terrible darkness decending upon the galaxy, and we shall not see it ended in our 
  lifetimes.
  - Inquisitor Czevak At the Conclave of Har
  They have only one purpose and there is nothing they will not do to accomplish this, no matter 
  how vile or loathsome it might be. These abominations mean to destroy everything proud and 
  noble, everything we hold dear and have fought so long to achieve.
  - Inquisitor Agmar On Tyranids
  The more I learn about these aliens, the more I come to understand what drives them, the more I 
  hate them. I hate them for what they are and for what they may one day become. I hate them not 
  because they hate us but because they are incapable of good, honest, human hatred.
  - Inquisitor Agmar On Tyranids
  Heresy is like a tree, its roots lie in the darkness whilst its leaves wave in the sum and to those 
  who suspect nought it has an attractive and pleasing appearance. Truly, you can prune away its 
  branches, or even cut the tree to the ground, but it will grow up again ever the stronger and ever 
  more comely. Yet all awhile the root grows thick and black, gnawing at the bitter soil, drawing its 
  nourishment from the darkness, and growing even greater and more deeply entreched.
  - Inquisitor Lord Galan Noirgrim Master of the Ordo Malleus
  Now the past must unveal one of its darkest secrets, the story of the Plague of Unbelief and its 
  most heinous vector Bucharis the Apostate Cardial of Gathalamor. Never has the Imperium 
  endured such as crisis of faith, not since the dark days of the Horus Heresy itself.
  - Inquisitor Lord Galan Noirgrim Master of the Ordo Malleus
  +++Discussion between+++
  +++Captain Stern+++
  +++and Lord Inquisitor Kryptman+
  ++
  Space Marine Captain Stein looked out upon the desolation. For three days the Imperial Guard's 
  heaviest weaponry had pounded the forest of Ymnar. Where trees had once grown in unbroken 
  ranks now there was thick red mud and wood pulp. Scorched craters pock-marked the landscape 
  and massive rocks lay where exploding shells had tossed them. The ground still smoked, and 
  Captain Stein guessed that it would be hot to the touch. He was grateful to be insulated from the 
  heat and stench by his burdensome Terminator armour.
  "Is it done?" he asked, almost to himself, "Is it really over?"
  "Over!" exclaimed the other man, "Captain, it has not yet begun."
  Inquisitor Lord Kryptman pointed to the south. His gnarled hand clicked and buzzed as prosthetic 
  tissues and osteo-steel stetched and spun. Captain Stein caught a flash of brilliant scarlet upon 
  
  the brass finger ring that adorned the bio-constructed hand. The Inquisitorial Seal.
  "I see them Inquisitor," said the Space Marine Captain. His vision, though many times keener than 
  that of an ordinary man, strained to reveal tiny movements in the distance. Gradually, as if 
  responding to a common signal, the tortured soil moved, pushed up from some as yet unseen 
  force.
  "It won't be long now Captain," Kryptman warned, "I know these enemy. You can't kill them with 
  guns and swords. Send the Confessors and the Chaplains to their station, and let every warrior 
  prepare for the greatest battle of his life."
  "Daemons...," exclaimed Stein, "may the Emperor protect us!"
  Inquisitor Lord Kryptman nodded. "Aye Captain - faith is the strongest weapon in your armoury 
  now."
  +++Inquisitor Kryptman+++
  "You know what you must do, Borshak?" Inquisitor Kryptman asked sternly.
  The psyker nodded shakily. "I-I must read this alien artifact and t-tell you what I find."
  Kryptman nodded. He mistrusted Borshak - like all empaths, the psyker was highly strung but 
  there was more to it than that. There was a weakness about the skinny youth that made 
  Kryptman suspect that Borshak might be receptive to malign influence. He resolved to watch him 
  closely.
  They made their way down the cold corridor of the Talasa Prime base. The two black-robed 
  security novices saluted Kryptman at the door. He answered their salute by punching his fist 
  against his chest.
  "Password?" asked one of the novices. Ordinarily Kryptman would have been unfazed by the need 
  to give the code words. Even here in one of the most heavily-guarded citadels of the Inquisition 
  he could understand the need for vigilance. However, he was nervous about the alien artifact and 
  the circumstances it had been discovered in..
  Coupled with the reports of sector wide unrest, it had set his nerves on edge. He wondered if the 
  appearance of this strange creature was the harbinger of some new threat to the security of the 
  Imperium.
  "Opus Dei," he said testily. The cold-eyed novice stepped aside. Kryptman raised his ring and 
  pointed at the door seal. "No barrier stands in the way of the truly faithful," he said. The red jewel 
  set on his ring pulsed. The runes on the door flared to life and the door dissolved. Kryptman 
  gestured for Borshak to proceed then followed him into the secured area. He knew they were safe 
  in isolation. The secret of the dissolving door was one of the Inquisition's most carefully-guarded 
  secrets and he was one of the few men privy to it. 
  The artifact sat on a plinth in the centre of the room, the eerie blue aura of the stasis field 
  glowing about it. They moved across to the dais and looked down upon it. "I-it l-looks alive," 
  muttered Borshak. He clawed at his shaven head with one dirty nail-bitten hand. "I-I d-don't like 
  it."
  "It doesn't matter whether you like it," said Kryptman.
  He understood Borshak's unease. The fleshy, pulpy appearance of the thing set his stomach 
  turning. During his own novitiate he had studied torture techniques. The appearance of the thing 
  reminded far too much of an arm from which the flesh had been flayed to reveal muscle. "Just 
  read it."
  "Y-you say that this was taken from the wreckage of the freighter H-hammer of F-foes?" Borshak 
  asked.
  "Yes, it was stored in stasis."
  This was more like it. The psyker had begun to collect information in order to facilitate his 
  reading. "And that there w-was n-no crewmen on board."
  "No living crewmen. Many of the escape pods were fired. They have yet to be found About three 
  of the crew have still to be accounted for. We found the bodies of the others. They had been 
  killed with something that appeared to be organic material. Eaten right through as if by a 
  combination of acid and giant worms. The ship had been decompressed. We found the body of its 
  Astropath floating near the stasis chamber. He had died of oxygen starvation. The artifact was in 
  
  the chamber."
  Borshak took a deep breath. His lined face looked even more worried and careworn than usual. 
  He peeled off his gloves resignedly. "I-I'm ready," he said.
  Kryptman intoned the litany. The stasis field de-activated. For a long tense moment they waited. 
  At first nothing seemed to happen and they relaxed slightly. Kryptman checked the readings on 
  the brass-rimmed screen of the wall monitor. The techpriests had been correct, no biological 
  contamination. So far, so good.
  He became aware that Borshak was looking at him. He nodded. The psyker proceeded; a grimace 
  of distaste passed over his face as he touched the mucus-coated thing.
  He pulled his hand back. A thin film of slime glistening on his skin. "Urgh," he said.
  "Get on with it."
  With a slight shudder he grasped the thing once more. He closed his eyes and took a deep 
  breath, settling down into the trance state needed for psychic receptivity. A faint nimbus of light 
  played around the eye symbol tattooed on his forehead. When he spoke his voice seemed deeper 
  and more confident.
  "I-it is alive," he said calmly.
  "Sentient?" asked Kryptman.
  "B-barely. I'm receiving conflicting impressions of the thing. I've just barely made contact. I-it's so 
  - alien. It's like trying to read the mind of a s-spider."
  "Try for a deeper reading." Borshak nodded.
  His breathing slowed. If Kryptman had not known better he would have said Borshak was asleep. 
  He noticed a small tic had appeared far back in the psyker's jaw.
  "I-it's alive and part of it h-hates. I-it's so fierce. N-no. One of them is so fierce. It lives to bite and 
  claw and spit, it chews up the other part, the little part and makes it into sh-shrapnel. Th-there's 
  three of them. One bites, one guides and o-one - and one dies."
  "One dies?"
  "Y-yes, one lives to die. I-it's odd. The small one is many. It lives to die. It is chewed up and 
  turned into projectiles and it i-infects the target."
  "Speak sense, man."
  Borshak had started to sweat. The strain of contact with the alien thing was starting to tell. "I-it's 
  a weapon a-and i-it's alive. The bullets are alive. The firing mechanism is a-alive and the gun's 
  alive. It's a kind of symbiotic organism l-like the martian tree-crab. I-it's alive and we - it hates 
  you - us."
  Kryptman's mind reeled. A living weapon? A living rifle? He tried to think of how such a creature 
  might evolve? It was madness - weapons were designed not born. "Try psychometry - find out 
  what happened on the Hammer."
  "We are picked up by the sensitive one, the one who speaks at distance. He senses our hate and 
  he responds. At first he is curious then he grows to know and love us. He is united with us. He 
  senses our bloodlove and we hunt - we hunt the meat-things, the enemies of our makers. He 
  knows our need to plant our seed within them. He knows we hunger to spurt forth the little 
  hungry ones who eat the meat. He carries us and we seek our prey through the red dark of the 
  long-long corridors."
  Kryptman noticed how agitated Borshak had become. The gun had started to throb in his hand. 
  The fleshy muscular sacs pulsing like the valves of a great exposed heart. He senses that 
  something was wrong.
  "Put the thing down, man. It's doing something to your mind."
  "We h-hunted the meat-things, to lay the young-eggs within their flesh. Again and again we send 
  them forth, pleasure bursting through us mixed with the pain as we send the little eaters out their 
  way. Fire them out to bore through the meat."
  Borshak swivelled the huge gun to bear on him. Kryptman threw himself to one side. The thing in 
  Borshak's hands spasmed. There was a terrible tearing grinding sound..
  Kryptman remembered that Borshak had said about the grubs being chewed up and spat out. 
  There was a sound like a man vomiting. A burst of mucus sprayed out. Something hard cracked 
  on the wall behind him. A stink, as of excrement mixed with bile, filled the air.
  "Yes-yes, we hunt the meat-things - but they flee into the great dark and they trap the ship - soon 
  it is hard to breathe but the meat-thing, our carrier, our partner, places us in stasis so we might 
  live. Now we have new partner. Groupmind complete."
  
  Kryptman rolled behind the dais, drawing his pistol. The grinding sound continued. A burst of 
  shrapnel tore into the dais. Steam rose from the stone where the acidic mucus eroded rock.
  Kryptman leapt up and blasted. The bolt flew straight and true in Borshak's chest. His rib cage 
  exploded. What was revealed within reminded Kryptman oddly of the weaponf alling from the 
  psyker's dead hands. He fought to control the urge to pump bolter-shells into it. 
  It lay there dormant. Borshak's mouth continued to open like a fish's would when out of water. 
  The Inquisitor understood now what had happened on the Hammer. The ship's astropath had 
  melded with the weapon and hunted the unarmed crew. They had fled in the escape pods, after 
  decompressing the ship. Rather than let the weapon die, the astropath had put it in stasis and 
  suffocated himself. That question answered, Kryptman could hand the artifact over to the 
  techpriests for dissection.
  There were still other questions that needed answers though: who had made the gun, there had it 
  come from, were there any more?
  Kryptman had a premonition that he and the whole Imperium would soon need to know the 
  answers. Inquisitor Kryptman would find those answers, he had to.
  * * *
  Inquisitor Kryptman pushed back the huge pile of papers, removed his reading glasses and 
  rubbed his eyes wearily. He had been working all night trying to make sense of the mass of 
  reports coming in from all over the sector.
  As usual, the room was chilly. His young aide Carel had lit a small fire, but it wasn't vigorous 
  enough to warm the high-ceilinged office. He got up from his straight-backed chair, stretched his 
  long sinewy limbs, and walked over to the window. It was a cold winter afternoon and would be 
  dark in a couple of hours.
  Kendrick's World was an unwelcoming place, its people backward and intensely superstitious. The 
  Imperial presence here was only a gesture; this world had nothing much to offer. Except solitude 
  perhaps, since it was located on the fringe of one of the spiral arms of the human galaxy. 
  Kryptman had travelled here to continue the Inquistion's investigations into the phenomenally 
  high level of unrest in the sector. The reasons were far from clear, and now a missing Marine 
  chapter had to be added to the ever-growing list of planetary revolts and Genestealer infestation. 
  Still, at least the austere regime of the Imperial stronghold, a converted monastery, was to be 
  welcomed. He had imposed a rigorous new timetable on the staff and discipline had been greatly 
  improved as a result.
  Since the discovery of the strange organic weapon and Borshak's unpleasant death, he had been 
  uneasy. Kryptman was not psychic himself, but he trusted his intuition. He couldn't help feeling 
  that all these events were somehow related but so far the connection had eluded him, and 
  Borshak's dying face continued to haunt his dreams. 
  He looked through the narrow window and saw a shower of meteors arcing through the pale sky, 
  dark trails of smoke spiralling behind them. They had been falling for a week now and the locals 
  had been getting very excited - spouting all sorts of stupid nonsense about the end of the world. 
  Four hundred year's instruction in the Imperial Cult had obviously been a complete waste of time. 
  With a snort of disgust, Kryptman turned his attention back to the tottering stack of reports.
  * * *
  Ten miles down the valley, a lone meteor shrieked through the cold evening air. Its impact with 
  the hillside created a small crater and its heat charred a black ring in the surrounding heather. A 
  nauseating smell like carbonised meat rose from the meteorite, which was roughly ovoid in 
  shape, and about two feet high. Curiously, its ridged and warty form was more like some bloated, 
  alien organ than a lump of sterile rock. After a few minutes, the meteorite toppled over on its 
  side. A large native game bird approached and peered at it with one greedy eye. The cancerous 
  looking thing shook again, faint sounds emanating from within. The bird stalked closer, until it 
  was right beside the meteorite, which still trembled spasmodically.
  The bird raised its beak and plunged it straight down into the meteorite, splitting it open like an 
  overripe fruit. A spray of yellow sputum burst out and a formless creature catapulted onto the 
  bird, engulfing it in a glistening organic mass. It was all over very quickly. The creature wrapped 
  itself tightly round its prey, compressing it, absorbing it. No feather or claw was wasted. As it 
  contracted round the bird, a trickle of blood and bodily fluids dribbled out, turning the charred 
  ground into a disgusting bloody-black mud.
  Slow changes rolled over the creature's body as it developed a more consistent appearance: an 
  
  embryonic spine and rib cage erupted from amid obscenely pulsating organs, its pallid skin 
  darkened and sprouted stubbly feathers. With prolonged sucking noises a thick neck and head 
  worked their way out from the top of the creature, while strong clawed legs sprouted from 
  underneath. A stubby tail elongated from its spine and two beady eyes popped into existence.
  For an hour or so it lay on the ground, twitching its new limbs, recovering from the ordeal of its 
  metamorphosis. Finally it lurched unsteadily to its feet and shook its body like a wet dog might do 
  - shaking off a little hail of ash, bone fragments and bloody saliva. The creature now resembled a 
  hideous mismatch of embryo bird and insect. Raising its powerful head, it sniffed the air, then 
  loped off over the heather and rocks into the twilight gloom.
  Cold, this place is cold. Cold and hard. Clear air, carries scent well. Little life all around, animals, 
  birds. Stupid, slow, good for eating. Hungry, need more food, need more bulk. We must hunt. 
  Many large life upwind. Find the place-of-stone. Find and kill the prey. 
  * * *
  Kryptman did not look up at the knock on his door.
  "Come in!" he shouted, irritated.
  Carel, his young aide, came into the office, carrying a pile of papers in his thin arms. He shut the 
  door quietly and advanced in silence to Kryptman's desk, too much in awe to speak. Kryptman 
  scratched his signature on the bottom of the form and replaced the pen in the gargoyle-shaped 
  inkwell.
  "Well, what is it?" he asked, looking up.
  "The latest batch of reports from the outlying posts. The communications problems is getting 
  worse; we've lost contact with four more outposts. The engineers we sent out haven't been heard 
  from since they left."
  Kryptman didn't like this at all. News from the outposts was invariably tedious and 
  inconsequential. He wouldn't miss it. What did increasingly worry him was why there was no 
  communication. The comm-lines on this world were so simple that they almost never 
  malfunctioned.
  An oppressive sense of foreboding weighed down on the Inquisitor. Everything was falling to 
  pieces around him - equipment malfunctioning, locals becoming hysterical, communication 
  through the warp being obstructed. Most worrying of all, the Lamenters Marine chapter was 
  missing, and couldn't be contacted. The Imperial stronghold was becoming increasingly cut off - 
  from the rest of the planet, and now from the Imperium as well.
  Kryptman didn't believe in coincidences.
  But it was times like these that tested the mettle of loyal servants of the Imperium. He 
  straightened his black damascene jacket, adjusting the formal collar so that it lay more 
  comfortably about his neck.
  "Put the reports down here."
  He indicated a free space on his cluttered desk . Carel looked more worried than usual. The boy 
  was a born worrier, but had a good, tidy mind for one so young. Given time, the Inquisitor knew 
  he could mould this young man into a loyal and dependable Imperial servant. Feeling a little 
  guilty for his earlier abruptness, he asked
  "What's the matter, Carel. Is something troubling you?"
  "I know you told me not to mention local gossip, sir, but its the meteor storms, and all the other 
  odd things which have been going on."
  "Things. Be more specific, Carel. Inexactitude is a sign of confused thinking."
  "I can't sir, its only rumours. A number a locals horribly murdered, that lambs over Rakkish way 
  that bit a boy's head off, a monster dog had been terrorising hill farmers on the Westside 
  Moor...."
  "Enough! It's just the odd incident which has been blown out of proportion by the farmers. You 
  shouldn't take it so seriously, Carel. Meteors are simple astronomical phenomena, they don't 
  signify the end of the world. In future, please try to raise yourself above the level of your 
  superstitious ancestors. I suggest you learn the first seventy verses of the Canticles of Catechism 
  to clear your head. I'm far more concerned about what's happening to the Lamenters and what's 
  causing this communication breakdown. Have Astropath Faren reports to me immediately. Hurry 
  now!"
  Carel gave a half bow, then scuttled off, the studded wooden door banging heavily behind him. 
  Alone, Kryptman's feeling of foreboding returned. He'd told Carel that all these stories of 
  
  mutilated corpses and rampaging monsters were sheer superstitious hysteria, but who was he 
  trying to convince, Carel or himself? The locals, though superstitious, were remarkably pragmatic 
  and unimaginative. These strange happenings must have some basis in fact, though he couldn't 
  begin to imagine what.
  Everything was so vague. Were the meteors carrying some sort of virus that infected animals and 
  turned them mad? Should he, ought he, overlook the possibility of some sort of Chaos activity in 
  the region? There was only a tiny incidence of emergent psykers on Kendrick's World, so it 
  seemed unlikely they would have attracted any attention from the warp. And the sparse 
  population and relative unimportance of the world suggested it would be of little interest to 
  Chaos cultists.
  The light flickered, and dimmed. The shadows of the winter evening drew close around the 
  Inquisitor. He wearily opened the next report and tried to concentrate.
  * * *
  The creature galloped tirelessly up the valley, racing over the scree, bounding over rocks and 
  streams. It broke its course once to devour a large grazing rodent, and by the time it had finished 
  absorbing its bulk and reforming its body, the sun was setting. Its body was now larger, thicker, 
  less suited for speed, more suited for attack. The creature's neck was losing definition, causing its 
  head to recede into its shoulder; its maw deepened and widened, drool running off ranks of long 
  sharp incisors. It now somewhat resembled a crudely-flayed wolf.
  The old monastery squatted at the head of the valley, limned in blood by the setting sun. It was a 
  huge, sprawling edifice, built centuries ago by a dour people with more interest in solidity than 
  aesthetics, and more zeal for truth than comfort - men much like Inquisitor Kryptman in fact. Built 
  into and onto a massive granite crag, it almost seemed a natural extension of the rock itself. 
  When the Imperium rediscovered Kendrick's World, it was decided to use the empty building as 
  their primary communication and administrative stronghold.
  The creature crouched behind a rock, spying out the place. Its eyes had widened to cope with the 
  fading light, and organ buds waved from its forehead, reading the scents on the air currents. With 
  a soft ripping noise, long hooked claws shot from its paws. Its tails shortened and thickened and 
  sprouted a cruel stinger. As the sun finally sunk behind the monastery, the creature leapt onto 
  the rocks, propelled upwards on its powerful hind legs.
  Hunger, hunger! Small large life above. I go up! We recognise this place-of-stone. Our prey is 
  here. Remember his scent!
  * * *
  Far above a young guard patrolled the parapets of the monastery, rubbing his hands together to 
  warm them. His lasgun weighed heavily across his shoulder and he shifted it into a more 
  comfortable position. From his vantage point, he could see down the barren valley to the ranks of 
  mountain beyond, a dreamscape of misty greys and browns in the fading light.
  The glow-globes sputtered into life, their feeble light making the place surreally two-dimensional. 
  Defaced statues of forgotten native gods crowded the walls, their shapes worn by weather and 
  time.
  The young guard paced restlessly up and down his stretch of battlements. He been on patrol for 
  three hours and the cold winter night had set in. Hearing the wind moan and wail, he shivered 
  and pulled his cloak more tightly around him, feeling hemmed in by stone and shadows.
  He did not hear the approach of Death.
  As he turned away, something catapulted over the parapet and smashed into the back of his 
  neck, knocking him to the floor. Its warm body enveloped his head. The musky stench was 
  disgusting. He dropped his lasgun and flung his arms up to his head trying to tear the creature 
  away. Savage claws raked at his throat, ripping open his windpipe.
  He tried to scream but all his horror and pain just came as a racking gurgle. His questing hands 
  pulled at the thing, futilely trying to pull it off, but is was slippery with a corrosive fluid. Razor-
  sharp teeth flayed the skin from his fingers. The pain was terrible, building up inside him with no 
  release. Fire seared through the back of his neck as claws cut deep through the top of his spine, 
  cracking his vertebrae apart. Sensation flared and dimmed. The last thing he felt was something 
  punching through his eye sockets.
  * * *
  Food, warm food. Eat and absorb. Grow larger, grow larger. Teeth to tear, claws to rend. Our 
  enemy is here. We hate him, we will find him and destroy him. Enter the place-of-stone. Seek out 
  
  our enemy, hunt him and destroy him..
  The creature reared up its body and stretched open its jaws, revealing row upon row of dripping 
  needle-sharp teeth. Swishing its tail from side to side, it went down the steps into the monastery. 
  All that remained of the guard was a messy pile of torn and bloody clothing, a slimy smear on the 
  stone, and a lone disconsolate eyeball.
  * * *
  The door to Kryptman's office swung open admitting a worried Carel. 
  "Where's Astropath Faren?" demanded Kryptman. "Didn't you give him my message?"
  "Yes, sir. Astropath Faren said to give you his apologies but he couldn't leave the Astral Chamber, 
  they were too busy. He's sent you a coded message scroll and the latest batch of off-planet 
  reports. Astropath Merril had a fit, sir. He was foaming at the mouth..."
  "Yes, Carel, that'll be enough. Stay here while I look through the reports."
  Carel obediently stood to attention by the door, while Kryptman scanned the coded scroll from 
  Faren. Kryptman knew that the Astropath would have come if he could.
  There must be a major crisis to prevent him.
  He picked up the scroll and pressed his long index fingers to the runes on either end. The cylinder 
  hummed softly and split open, disgorging a thin sheet of vellum.
  Kryptman peered at the Astropath's spidery writing, difficult to read in the dim light.
  The message read:
  "Kryptman, too busy too see you. Worsening problems with astro-telepathic communication. 
  Everything is fragmentary, distorted. It's worse trying to send. There's a great impenetrable 
  presence, a psychic void. Not a warp storm, something else. Something utterly alien, like nothing 
  we've ever experienced before. A solid darkness, a shadow in the warp. And it's growing. We 
  recoil before it, we cannot fight it. We dwindle before its might. Astropath Merril has foreseen a 
  time of darkness. Come to the Astral Chamber as soon as you can."
  Kryptman put down the vellum with a shaking hand. As he released it, the paper discorporated 
  itself in a puff of acrid smoke. Why did he have this sense that events were speeding up beyond 
  his capacity to understand them? And what did he mean, the Shadow in the Warp? Why did 
  Astropaths always have to use such flowery language, why couldn't they just tell you the plain 
  facts?
  Kryptman picked up the other comm print outs and scanned them as fast as he could. Loss of 
  contact with Darson VI following increased reports of Stealer activity in the sector. Not the 
  slightest trace of the Lamenters. It was as if they had been wiped out, which was, of course, so 
  unlikely as to be considered impossible - under normal circumstances. What force could possibly 
  cause an entire chapter of Marines to disappear? A cold fear was growing in the pit of his 
  stomach.
  He was just starting to read an incomplete account of a devastated research station on a planet 
  in the next system, when a dishevelled guard burst in.
  "Inquisitor Kryptman, Haral's been killed!" he cried, white-faced with shock. "There's nothing left 
  but -" Clutching his mouth, and making swallowing noises, he blundered back into the passage.
  "Carel, go with him. Find out what's going on, and get back to me as soon as you can."
  Carel left the door open, and Kryptman heard alarms go off, their wailing muffled by the 
  labyrinthine corridors and the thick stone walls. He opened a drawer and took out his bolt pistol It 
  was a beautiful weapon, thousands of years old, passed on from Inquisitor to Inquisitor. Its 
  familiar heavy weight in his hand, the fine carvings on its barrel, reassured him, gave him 
  strength. After checking the purity seal was intact, he broke open a case of bolter shells and 
  loaded fifteen of the brass shells into the gun. The shells were heavy and cold, stamped with the 
  mark of the weapon factories of Mars. He placed the gun on the table, ready.
  * * *
  The creature padded awkwardly down the gloomy corridors of the old monastery, vent-like 
  nostrils flaring, reading the scents carried on the sir currents. It was the height of a tall man, but 
  with a much thicker body, its centre of gravity lower than a human's. Its two upper arms were 
  short and coarse, glistening with raw tendons and skinless muscle. Neck and shoulders had 
  virtually fused together, and its face - mostly composed of its ferocious gaping maw - seemed to 
  be sinking down to its torso. A rudimentary limb stood out from the top of its head, from which 
  extended a crude three-fingered clawed hand. Its back legs too had shortened and broadened, 
  and a secondary tail reached forward from between them, tipped with a hard, horny substance. 
  
  The protuberant backbone also ended in a muscular tail, which curled upwards and backwards. 
  Corrosive venom dripped from its tip, leaving tiny pockmarks in the flagged stone floor. Flexible 
  chitinous plates ran down its back, and when it moved, pulsing, phosphorescent organs showed 
  through. It exuded a disgusting slime continuously, occasionally shaking off the excess and 
  leaving a rank and slippery trail in its wake.
  Man body good food, easy to absorb. I am strong, I shall destroy. The prey is close, I have tracked 
  him down. I am the living weapon. We remember this place of cold stone darkness. We remember 
  Kryptman. We come. We are retribution.
  * * *
  Kryptman returned to the reports. There were numerous accounts of extra-normal occurrences, 
  disturbingly similar to those on Kendrick's World. Contact with the Scythes of the Emperor erratic 
  but possible - just. Some mention of unidentified alien craft spotted by a Space Wolves patrol on 
  the edge of the spiral arm, but then communications lost (always this problem with 
  communications). Three more merchant space ships were missing, not in the warp, but normal 
  space. New outbreaks reported of Stealer cult activity.
  All these things could be taken as isolated incidents, but he was convinced there must be a 
  connection. Why couldn't he see it, understand the pattern? Everything whirled round in his head: 
  Genestealers, the Lamenters, meteors, monsters, mutilated bodies, the Shadow in the Warp. His 
  head ached trying to contain all of it,.
  Carel returned to the office, out of breath.
  "The monastery's not under attack?" asked Kryptman.
  "No sir, but whatever killed Haral is now in the building. There was a slimy trail of footprints 
  leading down the tower steps. All the guards are looking for it, but it could be anywhere."
  He made an encompassing gesture of helplessness. Kryptman understood the problem. The 
  monastery was so huge and rambling that they were still discovering new areas in it. Assuming 
  the invader didn't lose itself and starve to death, it could hide out indefinitely.
  Carel dropped three heavy iron bars across the door to secure it. Drawing his laspistol from its 
  concealed holster under his robes, he took up guard by the door, weapon in hand.
  Kryptman hoped the guards could deal with the invader quickly. He should be supervising the 
  hunt himself, but he had to go talk to Astropath Faren first.
  With a sudden wrenching impact, the door splintered open, throwing splinters of wood and steel 
  across the room. The creature leapt in, and gathered itself to attack. Kryptman was stunned by 
  the creature's dramatic entrance and horrific appearance - he stood motionless for a couple of 
  fatal seconds. Looking into its glittering black eyes he saw himself, his scarred face broken into a 
  myriad of tiny images. He knew this creature wanted him, wanted to kill him. And the creature 
  knew it had found its prey.
  He grabbed wildly for his bolter, and knocked it off the desk onto the floor. Seeing its opportunity, 
  the creature started started towards him, propelling itself forwards with an odd bounding, striding 
  motion.
  Carel leapt between the monster and Kryptman, firing his laspistol at point blank range. It turned 
  on him with incredible speed for its ungainly shape, clasping his head, crushing his skull. Gobbets 
  of brain and bone fragments fountained across the room. Continuing the tremendous force into 
  the ceiling, breaking his bones with a sickening crunch. Instinctively, he kicked over his chair, 
  flung himself to the ground, and rolled under the desk as the creature landed on top of it with a 
  crunch. He fired blindly up through the wood, and rolled out the other side. He came out of his 
  roll in a fluid motion, simultaneously firing another shell at the creature, which had jumped down 
  to the other side of the desk. This attack had some effect, ripping away part of its spine to expose 
  the muscles and spraying the far wall with red mucus. Enraged, the creature opened its mouth 
  and screamed a horrid, gurgling cry, then lifted the edge of the desk and sent it crashing towards 
  the Inquisitor.
  Kryptman couldn't move out of the way fast enough, he was knocked over, one of his legs caught 
  under the heavy desk. He fired wildly as he fell, but his shot missed, and exploded through the 
  window, spraying shards of glass everywhere. Before he could pull his leg free, the creature had 
  jumped on him, scrabbling and clawing at his body, trying to pinion his arms.
  Mighty Emperor, give me strength, prayed Kryptman, struggling to escape the steely grip of the 
  claws. As the creature's grip on him tightened, it stabbed at him with its forward-thrusting tail, 
  trying to spike open his chest. Kryptman realised that the creature was slowly,, inexorably 
  
  drawing him closer to it, towards its gaping maw. The foetid rank odour it exhaled made him gag. 
  As the creature forced him up to its mouth, Kryptman, with a superhuman effort, managed to free 
  his right arm and fire his boltgun straight into the creature's mouth. The shell shot down the 
  creature's throat and exploded inside its body.
  The creature was torn apart from the inside: chunks of flesh and bone rained over the room. 
  Kryptman was flung violently back against a wall; he felt his ribs go in a lance of pain.
  The whole attack had taken but a few seconds. Kryptman fumbled through the wreckage looking 
  for stimm-pills and painkillers. His foot slipped on some bloody bit of the alien carcass and he fell 
  into the chair, gasping with pain.
  What was this creature? Why had it been sent to kill him, and who had sent it? He had no doubts 
  that the creature had been instructed to do this. Unlike a mindless monster, it had attacked with 
  ruthless efficiency, refusing to be distracted, as though guided by some cold and calculating alien 
  intelligence.
  The mixture of stimulants and painkillers was making him feel heady. A terrible understanding 
  assailed his consciousness. This creature is the link, he realised. Somehow this creature connects 
  all these events, all the weird happenings. He could almost see the pattern. The Imperium must 
  be warned! Clasping his tattered black jacket about him, Kryptman staggered painfully out of his 
  office, heading towards the Astral Chamber.
  * * *
  Astropath Merril was lying in a cot outside the Astral Chamber, the white of his eyes rolled up, 
  mumbling endlessly about the Shadow in the Warp. Kryptman tried unsuccessfully to soothe him, 
  then gave up. Merril was beyond any help he could give.
  The Astral Chamber was a great spherical vault, its high ceiling lost in shadow. Ornate marble 
  couches, evenly spaced against the outer wall, pointed into the centre of the room, where the 
  podium of the Chief Astropath was positioned. On every couch but one lay an Astropath. The 
  ends of couches were inset into the wall, so the psykers' heads were hidden. The chamber was lit 
  with dim red light, and when Kryptman entered he had the impression that the grey-clad bodies 
  of the Astropaths were floating in a great circle around him. 
  Faren, looking harassed, strode down from the podium to greet him. He looked very old and tired, 
  his fine grey hair all dishevelled. 
  Kryptman quickly explained the situation, outlined his theory, stressed the gravity of the threat. 
  To his surprise, the astropath took him perfectly seriously, saying nothing, just nodding his head 
  thoughtfully. As they discussed how best to communicate the situation to the Imperium, they 
  were interrupted by the Astropath who had finally managed to contact the Scythes of the 
  Emperor.
  "The Scythes of the Emperor are under heavy attack, they don't know how much longer they can 
  hold out. Their situation is critical. They must have support. Wait - they're sending us a 
  warning...."
  The Astropath's breathing was fast and laboured. Sweat dripped from his forehead, as he 
  struggled to maintain contact with the beleaguered Marine chapter. Faren reached out a hand to 
  support him. 
  "Warn them, warn them, the Tyranids are coming! THE TYRANIDS ARE COMING!"
  With a hoarse scream, the Astropath fell to the floor, clutching his head. Simultaneously, the 
  bodies of the other Astropaths jolted on their couches as they too broke psychic contact, the 
  strain too great for them to bear any longer. One of them plunged over to Faren and Kryptman.
  "The shadow! The Shadow in the Warp! It's too strong, we can't break through. It's inhuman!." He 
  broke down and slumped to the floor, sobbing.
  The lights in the Astral Chamber flickered and went out. Faren and Kryptman stood in the middle 
  of the room, the shadowy forms of the Astropaths lurching and moaning around them like lost 
  souls.
  They looked at each other, their grim faces illuminated by the runes of the machinery.
  "Tyranids?" breathed Kryptman in horror. "Another hive fleet?" 
  For the first time in his life, the Inquisitor was truly afraid. 
  +++The Star Child+++
  
  As the spirit of the Emperor drifted through the warp it gradually dissolved into the flow of 
  energy, returning to the cosmic of the nature of the warp in its uncorrupted form. Only a tiny core 
  of the Emperor's humanity remained whole, like a small child bobbing upon the tide of a colossal 
  storm in a tiny reed boat.
  Thus the soul of the Emperor was cast adrift into the warp. While the Emperor's soul survived 
  there was still hope for mankind. For just as the New Man had been born from the collective souls 
  of the shamans of old, so the Emperor's soul might be reborn one day. But the day would lie far in 
  the future, when the cries for a new saviour would strengthen the core of the Emperor's soul and 
  rekindle it into new life.
  Meanwhile the soul of the Emperor was merely a potential, a child awaiting birth, the Star Child.
  The humans that were left in charge of the Imperium had no real understanding of what had 
  happened to the Emperor. The concept that he could be born again never occurred to them. To 
  the rulers of the Imperium, the Emperor continues to live, though his body was broken, by means 
  of his indisputable powers.
  Only a few select individuals learned the secret over the following millennia, and they became 
  the highly secret brotherhood known as the Illuminati. The Illuminati await the birth of the Star 
  Child and the second coming of the New Man. They know that their knowledge makes them 
  dangerous heretics in the eyes of the Imperium, and consequently maintain a strict secrecy over 
  their activities.
  Meanwhile the Illuminati remains a secret force in human space, working away behind the 
  machinery of government, preparing the way for the rebirth of the New Man.
  The Sensei
  When a Champion of Khorne, Nurgle or any other Chaos Power pledges himself to the service of 
  his Patron Power, his very soul becomes part of the Power's energies. The Star Child also has his 
  Champions, known as the Sensei. Although they do not necessarily know their true identity, these 
  people are actually descended from the Emperor's own descendants, and their genetic structure 
  is similar to his. Not all the Emperor's descendants are Sensei, and almost none of them realise 
  that they carry genes from the Emperor or that it is this which gives them their powers.
  The fortuitous combination of genes the Sensei have inherited from the Emperor makes them 
  very special. Their most important trait is their immortality. Although they can be killed they do 
  not age, and possess amazing powers of recovery. They are also protected from the Chaos 
  Powers, and the untainted flow of the warp can move through them unimpeded. A Sensei cannot 
  experience hate, bitterness, or irrational anger, because these things are part of the disharmony 
  of the Chaos Powers. They radiate natural confidence and harmony, and can even draw upon the 
  energies of the warp to use their psychic powers. Sensei do not risk attracting daemons or other 
  malicious psychic forces by using their powers. Being untainted by Chaos Powers they are utterly 
  invulnerable to the predations of the Chaos Powers. In fact because they harbour no trace trace 
  of the emotions and concepts embodied by the Chaos powers they are largely invisible to them.
  Sensei are heroes who wander throughout the galaxy, sometimes in the company of a select 
  band of other powerful heroes. The psychic powers of a Sensei make him dangerous heretic in 
  the eyes of the Imperium, so that he and his followers risk capture and death at the hands of the 
  Inquisition or other Imperial forces. They are not so much the enemies of the Imperium as of 
  Repression and injustice in all their guises. Repression exists throughout the Imperium, much of 
  which is justified, but not all by any means. Wherever a Sensei appears he can be sure of huge 
  popular support, while the forces of oppressive goverment recognise him as an implacable foe.
  The Sensei Adventurer Bands
  The Imperium regards the Sensei and their followers as dangerous bandits, nihilists and psyker 
  who, if not actually in league with Chaos, are weakening the bulwark which the Imperium has set 
  against its threat.
  All over the Imperium, forces are deployed to chase groups of Sensei, and in their turn the Sensei 
  are forced to operate as outlaws. However the conflict does not weaken the resolve of either side. 
  The Imperium is strengthened by the resolve of the Imperial forces, while the Sensei are spurred 
  by their battle against cruelty and oppression.
  Sensei outlaw bands are known as Adventurer Bands. They occur all over the Imperium as the 
  champions of underdogs and scourge of authority. They hide in underground caverns, or deep 
  inside cities, or lead freedom fighters from the forest and mountains. Some sail the seas as 
  pirates and operate from secret islands and coves. Others sail space itself as pirates of a different 
  
  kind, boarding and robbing Imperial cargo vessels as they move ponderously between planets. 
  Everywhere they champion the poor against the rich, the oppressed against the oppressors. They 
  are brave, they are popular, and they see themselves as the enemies of both Chaos and 
  oppression.
  >>Chaos
  +++The Traitor Legions+++
  In the time of the Horus Heresy, nearly half of the Space Marine Legions deserted the Emperor to 
  follow Warmaster Horus. Nine of the twenty Legions that were in existence at that time rebelled 
  and became the Traitor Legions. Each of the Traitor Legions has its own unique character and 
  fighting stlye, but they are all united in their hatred of the Imperium and their thirst for revenge 
  for the defeat they suffered ten millenia ago.
  The Death Guard
  During the Horus Heresy, the Death Guard joined Warmaster Horus in many battles and raids on 
  the Imperium. When Horus led his forces against Earth and the Emperor, the Death Guard 
  became lost in the Warp. While they were trapped in the Warp, a strange and deadly infection 
  started to spread amongst the Legion, spreading from ship to ship. The stinking pestulence 
  flooded the gut and disteanded the flesh and rotted its victims from the inside out. Even the 
  Legion's Primarch, Mortarion, became infected, and in his delirium he called upon the powers of 
  Chaos to aid the Space Marines. His fevered ravings were answered by Nurgle, and he became 
  Nurgle's champion.
  After Horus's defeat, Mortarion led his Death Guard in a campaign of destruction over a score of 
  planets, until finally retreating into the Eye of Terror. Here he recieved Nurgle's ultimate reward, 
  and became a full-fledged Daemon Prince, ruling over one of Nurgle's greatest Plague Worlds in 
  the Eye of Terror. Mortarion sends out fleets of Plague Ships into the Warp to carry their 
  contagions throughout the galaxy.
  The Word Bearers
  Even before Horus had been corrupted, Lorgar, Primarch of the Word Bearers, began to worhip 
  the gods of Chaos. He revelled in the different aspects of each of the dark powers, dedicating 
  himself to Chaos in its purest form, as Chaos Undivided, and he quickly led the Word Bearers 
  along the same path. The fanatical zeal the Word Bearers had shown in their worship of the 
  Emperor was quickly diverted into equally fanatical devotion toward Chaos.
  The Word Bearers are the only Chaos Space Marine Legion of the original nine to still have 
  Chaplains, who enforce a strict regime of rligious observance upon their Brothers. Word Bearers 
  are zealous in the extreme, marching forward under huge banners dedicated to Chaos in its 
  myriad forms.
  The Night Lords
  Their Primarch, Konrad Curze, called the Night Haunter, knew only one way, that was the use of 
  viscious force. His methods were simple, viscious and direct, if you broke the law you died, there 
  was no appeal, Night Haunter was judge, jury, and executioner upon the world Nostrama, where 
  he had set himself up as a vigilante against the crime lords of the planet. When the Great 
  Crusade finally reached this dark world, and the Emperor was reunited with this dark-visaged 
  young Primarch, Night Haunter was placed in command of the Night Lords. The Night Lords 
  quickly gained a reputation for ruthless efficiency, and a cynical disregard for human life. As long 
  as they achieved their objectives, the means didn't matter to them. When the Emperor recalled 
  Night Haunter to answer the charges of cruelty and destruction against him and his men, Night 
  Haunter quickly defected to the side of Warmaster Horus. Night Haunter, operating from a planet 
  deep in the widerness area of space known as the Eastern Fringe, led the Night Lords on a 
  campaign of terror and genocide that has rarely, if ever, been equalled. Even after Horus had 
  been defeated, the Night Lords continued their attacks until finally the Imperial Assassin M'Shen 
  was able to infiltrate Night Haunter's base and slay the Primarch, with this act the Night Lords 
  
  quickly stopped being an organised threat to the Imperium.
  The New Lords now strike from the Eye of Terror, where they have retreated to, and they fight for 
  the pure pleasure of it, and for the material rewards it can bring, and not because they worship 
  some deity. They loo down upon the more dedicated Chaos Marines, and Loyal Marines, 
  considering them fools.
  The Alpha Legion
  The Alpha Legion was the last Legion creatd during the First Founding, it being the 20th Legion. 
  When Horus made his pact with Chaos, the marshall pride of the Alpha Legion was their downfall. 
  The Warmaster was a mighty warrior himself, he commanded armies and fleets, and commanded 
  at the forefront of the Emperor's wars. By comparison, he made the distant Emperor on Terra 
  seem weak and cowardly. The Alpha Legion continues to fight a covert war against the Imperium 
  to this day. They are connected with Chaos Cultist of many of the settled worlds of the Imperium. 
  The Alpha Legion directs the activities of Cultists across entire sectors and they instigat massive 
  insurrections against Imperial rule.
  The Emperor's Children
  The Emperor's Children were among the units assigned to crush Horus and his rebel Legions on 
  Istbaan V. During a parly, the Legion's Primarch, Fulgrim, and his highest ranking officers were 
  corrupted by the decadent pastimes Horus and his Chaos worshippers offered. The Imperial Cult 
  was quickly supplanted by the gratifying worship of Slaanesh.
  While corrupt beyond human comprehension, the Emperor's Children are a savage fighting force. 
  Like many of Slaanesh's followers, they have become known as Noise Marines. Each suit of 
  armour, evry bolter or chainsword is worked into fantastic patterns and coloured in praise of 
  Slaanesh.
  The Iron Warriors
  The Iron Warriors once formed the Emperor's most able body of siege troops. The Iron Warriors' 
  Primarch, Purturabo, excelled in siege and warfare above all else. Wherever the Iron Warriors 
  fight they throw up great evil citadels in their wake, and hold them against all comers. Fields of 
  trenches and forests of razorwire surround the strongholds of the Iron Warriors. Even after 
  Horus's defeat, the Iron Warriors were only driven out of the Imperium worlds at a terrible price.
  The Thousand Sons
  Their Primarch is Magnus the Red, called the Red Cyclops or Cyclopean Magnus, due to his one 
  large eye and his flaming-red hair. Magnus had already been touched by Chaos long before the 
  Horus Heresy, from his long study of the Arcane arts. Even though the Thousand Sons tried to use 
  their occult powers to warn the Emperor of Horus's heresy, the Emperor, mistrustful of anything 
  tinged by Chaos, declared the Thousand Sons heretics and sent Leman Russ and the Space 
  Wolves to devastate the Thousand Sons' homeworld of Prospero. The Thousand Sons were driven 
  to war against their Emperor, and had to fight alongside the Traitor Legions for their survival. The 
  Thousand Sons turned to Tzeentch and asked for his patronage, as she is the greatest wielder of 
  Magic among the Chaos gods.
  Magnus the Red was elevated to the rank of Daemon Prince of Tzeentch and given a Daemon 
  World to rule over. He rules from his great volcanic fortress called The Tower of The Cyclops. The 
  topmost level of the fortress has a single living eye, which watches over the landscape and the 
  minions of its Lord, The Eternal Watchdog of The Sorcerer King. Over time, the Thousand Sons 
  started to degenerate and become mutated. The Sorcerers of the Thousand Sons joined together 
  in a cabal led by Ahriman. Even though they risked the wrath of their Daemon Primarch, they cast 
  the spell The Rubric of Ahriman, purging the Thousand Sons of mutation for all of eternity. This 
  caused the great schism within the Legion, and caused the cabal to be banished by the enraged 
  Primarch and scattered to fight in different Traitor Legions across The Eye of Terror.
  The Black Legion
  The Black Legion began life as The Luna Wolves, created during The First Founding. The Emperor 
  later changed its name to The Sons of Horus, in honour of its Primarch, in recognition of his and 
  its many accomplishments in The Ullanor Crusade.
  It was as The Sons of Horus that the Legion fought in the Horus Heresy, serving as Horus's 
  Praetorians throughout his campaign. They were the first to remove the Imperial Eagle from their 
  armour and Banners, and replaced it with The Eye of Horus.
  Factions of the other Traitor Legions later blamed The Sons of Horus for causing the rout from 
  Earth by retreating into Warpspace with the body of their beloved Warmaster.
  
  The Sons of Horus at first worshipped one Chaos power after another, more and more of their 
  number becoming possessed by Daemons. Over the centuries, they were also thinned out by 
  their constant wars with the other Traitor Legions and Chaos forces. When Abbadon came to 
  power in the Legion as their new Warmaster, his first edicts rejected the name of Horus and their 
  ancient Legion title. He ordered the remaining members of the Legion to repaint their armour 
  black in eternal memory of their shame at allowing the body of the Warmaster to be taken. He 
  then led then in a lightning raid which destroyed the Warmaster's body and all of his clones. The 
  Legion's remaining battle barge acts as a secret base for Abaddon and his Black Legion from 
  which they make raids into the Imperium and The Eye of Terror.
  The Worldeaters
  The Worldeaters were easily converted to following the Chaos god Khorne due to their marshall 
  pride and their belief that The Emperor and The Imperium had become soft and decadent. They 
  have totally devoted themselves to fighting as close combat troops, feeding upon the berzerk 
  rage of Khorne and distaining ranged weapons as the weapons of weaklings. They arm 
  themselves entirely with pistols and close combat weapons, huge chainaxes and chainswords 
  becoming their favoured tools of bloodshed.
  The Worldeaters have split into separate squads, each following its own Champion of Khorne. 
  They have become so engrossed in their fighting rage that any chance for them to operate as a 
  cohesive Legion is long past.
  +++The Emperor's Children+++ 
  Chapter History:
  All the first founding Chapters were created to take part in Imperial Crusades. It was, however, nearly sixty years before 
  the Emperor's Children saw action. An accident during gene-seeding almost destroyed the Chapter as it was born. Once 
  the Chapter had been re-established with rescued gene-seed it proved to be a loyal and efficient unit, distinguishing itself 
  in several campaigns. 
  The Emperor's Children were one of the units assigned to pacify Horus and his rebel Chapters, and were the first unit to 
  defect to the Warmaster. During a parley, the Chapter Master and his highest officers were corrupted by the decadent 
  pastimes that Horus and his chaos-worshippers offered. Drugged, pleasured beyond endurance, and finally broken, they 
  agreed to keep the Chapter neutral. 
  Neutrality was all that Horus needed. The rot quickly spread to the whole Chapter, and the Emperor's Children willingly 
  embraced Chaos in all its indolent depravity. The Imperial Cult of the Chapter was quickly supplanted by the more 
  gratifying worship of Slaanesh. 
  As one of the Traitor Legions, the emperor's Children invaded Earth, but took little part in the fighting around the 
  Imperial Palace. Simple pleasures had given way to complex debaucheries. While their allies fought and died the 
  Emperor's Children slaughtered more than a million people and rendered them down to create endless varieties of drugs 
  and stimulants. Countless thousands more died to give the Legionnaires more direct, if cruder, enjoyment. 
  When the assault failed the Emperor's Children fled into the eye of Terror with the rest of the Traitor Legions. They were 
  the first to begin raiding Imperial worlds for captives and plunder. Their excesses soon knew no bounds and simple 
  raiding could not supply enough raw Human material for their orgies of worship. At this point, the Emperor's Children 
  turned on the slaves and servants of other Traitor Legions, an action which began a series of wars within the Eye of 
  Terror. 
  The struggles of the Emperor's Children continued until the destruction of the cloned Horus by the Black Legion. At that 
  point all the Traitor Legions resumed raids on the Imperium. The Emperor's Children have again proven spectacularly 
  successful at this pursuit, and the worship of Slaanesh within the Eye of Terror has never been pursued with such fervor. 
  Chapter Organization: 
  The Emperor's Children have retained some of their former organization as Marines, but have altered it to suit their new 
  loyalties. While corrupt beyond Human comprehension, the Legionnaires of the Emperor's Children are a savage fighting 
  force. Like many of Slaanesh's followers, they seek and find a perverse enjoyment in battle. The danger of combat is a 
  rediscovered thrill and aphrodisiac, allowing them to reach new extremities of debauchery. 
  Psykers are particularly highly regarded by the Emperor's Children, both as enemies and within their own ranks. The 
  broadcast terror of an enemy psyker can be enjoyed in its own right as a new sensation, while a Legionnaire-psyker can 
  kill his enemies with pleasure or pure sensation- the greatest act of worship for a servant of Slaanesh. Close combat, 
  where the enemy can be touched and directly destroyed, is also much favored by the Emperor's Children. Few of them 
  enter battle without some form of close combat weapon. 
  Many Legionnaires aspire to die of pleasure while hosting a Daemon, and as a result the Legion has many Possessees and 
  
  Summoned Daemons within its ranks and as allies. The Emperor's Children take a delight in the changes that Chaos and 
  the daemonic has wrought in them, seeing these mutations as means to new pleasures or marks of Slaanesh's approval. 
  Only in one matter has Marine tradition been completely maintained. The Chapter name has been retained unchanged 
  throughout the Legion's exile. Successive Legion Commanders have taken pleasure (unsurprisingly) in reaffirming the 
  Legion's title. It has become a direct and grievous insult to the grandeur of the "false" Emperor and his staid Imperium. 
  Chapter Colors: 
  The Legion's original Chapter colors of gold and purple were abandoned long ago, as was the Imperial double-headed 
  eagle which was, at one time, forbidden to all other Marine Chapters. With the Horus Heresy and the defection of the 
  Chapter, the right to use the double-headed eagle motif was passed to other, loyal, Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes. 
  A few of the original Traitor Marines have retained their original Chapter colours, although the Imperial badge has been 
  replaced by Slaanesh's male-female rune. For the most part, the Emperor's Children use Slaanesh's pastel shades on their 
  armor, reserving particular colors for different companies within the Legion. Officers and sergeants are, however, still 
  marked out by gold or silver helmets and rank badges. 
  The original Marine armor designs have long since been corrupted in the Emperor's Children. Over the years the 
  mutations wrought by Chaos have been echoed in the shapes of the Legionnaire's arms and armor. A sensuous delight has 
  been taken in making each Legionnaire's appearance grotesque and different from his comrades. Each suit of armor, 
  every bolter, or chainsword, is worked into fantastic patterns and colored in praise of Slaanesh. Each Legionnaire alters 
  and changes his armor slightly, adding to its quality and "beautifying" it. For the most favored, the weapon smiths of the 
  Legion sometimes carve scenes of debauchery into shoulder and breast plates. 
  +++CHAOS CULTISTS+++
  Chaos Cultists are often hidden within what sppears to be loyal communities of Imperial citizens. 
  They come from all classes and occupations, and can appear on any of the millions of planets 
  with the Imperium. These cultists are as great a threat to the Imperium as the many raids by 
  renegade Chaos Marines, as they strike at the Imperium from within, spreading terror and 
  destruction. they corrupt the citizens and defenders of the Imperium and infect the Imperium with 
  the taint of Chaos.
  These followers of the Chaos Gods organize themselves into covens structured as religions, and 
  they subvert and recruit new members with promises of divine notice and rewards, with promises 
  of power and gifts granted by the Gods of Chaos. These Cults are especially attractive to 
  ambitious individuals and those who are bored with living within the restraints of life within the 
  Imperium. Those who seek thrills and adventure are easily swayed by the leaders of these cults 
  and brought to the worship of Chaos. Some are seeking the power to warp reality through Sorcery 
  and psychic abilities. Some are seeking wealth, while others seek power over their fellow man. 
  The majority, though, are just misled ordinary people who are condemned by their misguided 
  beliefs.
  Many followers of Chaos comes from those of very low intelligence, and those of unstable 
  mentality. Murderers and those who have commited other despicable crimes seek sanctuary 
  within the Chaos Cults in an attempt to escape justice.
  Some Cults worship Chaos Undivided, while others worship an individual Chaos God. Either way, 
  they strive to further the cause of Chaos in its struggle to cominate the galaxy and destroy the 
  Imperium.
  The Cults that cause the most damage are those that worship one individual Chaos God and have 
  gained the power to summon daemons from the Warp to aid them. The Inquisition is ever 
  searching out these Cults, striving to rid the Imperium ofi the infection of Chaos.
  +++Generating Daemon Names+++
  This is provided as a tool for adding some character to your Chaos armies. There are no new 
  game rules here, just pure old-style GW flavor. SM/TL players might want to use the following 
  
  information to come up with names for their favorite Greater Daemons. Epic 40k players can do 
  the same, and hopefully might find some inspiration for naming daemon and daemon engine 
  detachments. Use what you like and forget about the rest. And above all, enjoy! 
  Every daemon has a true name that they never willingly reveal to anyone or anything, as 
  knowing a daemon's true name gives one power over that daemon (extremely strong daemons 
  sometimes boldly proclaim their true names, a sure sign that the creature is too powerful for the 
  knowledge to be of any help). As a result, daemons often adopt use-names to identify 
  themselves. Use-names have no real power, and a daemon may adopt new ones from time to 
  time depending on its moods. 
  Generally speaking, the longer the name, the more powerful the daemon. 
  Chaos champions can be gifted with True Names as they progress upon the path of chaos, but 
  chances are the champion will continue to use his/her real name and not reveal the daemon 
  name. Besides, "Rhug'guariihlulan's Berzerkers" just doesn't have a nice ring to it... 
  Daemon True Names
  The True Name table appears below; it is used to generate "elements" (similar to syllables) of a 
  daemon's True Name. Greater Daemons have a true name composed of (1d6 x the number of 
  their Chaos god) elements. Roll that many times on the table and string the results together into 
  a single word. Particularly powerful GDs will use 2d6 instead of 1d6 in the above formula. The 
  number of elements in the true name of the god's other servants is equal to the Chaos god's 
  number only. So for instance, a Lord of Change would have a True Name composed of 1d6 x 9 or 
  2d6 x 9 elements, and a Flamer of Tzeentch would only have 9 elements in it's True Name. 
  Slaanesh's number is 6. Nurgle's number is 7. Khorne's number is 8, and Tzeentch's is 9. 
  Second
  First Die Roll (d6)
  Die Roll
  (d10)
  1
  2
  3
  4
  5
  6
  -----
  -
  -
  -
  -
  -
  -
  1
  A
  COG
  FL
  LL
  SS
  CC
  2
  ER
  KW
  PP
  Z
  AA
  DA
  3
  FOL
  MM
  SH
  ABL
  DE
  G'G
  4
  N'N
  TH
  AE
  DH
  GZ
  O
  5
  THL
  AK
  DH
  HH
  OA
  TL
  6
  AN
  DU
  HL
  OE
  U
  AO
  7
  E
  I
  OO
  UL
  AR
  EE
  8
  II
  OW
  UU
  BH
  EO
  IL
  9
  RH
  Y
  IO
  EU
  IR
  PH
  10
  YY
  CH
  FF
  KS
  Q'
  ZH
  The book encourages you to re-arrange whatever is rolled to produce something more 
  pronouncable (good luck) or more appealing. The example they give is "G'garulhliiulrhan", which 
  they re-arrange to "Rhug'guari'ihlulan". 
  Daemon Use-Names
  The table below is for generating elements of Daemon use-names. Roll four times on the table for 
  Greater Daemons, and string the results together into two names of two elements each (onetwo 
  three four). Use-names for lesser Daemons are one word composed of two elements. 
  Second
  First Die Roll (d10)
  Die Roll
  (d20)
  1
  2
  3
  4
  5
  6
  7
  8
  9
  10
  -----
  -
  -
  -
  -
  -
  -
  -
  -
  -
  --
  1
  blue
  dangle
  dreg
  fondle
  grind
  grunt
  mad
  pox
  quiverslash
  2
  suck
  thigh
  bane
  carnal
  fiddle
  hot
  mucus
  sate
  vex
  bubo
  3
  chew
  dog
  gibber
  gnaw
  grope
  maul
  offal
  pus
  spasm
  spittle
  4
  sword
  wrack
  cackle
  fang
  hammer
  mildew
  rot
  toad
  bile
  blister
  5
  canker
  eat
  fester
  flux
  glut
  hate
  ichor
  leper
  mire
  rend
  6
  rut
  skull
  spike
  tremble vomit
  wind
  brute
  dung
  glop
  gut
  7
  mark
  red
  spider
  thrash
  bag
  blade
  cold
  death
  face
  fist
  8
  grab
  gristle helm
  loon
  pest
  puke
  rip
  sharp
  spume sweat
  9
  vile
  whip
  blunt
  drink
  gall
  gross
  maggot
  rabid
  sore
  taint
  
  10
  worm
  belch
  bog
  buttock crush
  fire
  froth
  gobble
  grim
  liver
  11
  maim
  moulder pinch
  scratch slobber spew
  stare
  wart
  wobbleblood
  12
  doom
  foul
  grin
  loose
  putrid
  slob
  sting
  wither
  axe
  black
  13
  break
  dread
  eye
  thrust
  fury
  grue
  heart
  loath
  mange quake
  14
  rheum
  scum
  smut
  tear
  twist
  water
  blast
  cut
  foam
  green
  15
  lewd
  plague
  slake
  squeeze whine
  ash
  beast
  chaos
  crab
  drool
  16
  fiend
  gnash
  grasp
  hack
  lick
  nibble
  pierce
  reap
  scab
  spite
  17
  spurt
  throb
  war
  beetle
  craze
  flesh
  gore
  lip
  pile
  sin
  18
  spot
  warp
  bend
  blight
  bowel
  clap
  fat
  flush
  fume
  gob
  19
  howl
  lust
  man
  ooze
  rotten
  sinew
  slug
  spoor
  venom wight
  20
  bite
  claw
  filth
  glutton kill
  pain
  scrape
  spine
  wail
  burble
  The tables are really just a guideline; ROC encourages you to fool around with whatever you roll 
  up (or to just choose what you want off of the tables and not roll at all) in order to get something 
  that you like and that suits the daemon. For instance, if you roll up "Suckthigh" for a Bloodletter, 
  you might want to re-roll or just pick something suitably Khorne-ish like "Doomspike" (although 
  the first name would be good for a Daemonette of Slaanesh). 
  The book also encourages adding titles and whatnot to the name to make it sound more 
  impressive, such as "Doomspike the Render of Limbs". So I've also included the alternate daemon 
  titles for each daemon type found in the ROC books to provide some inspiration. 
  When it comes to naming actual units in 40k or FB armies, the book encourages you to create a 
  name for any greater daemons and assign a title to units of lesser daemons, possibly working in 
  the name of one of the lessers. So for instance you might name your Keeper of Secrets 
  "Fluxcarnal Fleshpiercer" and your unit of Daemonettes "The Bringers of Joyous Degradation" or 
  perhaps "Suckthigh's Bringers..."
  Daemon Titles
  Here are the alternate daemon titles, which should, at the very least, give Epic 40k chaos players 
  some inspriation for detachment names.
  Khorne titles:
  Bloodthirsters: Fists of Khorne, Deathbringers of Khorne, Drinkers of Blood, Blooded Ones, Lords 
  of Skulls, Guardians of the Throne, Eaters of Gore and Flesh, High-handed Slayers; Bloodletters: 
  Khorne's Chosen, Takers of Skulls, Teeth of Death, Horned Ones, Naked Slayers; Fleshhounds: 
  Beasts of Khorne, Hunters of Blood, Flesh-Renders, Inevitable Ones; Juggernauts: Blood Crushers, 
  Soul Crushers, Juggers, Feet of Khorne, Blights of Khorne.
  Slaanesh titles:
  Keepers of Secrets: Slayers of Slaanesh, Despoilers of the Flesh, Feasters of Pain, Great Horned 
  Ones, Base Ones; Daemonettes: Children of Slaanesh, Debauched Ones, Bringers of Joyous 
  Degradation, Seekers of Decadence, Givers of Indescribable Delight; Fiends of Slaanesh: Beasts 
  of Slaanesh, Rams of Slaanesh, Beastials, Unholy Ones; Steeds of Slaanesh: Flesh Lickers, 
  Degraded Ones, Tongue Lashers of Slaanesh, Whips of Slaanesh.
  Nurgle titles:
  Great Unclean Ones: Fly Masters, Plague Lords, Stench Lords, Father Nurgles; Plaguebearers: 
  Tainted Ones, Maggotkin, Rotbearers, Nurgle's Tallymen; Nurglings: Pus Spores, Mites of Nurgle; 
  Beasts of Nurgle: Beasts, Slime Hounds, Nurgle's Lapdogs.
  Tzeentch titles:
  Lords of Change: Watching Lords, Eyes of Tzeentch, Feathered Lords; Horrors: Whirling 
  Destroyers, Grumblers, Screamers, Spinning Sourguts, Squealers, Whiners; Flamers: Burning 
  Horrors, Fire Daemons of Tzeentch; Discs of Tzeentch: Sky-Sharks of Tzeentch.
  +++Khorne, The Blood God+++
  "Khorne is the god of anger and destruction, the warrior god of Chaos whose bellows of rage echo 
  throughout time and space. He sits upon a great throne of brass atop a mountainous pile of 
  bleached skulls. Whenever a Campion of Khorne is slain in battle his skull is added to the pile, 
  which slowly grows higher and higher. Khorne is a fighting god and his daemons and mortal 
  Champions are amongst the most potent warriors of all. Khorne is a noble warrior who respects 
  
  strength and bravery, who takes no joy in destroying the weakm and considers the helpless 
  unworthy of his wrath. It is said that fate will spare any brave warrior who calls upon Khorne's 
  name and pledges his soul to the blood god. It is also said that Khorne's daemons will hunt down 
  and destroy any warrior who betrays his honour by killing a helpless innocent or murdering in 
  cold blood. Khorne's great delight is battle and the spilling of blood." 
  - Renegades
  "Khorne is the Blood God, the angry and murderous god of Chaos, one of the great four Powers. 
  His great brass throne sits upon a mountainous pile of bones - the remains of his followers who 
  have died in battle, and of the many they have killed in his name. The growing bone pile reflects 
  the success of his worshippers, feeding his glory but never quenching his thirst for blood and 
  death. Khorne is the Power of Chaos in its aspect of mindless and absolute violence, destroying 
  everything and everyone within its reach, slaying both friend and foe alike. He is the Huntsman of 
  Souls who drives the great armies of Chaos before him. His horn sounds in the depths of the Eye 
  of Terror, urging his followers ever onwards in search of fresh prey. Khorne watches the wild 
  destruction wrought in his name, and his bellows of rage and delight can be heard echoing across 
  the Warp. 
  Khorne is commonly depicted as a muscular humanoid figure hundreds of feet tall, sitting on a 
  vast and weirdly-carved throne of brass, which in turn rests on a mountain of blood-stained 
  bones. He is dressed in plate armour of a strange and alien design, elaborately carved and 
  worked with a repeating skull motif. His head is covered by his huge winged helmet, with only a 
  portion of his bestial, snarling face showing beneath it. 
  The symbol of Khorne is a skull, the symbol of death. This is often rendered as an X-shaped rune 
  with a bar across the bottom. His followers favour red, black and brass in their dress and armour, 
  the hues of blood, death and Khorne's own armour respectively. The number eight is also 
  associated with Khorne and this is reflected in the organization of his daemonic armies and 
  followers. 
  Khorne is worshipped by both Chaos Marines and foul Beastmen alike. He has no temples as 
  such, but is worshipped upon the battlefield. Furthermore, his followers believe that they would 
  displease him by wasting valuble time building temples and worshipping in them when they 
  could be slaying in Khorne's name. Every life taken by a follower of Khorne increases the Blood 
  God's power. He looks with particular favour upon those who take the lives of their friends and 
  allies, and the more death and destruction a creature has caused, the more welcome it is as a 
  sacrifice to Khorne. 
  Followers of Khorne have no friends and few long-term acquaintances - all are soon-to-be 
  sacrifices to Khorne. Even another follower of Khorne may try at any time to offer their lives to 
  the Blood God! Followers of Khorne may have allies for a short time, but they are always aware 
  that all other intelligent beings fear and hate them, and will seek to destroy them at any 
  opportunity." 
  +++Tzeentch, Changer of the 
  Ways+++
  "Tzeentch is the god of fortune and chance and the cosmic architect of fate and destiny. His body 
  is covered with faces which constantly shift and change, reflecting the mood of Tzeentch as his 
  all seeing mind probes the endless strands of fate which hold the universe together. Tzeentch 
  schemes and plots to further his own unimaginable purposes, sometimes supporting a mortal 
  cause, at other times hindering it, but constantly manipulating the vastly complex strands of fate 
  which hold the secrets of life and death. Because Tzeentch's plots are so convoluted it is 
  impossible to divine what his true purposes or intentions are. His machinations invariably turn out 
  to be more subtle and complex than they first appear, and even his most loyal followers are likely 
  to discover only too late that they are just pawns in a cosmic game of the gods. Tzeentch is also 
  the god of mental energy and magic - the raw forces of change themselves." 
  - Renegades 
  "Tzeentch is known by many titles including the Changer of the Ways, the Master of Fortune, the 
  
  Great Conspirator, adn the Architect of Fate. These titles reflect his masterly comprehension of 
  destiny, history, intrigue and plot. In his mind he listens to the plans and hopes of every man and 
  every nation. With his all-seeing eye he watches these plans unfold into histroy. Tzeentch is not 
  content to merely observe the fulfilment and isappointment brought by the passage of time. He 
  has his own plans: schemes which are so complex and closely woven that they touch the lives of 
  every living thing, whether they know it or not. 
  Tzeentch feeds upon the need and desire for change that is an essential part of human nature. It 
  is also a part of dwarven and elven natures, but not to the same extent as mankind is a far more 
  volatile and ambitious species. All men dream of wealth, freedom and a better tomorrow. Nor are 
  these dreams the preserve of the impoverished or powerless as even rich men dream of further 
  riches, or of an end to their responsibilities. All these dreams create a powerful impetus for 
  change, and the ambitions of nations create a force which can change history. Tzeentch is the 
  embodiment of that force. 
  Tzeentch is the greatest magician of the Chaos Powers. Magic is one of the most potent of all 
  agents of change, and those who use it are amongst the most ambitious and the hungry for 
  power. Many Champions of Tzeentch are also Wizards, while others are likely to be given magical 
  powers or artifacts by their Patron. 
  Some Daemons of Tzeentch are creatures made from magical energy, and they often appear to 
  be transparent or glowing with an inner light. The Lesser Daemons, or Horrors, cast spells around 
  them as they move, while the Flamers of Tzeentch project multicoloured flames of raw magic. 
  The Greater Daemons, the Lords of Change, are more substantial, and their very thoughts appear 
  as magical multicoloured mist which swirls about their heads. All this magic gives the followers 
  and Daemons of Tzeentch a very distinctive and colourful character. 
  Tzeentch is also the Great Conspirator, the master of plot and intrigue. Because he is aware of 
  the dreams and plans of all mortals, he is able to predict the likely course, or courses, which the 
  future might take. Tzeentch perceives every event and every intention, and from this information 
  his mighty mind can work out how each will influence the future. 
  Tzeentch is not content to merely watch the drama of history as it unfolds. He has purposes of his 
  own, although what they are is impossible to say for sure. His intentions are complicated, his 
  schemes highly sophisticated and incredibly long-term. Perhaps he has plans to otherthrow the 
  other Powers, or to extend his dominion over mortal realms. Whatever his ultimate purpose, he 
  seeks to achieve it by manipulating the individual lives of men, thereby altering the course of 
  history. By offering power and magic he can recruit influential people to his cause, and affect the 
  lives of many more at a single stroke. However, few of Tzeentch's plots are simple, and many 
  may appear at first contradictory to others, or against Tzeentch's own interests. Only Tzeentch 
  can see the threads of potential futures weaving forward in time like tangled balls of 
  multicoloured wool. 
  The skin of Tzeentch crawls with constantly changing faces, leering and mocking the onlooker. As 
  he speaks, these faces sometimes repeat what he says with subtle but important differences, or 
  provide a commentary which throws doubt upon his words. This makes it very hard to interpret 
  what exactly Tzeentch is saying. These lesser faces appear and disappear quite quickly, but the 
  actual head of Tzeentch does not change. His puckered face sits low down and has no neck, so 
  that it is hard to distinguish his head from his chest. His curving horns appear to spring from his 
  shoulders rather than from his head. The firmament surrounding Tzeentch is heavy with brooding 
  magic. It weaves like liquid smoke about his head, forming subtle and interwoven patterns. Forms 
  of places and people appear in the smoke as Tzeentch's mind contemplates their fate. 
  Every Power of Chaos has his opposite number, another Power whose nature is the antithesis of 
  his own. Tzeentch is the eternal adversary of Nurgle. His energy comes from the excitement and 
  will to change, to forge one's destiny, change fortune, and gain power. This is quite the opposite 
  of Nurgle, whose power comes from defiance and hopelessness." 
  +++Nurgle, Lord of Decay+++
  "Nurgle is the god of plague, pestilence, decay and physical corruption. His body is huge and 
  bloated, his rotting flesh swollen with decay and pock-marked with sores and lesions. Tiny 
  daemons called Nurglings crawl all over his putrid carcass plucking at torn flesh and sucking at 
  
  the leprous sores and putrid boils. Nurgle is full of morbid energy and enthusiasm, and his 
  daemons travel through time and space spreading plagues and corruption as they perform their 
  Dance of Death round cities and towns they wish to infect. Mortals who die from Nurgle's plague 
  are never free of their agonies, as their souls are claimed by the plague god and they become 
  new daemon servants in turn. A mortal so much as touched by a daemon of Nurgle will catch 
  some foul disease, and is doomed from that moment on to die. It is held that a mortal who is 
  dying of sickness can forstall his death by calling upon Nurgle and pledging his soul to the Lord of 
  Decay." 
  - Renegades
  "Nurgle is the Great Lord of Decay and the Master or Plague and Pestilence, his carcase is riddled 
  with disease and infestation. Nurgle is also the Lord of All because all things, no matter how solid 
  and permanent they seem, are liable to physical corruption. Indeed, the very process of 
  construction and creation foreshadow destruction and decay. The palace of today is tomorrow's 
  ruin, the maiden of the morning is the crone of the night, and the hope of a moment is but the 
  foundation stone of everlasting regret. 
  What is the response of living men to the undeniable and inevitable futility of life? Is it to lie down 
  and accept death and the coming to naught of their every endeavour? No it is not! Faced with the 
  inevitability of death what answer can there be but to run through life at a great and unstoppable 
  pace, cramming each day with hope, laughter, noise and bustle. Thus, happiness and human 
  endeavour are sired by a coming to terms with decay and futility. This realisation is the key to 
  understanding the Great Lord of Decay and his worshippers. 
  Once we comprehend what it is that the Chaos Power Nurgle embodies, it becomes easier to 
  understand what might otherwise seem a contradictory or even peverse nature. On the one hand 
  he is the Lord of Decay, whose body is wracked with disease; on the other hand he is full of 
  unexpected energy and a desire to organize and enlighten. 
  The living know that they will die, and many know that they will lie with disease or other torment, 
  yet they drive this knowledge into a corner of their minds and keep it pinioned there with all 
  manner of dreams and activity. Nurgle is the embodiment of that knowledge and of the 
  unconscious response to it, of the hidden fear of disease and decay, and of the power of life 
  which that fear generates. 
  Nurgle is the eternal enemy of hte Chaos power Tzeentch, the Lord of Change. Nurgle and 
  Tzeentch draw their energy from opposing beliefs. While the energy of Tzeentch comes from 
  hope and changing fortune, that of Nurgle comes from defiance born of despair and 
  hopelessness. The two Great Powers never lose an opportunity to pit their forces against each 
  other, from mighty battles on the Chaos Wastes, to complex political intrigues among mortal 
  men." 
  - Realms of Chaos: The Lost and the Damned 
  '...Thus happiness and human endeavor are sired by a coming to terms with decay and futility. 
  This realisation is the key to understanding the Great Lord of Decay and his worshippers.
  Once we comprehend what it is that the Chaos Power Nurgle embodies, it becomes easier to 
  understand what might otherwise seem a contradictory or even perverse nature. On the one 
  hand he is the Lord of Decay, his body wracked with disease; on the other, he is full of 
  unexpected energy and a desire to organize and enlighten.
  The living know they will die, and many know that they will live with disease or other torment, yet 
  they drive this knowledge into a corner of their minds and keep it pinioned there with all manner 
  of dreams and activity. Nurgle is the embodiment of that knowledge and of the unconcious 
  response to it, of the hidden fear of disease and decay, and of the power of life which that fear 
  generates.
  Nurgle is the eternal enemy of the Chaos Power Tzeentch. Nurgle and Tzeentch draw their energy 
  from opposing beliefs. Whereas the energy of Tzeentch comes from hope and changing fortune, 
  that of Nurgle comes from defiance of born of despair and hopelessness. The two Great Powers 
  never lose an opportunity to pit their forces against each other.
  +++Slaanesh, Lord of Pleasure+++
  "Slaanesh is the Lord of Pleasure whose followers abandon all self-restraint and inhibition to 
  
  embrace the countless possibilities of mind and flesh. Slaanesh is neither male nor female, but a 
  disturbingly beautiful amalgam of the two. It is said that any mortal who gazes upon the image of 
  Slaanesh will become enslaved by the god's beauty and willingly obey the Lord of Pleasure's 
  slightest whim. The very touch of the god's breath overwhelms mortal senses with the scent of 
  delight, melting the resolve of the toughest warrior and submerging his mind in waves of pure 
  pleasure. The slightest purr of the god's voice is enough to stimulate the senses into eternal and 
  blissful oblivion. To the followers of Slaanesh the mortal world is grey and insipid compared to the 
  sensual paradise of their master's affection." 
  - Renegades 
  "Slaanesh is the Lord of Pleasure, the Power of Chaos dedicated to the pursuit of hedonistic 
  pleasures and the overthrow of all codes of decent behaviour. He reigns in a vast and luxurious 
  palace in the void, where favoured followers litter the floors, indulging themselves in all forms of 
  perverse pleasures of the flesh. 
  Slaanesh takes the form of a bisexual humanoid, male on the left side and female on the right, 
  with an unearthly, unnatural and almost disturbing beauty. Two pairs of horns rise from his 
  flowing golden hair, and he dresses in a mail shirt fringed with velvet. His right hand holds the 
  magical jade sceptre which is his greatest treasure. 
  The symbol of Slaanesh combines the conventional symbols for male and female, although it is 
  seldom worn openly by his followers. In its place they often wear items of jewellry bearing erotic 
  motifs. Followers dress in robes which are often opened to leave the right side of the chest 
  uncovered, a requirement of many of the rituals involved in his worship. Pastel and electric 
  shades are the chief colours, although white is often used as well. These colours are also 
  sometimes carried over into everyday wear, although they may be modified to fit in with current 
  fashions. Regardless of any considerations, all Slaanesh followers wear garb of sensuously high 
  quality. 
  Six is regarded as the number of Slaanesh, and this is reflected in many small and large things by 
  his followers.
  Slaanesh has a neutral attitude to many of the gods of Chaos, and is generally too caught up in 
  his own pleasures to be interested in alliances and co-operation. Particular enemies are the 
  followers of Khorne, whose belief in pain and death is completely opposed to Slaanesh's principle 
  of a life of unrestricted pleasure. Followers of Nurgle and Tzeentch are subject to Slaanesh's 
  usual neutral attitude." 
  - Realms of Chaos: Slaves to Darkness
  +++The Eye of Terror+++
  The region of space known as the Eye of Terror lies on the edge of the galaxy to the north and 
  west of Earth. It can be plainly seen as a swirl of stars in the form of a vast and unblinking eye 
  spanning over ten thousand light years of space. The Eye of Terror is the largest known zone of 
  warp/reality space overlap. There are many other such Zones scattered throughout the galaxy, 
  but they are much smaller and much less significant. At the centre of the Eye of Terror is a hole 
  in the fabric of space like a puncture in the skin of a balloon. The raw energy of Chaos pours 
  through this hole and mixes with the material universe. As a result of this intermixture, the Eye of 
  Terror is not wholly subject to the laws of time or space. Its boundaries effectively mark an end to 
  normal and habitable space.
  There are stars and worlds within the Eye of Terror, but they are unlike the familiar stars, solar 
  systems, and planets that populate the rest of the galaxy. Each world is a self-contained 
  manifestation of a unique nightmarish sub-reality, a vision of hell formed without regard for the 
  logic of either astrophysics or nature. The energy of the warp saturates these places and sustains 
  a cosmology based on the inhuman perceptions of the powers of Chaos. Thus there are worlds 
  which are flat like dinner plates, worlds surrounded by circling fireballs which provide light and 
  warmth, and tiered worlds like gigantic wedding cakes rising step-by-step on supporting pillars. 
  No-one can say exactly how many of these realities exist inside of the Eye of Terror. There must 
  be many thousands if not tens of thousands. Indeed, their number and even their very form are 
  probably inconstant and unpredictable.
  Because the Eye of Terror is so steeped in chaotic energy it is not as inhospitable to daemons of 
  
  chaos as normal space. This is not to say that daemons can live or move completely freely within 
  the Eye of Terror, but their conjuration is vastly easier and their power is correspondingly greater 
  than it would be elsewhere in the galaxy. The centre of the Eye of Terror is more hospitable to 
  daemons than the fringes as it is more highly saturated with chaos energy. The worlds which lie 
  closest to the centre of the Eye are called the Daemon Worlds.
  Daemon Worlds
  On the Daemon Worlds, Chaos reigns triumphant! A daemon can move unhindered from the warp 
  to one of the Daemon Worlds. The Chaos Powers regard these worlds as provinces of Chaos in the 
  galaxy of matter - material colonies of their immaterial empires. The four Great Powers 
  continuously compete to possess the Daemon Worlds. Armies of daemons and their living allies 
  fight huge bloody battles to determine which of the Chaos Powers will possess them. These 
  battles often last for hundreds of years, so that the entire world becomes little more than a 
  gigantic arena where the opposing forces are pitched against each other. The Chaos Powers do 
  not, of course, appear in person to lead their armies - they are spectators to events and not 
  participants. Their generals are Greater Daemons and favoured Daemon Princes who, because 
  they were once alive, understand the nature of both the material universe and the immaterial 
  Realm of Chaos. Once a Daemon Prince has conquered a world, his grateful Patron gives it to him 
  as a gift to rule over as he wishes!
  When a Daemon Prince takes control of his hard-won world he uses his mighty powers to reshape 
  it to a form which pleases him. Because of this, every world is different and all are equally 
  spectacular in their own way. The most powerful psykers in the Imperium have reported dreams 
  or visions in which worlds of The Eye of Terror have been revealed to them. On one world a black 
  sun stands in a white sky and smoky threads pour from it onto a tangled black city - this is said to 
  be the homeworld of the Daemon Prince Perturabo, formerly the Space Marine Primarch of the 
  Iron Warriors. Another world has boiling lakes of blood from which spheres of fire float into the 
  sky and spread their light across the firmament - the ruler of this world is the Daemon Prince 
  Bubonicus, formerly a mortal Champion of Nurgle on one of the myriad lost worlds in the galaxy. 
  Visions of such places disturb the psychically sensitive throughout the entire galaxy.
  To the living inhabitants of the rest of the galaxy, the prospect of entering the Eye of Terror is 
  terrifying. Navigators will shun space for thousands of light years around it rather than risk a 
  minor deviation in course which might take them into its boundaries. most Navigators have 
  personal experience of close encounters with Chaos near the Eye of Terror. Many can recalls 
  other Navigators who traveled too close to the Eye in a foolish attempt to cut days from their 
  journey time only to vanish forever. On the Eldar Craftworlds there are sealed doorways which 
  were once warp gates leading to living worlds, since swallowed up by the eye of Terror. Now 
  those entrances are sealed with bonds of Wraithbone a thousand times stronger than steel, and 
  cursed with runes so potent that just to look upon them would drive a mortal creature insane.
  Within the Eye of Terror the Chaos Powers exert such an influence that normal mortal life can be 
  snuffed out at a whim. Even psykers, whose psychic energy is greater than that of ordinary men, 
  cannot resist the will of Chaos for long. Eventually, all mortal creatures who remain inside the Eye 
  of Terror become either the slaves of Chaos or its Champions.
  The Eye of Terror is home to countless millions of living creatures. Many of these are human, or 
  were once human before Chaos perverted them into forms no longer recognisable as such. Every 
  world in the Eye of Terror has its mortal population whose Champions and warbands form the 
  mortal armies of Chaos in the galaxy. Even Daemon Worlds have mortals who live there and 
  worship their chaos masters as gods.
  The Eye of Terror offers a place of sanctuary to human worshippers of Chaos forced to flee from 
  the Imperium. The Inquisition never rests in its bid to oust Chaos Cultists from Imperial worlds, 
  and whole planets have been destroyed in order to eradicate thriving cults. However, despite the 
  vigilance of the Inquisition, many worlds harbour secret Chaos Cultists. Even Imperial officials are 
  sometimes drawn into these cults and led to betray their race and the Emperor. Cultists who have 
  the means and courage to flee the Inquisition often make for the Eye of Terror and the welcoming 
  arms of their chaos masters. These traitors are useful servants because they know a great deal 
  about the Imperium and its defences.
  Mortals who take refuge in the Eye of Terror can become very powerful Champions of Chaos - 
  many will have dedicated themselves to Chaos and might already be well on the way to 
  daemonhood. Many mortals took refuge in this way following Horus's defeat by the Emperor. 
  
  Those Traitor Marines who survived the defeat were led in to the Eye of Terror by their Primarchs. 
  They were joined by rebels from the Imperial Guards, the Fleet, and other former followers of 
  Horus, including many Beastmen. Such is the natuer of the Eye of Terror that some of the very 
  individuals who fled there in those far off days are still alive ten thousand years later, granted 
  vastly extended mortal lives by their Chaos Patrons. Whether this reflects a reward for their 
  loyalty or a punishment for their failure it is impossible to say.
  Daemon Battles
  The mortal population of a world in the Eye of Terror serves Chaos in two equally important ways. 
  Mortals provide the manpower for the armies of Chaos, especially for armies which roam beyond 
  the Eye of Terror in the material universe. Mortals also worship the Chaos Powers and thereby 
  add their own psychic energies to the total energy available to their master.
  On the Daemon Worlds life is war; war is the name of Chaos, war fought to amuse or serve the 
  Chaos Powers. Mortal Champions, warbands, mortal and daemonic armies, all battle together in 
  an endless celebration of strife. the Chaos Powers revel in the adoration of their favourite 
  warriors, and savour the blood that is shed willingly in their honour. Should the pace of conflict 
  slacken, a Chaos Power will invite a rival Power to send an invading army to one of his worlds so 
  that they can enjoy the sport of battle. The limits and terms of the tournament are determined 
  beforehand: the number of troops, daemons, and Champions to be committed for example. The 
  wager is likely to be possession of the planet itself! The Chaos Powers love such contests and will 
  often gamble whole worlds on the outcome of a single combat between two mortal Champions.
  Although the Eye of Terror seethes with almost perpetual warfare, not every mortal creature is 
  necessarily harnessed to battle. Chaos wants the best warriors after all! Only those who are brave 
  enough to fight their way to freedom from the slave pits, prayer-gangs and black factories are 
  good enough to fight for Chaos. The remainder serve through work and worship. Slaves are 
  rewarded in the bitter way of Chaos; they learn to love the lash and become frenzied with 
  pleasure as they approach extremes of self-sacrifice, trying to outdo their neighbours in their 
  efforts to please their masters.
  Just as the inudustrial slaves labour to produce the weapons and armour for battle, so vast prayer 
  gangs are put to work worshipping their masters. On the Daemon World of Bubonicus, for 
  example, the equator is surrounded by a dancing human chain which sings and dances the praise 
  of Nurgle as it circles the world. The dancer develop Nurgle's Rot and gradually mutate into 
  Plaguebearers. The Plaguebearers join their master and new mortals take their place so that the 
  circle is never broken. This theatrical conceit pleases Nurgle tremendously, so that Bubonicus has 
  commanded that it should never cease.
  This is a typical example of the vast scale of worship which the Chaos Powers enjoy. Other 
  examples include planets where millions of people chant the same mantra in a cry of perpetual 
  worship so that the whole world vibrates to their voices. The entire energies of another are spent 
  building and tolling bells as big as cities whose thunderous peals rebound around the globe while 
  thousands of slaves labour to swing them. There is said to be a world belonging to Nurgle where 
  the entire population is enslaved to keeping the accounts of disease and pestilence, recording 
  every incidence of sickness in the entire galaxy.
  The Forces of Chaos
  The Eye of Terror is the focal point of Chaos in the galaxy. Its countless worlds provide the bases 
  from which armies and raiders attack the rest of the galaxy. The Imperium lives in fear that the 
  forces of Chaos will unite into a huge army of conquest and pour into human space, destroying 
  and taking over human planets. This has never happened because the various Chaos worlds 
  don't form a united empire but comprise countless independent realms ruled by rival Chaos 
  Powers and Daemon Princes. The different Daemon Princes and other daemonic rulers regard 
  their neighbours as rivals, even though they all share a common master.
  When the rival forces of Chaos do decide to act in concert they pose a potentially dangerous 
  threat to the Imperium, the Squat Homeworld, Orks, Eldar and all other intelligent lifeforms in the 
  galaxy. Fortunately, alliances between different daemon rulers ten to be fragile arrangements 
  which often fall apart even before their target is reached. Once they have captured the odd 
  planet their natural tendencies to squabble over the spoils almost invariable dissipates the their 
  forces and brings their reign of terror to a close. This disunity is particularly noticeable where the 
  forces of several powers are involved in a common enterprise.
  Only when Chaos raiders are led by a single extremely powerful leader are they really dangerous. 
  
  Fortunately for the Imperium, it is rare that a leader of sufficient calibre emerges. Almost 
  invariably the impetus of each fresh attack is quickly spend, so that human forces can take 
  advantage of their enemy's disunity to make good their initial losses.
  Chaos Renegades
  The most common threat to the Imperium comes from relatively small groups of raiders, invaders 
  and space pirates referred to as Chaos Renegades.
  A typical force of Chaos Renegades is based around a core of one or more Champions of Chaos 
  plus their attendant warbands. In most cases all the Chaos Renegades in a force come from a 
  single world, and their troops comprise not only mortal Champions and their followers, but also a 
  number of other followers of their Chaos Patron. Chaos Renegades are accustomed to war and 
  death on their homeworld and regard the galaxy as little more than a giant battlefield. The logical 
  extension of their existence is to find new battles to fight, fresh worlds to conquer, and new 
  peoples to enslave on behalf of their chaotic master.
  The Chaos Renegades are often aided by other forces of Chaos. Among these are the Chapters of 
  Traitor Space Marines which turned to Chaos during the Horus Heresy, and which still exist in the 
  Eye of Terror. These Traitor Marines roam the various worlds over which their Patron Powers have 
  cominion, joining warbands, sometimes becoming Champions and even progressing to become 
  Daemon princes. Once of the most active Chapters of Trator Marines is the Iron Warriors Chapter. 
  This Chapter is dedicated to Chaos in its undivided Majesty and is based on the world of the 
  Daemon Prince Perturabo. As they own allegiance to no Chaos Power in particular, they will often 
  join with Chaos Renegades regardless of the Chaos Power they follow.
  When the Chaos Renegades land on their target worlds they may be joined by allies from among 
  the world's own population, or by other marauding forces such as Orks or pirates. These allies are 
  all too willing to join with Chaos Renegades and fight with them in return for a share in the spoils 
  of war.
  As the Chaos Renegades move out of the Eye of Terror and towards their targets they are joined 
  by other Chaos sympathisers and all manner of freebooters. renegade leaders use the contacts 
  with the Chaos Cultists and treacherous humans to direct their attacks as effectively as possible - 
  appearing from nowhere to attack a vulnerable space convoy or a defenseless planet. Renegades 
  also lend their weight to the Chaos Cultist risings on human worlds, with the ultimate aim of 
  overthrowing Imperial government and installing the cultists in power. Cultists who join up with 
  Chaos Renegades are sometimes taken back to they Eye of Terror where they enter the service of 
  their master.
  Orks and human pirates, freebooters, and other nihilistic groups also join Renegades for a share 
  of the loot - they don't really care which side they support and are quite happy to fight for Chaos 
  against human or other forces. In this way many of the lawless and discontent elements of the 
  galaxy are drawn to the service of Chaos - some make the mistake fo returning to the Eye of 
  Terror where they are caught in the endless cycle of battle and damnation.
  Warp Travel
  Because the Eye of Terror exists both in real space and the warp it can be reached by spacecraft 
  travelling in either the material universe or the immaterial warp. By moving into the Eye of Terror 
  a spacecraft can move between the two alternative universes. Renegades have access to many 
  kinds of spacecraft, including captured vessels as well as the remnants of the fleets assembled 
  by Horus to attack Earth during the Heresy.
  Because of the complex, non-linear progress of time within the warp, craft which are thousands of 
  years old are still in service, many as gleaming and potent as the day on which they were 
  launched. Other craft are built on worlds within the Eye of Terror, raised by the servants of Chaos 
  as sacrifices to their daemonic masters. The outward appearance of such ships varies a great 
  deal, but on all it is one of corruption and madness.
  The flow of the warp can carry a spacecraft through time as well as space, so that what seems 
  like a few days' travel may take a craft through thousands of years of time. Imperial ships are 
  built to minimise these effects, and their crews are careful to navigate round the worse eddies 
  and whirlpools of the warp. Chaos spacecraft are inconsiderate of such matters and they are 
  content to drift through time and space until the winds of chance bring them upon a suitable 
  target.
  Ships sometimes get caught up in the warp and subjected to the disturbing effects of time 
  distortion. Even some of Horus's original forces suddenly reappear after ten thousand years of 
  
  travel, unaware that their cause is lost and determined to continue their attack upon the forces of 
  the Imperium.
  One of the most weird and extreme results of spacecraft being caught by temporal whirlpools in 
  the warp is the creation of Champions fated to foresee their own Heroic Death. The lives and 
  deaths of all living things have an existence in the warp. Caught up in such a cyclone of time a 
  man might witness his own death, or that of another, the more heroic and spectacular his doom, 
  the more likely it is to be revealed. Once a Champion's glorious fate has been seen, and it 
  becomes known that he will achieve a Heroic Death, his fame spreades throughout the galaxy. 
  The manner of his doom will be explained by countless followers of Chaos, and the brave deeds 
  which he is yet to perform earn him a formidable reputation. Because his doom is certain, the 
  Champion need have no worries about being slain at any other time, and can therefore disregard 
  such petty fears for his own safety as might otherwise concern him, and spend his remaining life 
  living up to the glorious image of his own death.
  +++The Carnival of Death+++
  The space inside the wagon was cavernous out of all proportion to its tiny exterior size. The 
  cacophonies that filled it were indescribable; the squealing, screaming, chattering and bickering 
  of the Nurglings was beyond mere human imagining. A million unruly school children left to their 
  own devices could not begin to rival the anarchy or intensity of that daemonic din. The grating 
  drones of the Plaguebearers all counting at once produced a sound so bass and penetrating that 
  it made the vital organs of every daemon vibrate and quiver in time with its beat.
  Then there were the indescribable noises, the creaks and groans, the little pops of bursting 
  pustules, the sloppering slicky noises of the frantically affectionate Beasts, and other sounds 
  which were impossible to ascribe to any one source in particular. Amidst it all, waving his arms, 
  the Great Unclean One was trying to make himself heard.
  "Ahh… Gentlecreatures, children, pretties... lend your ears to your loving Father, cease thy 
  aimless chatter, banish thy banal burblings..."
  It was quite useless, the noise continued apace, the squeals and laughter reaching a new 
  crescendo. The Great Unclean One appeared for a moment to be hurt by his fellow daemon's 
  rudeness.
  "SHUT UP," he bellowed.
  The noise stopped instantly, not even the beat of little daemonic hearts or drip of tiny daemonic 
  noses could be heard. The brown of every Plaguebearer furrowed in concentration as each tried 
  desperately to remember the last number he thought of. The Great Unclean Once quickly 
  regained his composure, for he was used to such things.
  "Gentlecreatures our pretties... now is the time to sing the songs of fate, for the moment has 
  come for the Dance of Death!"
  +++Father Nurgle+++
  Father Nurgle settled his great mass down among the supporting heap of his smallest minions. 
  Those lucky enough to escape being crushed by their master's bulk squealed delightedly as they 
  snuggled into the damp warmth of his flesh. Nurgle reclined comfortably and his corpulant face 
  assumed an air of triumphant expectancy.
  Nurgle gave a dignified nod to one of the Plaguebearers. Excitedly, the daemon began to beat its 
  drum, slowly and rhythmically at first, and gradually faster and faster as it became carried away 
  by the sense of occasion. All of his servants applauded, and Nurgle acknowledged them with a 
  smile and regal wave of his festering paw.
  It was the prelude to battle that excited the daemons, drawing squeals of anticipation from the 
  tumbling little Nurglings. This time the cavalcade was to be joined by others: Champions of 
  Nurgle and their mortal warbands, who were also going to take part in the great war. the Beasts 
  bounded and fussed in their eagerness to welcome the mortals, causing considerable disarray 
  and the odd casualty amongst the serried ranks of warriors.
  
  The warbands flocked to the sound of the drum. They came in carts and wagons like those of 
  Nurgle's own cavalcade, marched into camp, or simply distilled from the surrounding woods like 
  shadows at sunset. Some of the most severely mutated of them wore bright carnival masks and 
  voluminous robes, completely failing to hide their unique disfigurements if that was in fact their 
  purpose. The Plaguebearers carefully recorded the name of each Champion as he arrived, 
  announcing his titles as loudly as they were able among the rising laughter and squeaking 
  chatter. The show pleased Father Nurgle immensely: the busy carts with their tinkling bells, the 
  gaily-coloured masks and carefully decorated palanquins bearing various daemons or 
  Champions. He sighed with satisfaction and patted the little Nurgling that had crawled into the 
  crook of his arm and puddled there.
  >>Alien Races
  +++THE ELDAR+++
  Although humanoid in appearance, the Eldar are actually quite unlike humans. An Eldar stands a 
  little taller than a man, with long graceful limbs and elegant elongated features. Their 
  metabolism is faster than that of humans, so they are swift footed, quick thinking, and in many 
  respects superior to mankind. However, they are on the whole a little more fragile and perhaps 
  not quite as strong physically, although as in all species these qualities vary enormously from 
  individual to Individual, and some Eldar are very strong indeed. They are very long lived as a 
  species, some surviving for a thousand years, but they are not prolific.
  EARLY HISTORY
  The Eldar are an ancient race; their spacefaring history predating humanity's by many thousands 
  of years. In the distant past, the Eldar encountered the Old Slann, the greatest of all spacefaring 
  peoples, and learned many arcane secrets about the universe from them. After the passing of the 
  Old Slann, which itself happened thousands of years before man's first stumbling attempts at 
  spaceflight, the Eldar continued to flourish and their civilization expanded throughout the galaxy. 
  Eldar space travel, like that of the Old Slann, is based around the principle of warp-tunnel 
  engineering. Tunnels were constructed from star to star, passing through the warp and allowing 
  spacecraft a means of moving rapidly throughout the galaxy. Warp drives, as used by human 
  spacecraft, were not used by the early Eldar and this kind of travel within the warp rather than 
  through tunnels was regarded by the Eldar as dangerous and impractical.
  RACIAL DISASTER 
  The Eldar civilization collapsed at its very height. Today, its remnants reflect, but cannot hope to 
  equal, the achievements of that long past era. The Old Slann are said to have forewarned the 
  Eldar about the dangers that they would face. They taught how every living thought and feeling 
  creates an echo in the warp, and how like characteristics re-echo together, creating a unified 
  circulating wave of energy. Such waves form vortices of pure energy manifesting a collective 
  consciousness and will. The Slann called these conscious warp creatures the Powers of Chaos. 
  The Eldar fell victim to the monster created by their own racial inclinations: a Power of Chaos 
  raised by their common ambitions and motives. As the Power grew stronger, its echoes began to 
  permeate the minds of the Eldar themselves, reinforcing the qualities upon which it fed and 
  furthering its own growth. The natural ambitions and ideals of the Eldar, healthy enough in 
  moderation, were soon reinforced to a point of obsession and insanity. Within a few generations 
  the extremes of behavior overthrew all other considerations and the whole civilization fell into 
  madness and decay. 
  Only a few Eldar rebelled against the life of sybaritic ease now almost universal amongst their 
  kind. These were the few that had heeded the warnings of the long vanished Old Slann, turning 
  their minds away from their natural inclinations and towards the aversion of racial disaster. In 
  order to escape the decaying civilization around them, they constructed many vast spacecraft, 
  self-contained worlds where they could live wholly untainted by the mass of their race. These 
  craft worlds were the only portion of Eldar society to survive the fall of the Eldar race. All the 
  
  living Eldar are the descendants of these brave and hardy people.
  The fall of the Eldar is said to have happened in a single orgy of destruction. When the Power of 
  Chaos finally achieved sufficient energy, it began to draw all Eldar consciousness to itself, literally 
  draining the minds of the Eldar. Every Eldar world was emptied of life, and almost the entire race 
  perished. The energies of the Eldar passed into the warp, and became the creature known as 
  Slaanesh, the Power of Chaos given form by the dreams of the Eldar. This relationship is 
  important to those Eldar who survived, because in Slaanesh they perceive the worst side of their 
  race, the side of their character which caused their downfall and to which even the survivors are 
  inclined. 
  THE CRAFT WORLDS 
  Today the entire Eldar civilization is located on board the giant craft worlds that float throughout 
  the galaxy. The size of these worlds varies tremendously, some are almost the size of a small 
  planet whilst others are little more than a city floating in space. 
  The craft worlds still preserve the warp tunnel technology of the Eldar, and every craft world has 
  many entrances to warp tunnels inside it. Some warp tunnels are large enough only to admit a 
  single Eldar, others are large enough to drive a substantial vehicle through. The largest of all are 
  located outside the craft worlds, either contained within or suspended in space nearby. They are 
  virtually invisible of course, little more than a patch of darkness, but they allow whole spacefleets 
  to move between the different craft worlds, and from craft worlds to solar systems throughout the 
  galaxy. In this way the Eldar can move easily and quickly through the galaxy. 
  THE INFINITY CIRCUIT 
  While the Old Slann taught the Eldar about the dangers of the warp, they also taught them about 
  its many positive aspects. They taught how the mind of a living creature passes upon death into 
  the warp, where it may, if the individual mind has achieved power, remain whole and immortal as 
  a spirit in the warp. The Old Slann believed that the object of life was to perfect the mind, and 
  thereby achieve conscious immortality as a spirit in the warp. Once created an immortal spirit 
  could reincarnate as a living creature, and would always return to the warp as a whole spirit upon 
  death. However, the Old Slann also warned that such an existence was impossible if an 
  individual's own thoughts were too close to those of a Power of Chaos, for when that happened a 
  deceased consciousness would be devoured by the greater Power, losing its identity and melting 
  into it.
  Today the Eldar know that upon death their consciousness will not survive, but will be devoured 
  by Slaanesh and further invigorate that which is the eternal shame of their race. They can have 
  no immortal life as a spirit, and in death can only hope to serve the creature they regard as their 
  most potent enemy. It was as a response to this fate that the Eldar developed the Infinity Circuit. 
  The Infinity Circuit is a repository of Eldar minds, a collection of objects called Spirit Stones. The 
  consciousness or spirit of one or more Eldar is preserved in each Spirit Stone. Of course, a 
  consciousness is not quite like a living mind, so many Eldar minds can occupy a single Spirit 
  Stone manifesting a collective consciousness, or pool of knowledge. Although Stones are 
  individual repositories, all share the energy of the entire Infinity Circuit, and are linked by that 
  energy flowing between them. When an Eldar dies his spirit passes into a small temporary 
  spiritual repository called a Way Stone. The Way Stone can only hold the spirit for a limited time, 
  during which the Eldar's spirit must be transferred to a Spirit Stone for it to survive. All Eldar wear 
  a Way Stone, a small stud or decorated emblem which will hold their spirit if they die, usually on 
  their breast. 
  Each craft world has its own Infinity Circuit, spread over many Spirit Stones where the 
  consciousness of its past citizens resides. The craft world's Infinity Circuit represents a vast 
  repository of wisdom and experience, and it is treated with ultimate respect by the Eldar who live 
  upon that craft world. Every Eldar knows that his fate is to join his forefathers in the Infinity 
  Circuit when he dies. If an Eldar dies before his spirit can be gathered, this is regarded as a great 
  loss and a terrible fate. The Infinity Circuit of the craft world is regarded in many respects like a 
  living creature, which in some ways it is, contributing its own undying wisdom to the government 
  of the living. 
  There are many small Spirit Stones containing one or only a few collective minds. These smaller 
  Spirit Stones sometimes lie at the heart of machines, spacecraft, or other mechanical devices in 
  such as way that the consciousness they contain can join and harmonize with the minds of living 
  Eldar. The relationship is a useful one to the surviving Eldar, and one that has grown to be 
  
  entirely natural for them. 
  The ultimate examples of Eldar meshing with Spirit Stones is that of the creatures called Avatars. 
  Every craft world has a number of Avatars, battle-suits built around a Spirit Stone housing the 
  idealized spirit of an Eldar principle. Such stones contain only the parts of consciousness that 
  most embody an aspect of the Eldar character. An Eldar who becomes an Avatar melds his own 
  personality with the idealized spirit of a racial principle, becoming a living manifestation of that 
  attitude of the Eldar character. Once an Eldar has donned the suit of an Avatar, he and the Spirit 
  Stone are united until he dies, the Eldar simply forgets he has his own personality and becomes 
  enmeshed within the single-minded thoughts of the Avatar. Upon death, the Eldar's own spirit 
  passes into the stone and awaits a new Avatar. The Avatars are important to the Eldar, they are 
  living virtues, the embodiment of what they see as worthy about their race. The Avatars are the 
  most important occupants of a craft world. 
  A further example of this melding of Eldar and Spirit Stone is the Phantom Titan, where the minds 
  of its living crew meld into the Spirit Stone of the Titan itself, and are governed by its vast 
  fighting experience. Unlike the Avatar the melding is only temporary, but it still enables the crew 
  to fight with all the battle-wisdom and ferocity embodied by the spirit in the stone. 
  THE LAST HOPE
  Although very long lived, Eldar are not a prolific race. This may be one side effect of their spiritual 
  fall. As a result most Eldar populations are in a state of slow decline, and many craft worlds are 
  all but deserted. The Eldar nurture one last hope. They believe that when the Infinity Circuits hold 
  all the spirits of their race, all of the craft worlds will unite into one Infinity Circuit, and the 
  collective spirits of the Eldar will join to form a new Power of Chaos that will battle and subdue 
  Slaanesh, so that Eldar spirits may once more be able to merge with it and form a single, 
  balanced entity. By doing so, if such a thing is possible, they hope that this will allow the Eldar 
  race to be recreated in a better form. Meanwhile the Avatars of the craftworlds must guard the 
  Spirit Stones from harm and continue to survive, so that all Eldar can see and form in their own 
  minds a concept of the Eldar virtues that will enter along with their spirits into the Infinity Circuits.
  +++Eldar Background Information+
  ++
  +++Datafile 1+++
  FIR LIRITHION ( HEARTS ARMOURED FOR BATTLE )
  The Fir Lirithion of the Iyanden Craft World have a most unusual attitude towards combat. This 
  Eldar clan are slow to ire and they never go willingly to war;yet they are , once on the field, 
  among the most fearsome of all opponents. To the Fir Lirithion, war is a cancer to be eradicated. 
  They strive to cut out the disease but leave the body unharmed; to this end they will go to 
  inordinate lengths to purge their enemies of belligerent leaders while leaving the unwilling 
  masses unharmed.
  This tactic of course, relies on the idea that the masses will be routed upon the death of their 
  leaders. As a consequence, the first time the Fir Lirithion found themselves fighting Orks, they 
  suffered the biggest defeat of their long and glorious history. They struck at the Ork command 
  post with a lightning strike, killing all of the tribe's leaders in one fell swoop. Expecting the Orks 
  to fall apart without leadership, they did not expect the retaliation they recieved, and were taken 
  by suprise. their losses were heavy that day.
  Fir Lirithion are regarded is the surgeons of the battlefield by most observers. They heve fought 
  many highly effective campaigms, such as the route of a company of Emperors Children on the 
  moon of Balthon; a strike force of Phantoms went deep into the Valley of Envy and destroyed the 
  trators' command center. The leaderless and battered Marimes were forced to withdraw to a 
  savage feral world in the outer system, where they were killed by a virulent plague that caused 
  their Larraman's Organ to emit cells uncontrolably, terminaly thickening their blood.
  
  FIR DINILLAINN ( PROTECTORS OF THE FALLEN )
  Since Imperial records began the Eldar Phantoms of the Saim Hann Craft world have been known 
  as the Fir Dinillainn - the Protectors of the Fallen. Yet on their own time scale, this name is but a 
  recent acquisition earned by an act of outstanding courage and selfless service to another clan 
  many thousands of years ago. Lord Amthillon, leader at the time, sacrificed a third of his force to 
  protect the dying warriors of the Fir Lirithion Clan - his companions in the field - so that their 
  spiritstones could be retrieved. By that single act of self sacrifice the Fir Lirillyon - the Knights of 
  Purpose were renamed. the Fir Dinillain. Since that day the Phantoms of the Saim-Hann Craft 
  World have astonished even Imperial forces with their selfless heroism.
  FIR FARILLECASSION ( WATCHERS OVER ANCIENT WRONGS )
  It is widely-rumoured among the few Eldar unaware of the truth that the true location of the Black 
  Library - said to hold the Eldar codices that concern themselves with the worship of Chaos and 
  tell of the Eldar's downfall - must be the Biel-Tann Craft World. Although this is certainly untrue, 
  the Phantoms of Biel-Tann do display an unparalleled hatred of Chaos. The driving force behind 
  this hatred is afeverent wish that no other race should suffer the terrible downfall that befell the 
  Eldar.
  Inquisitor Trant tells of his journey to Truan IX to destroy a Khornate coven. However, Trant 
  arrived too late - upon reaching the surface he found that virtualy the entire population had been 
  wiped out. In the rubble of the western continent's capital city he found a half-burnt banner 
  bearing the symbols of the Fir Farillecassion - the Phantoms of Biel-Tann. They had arrived before 
  him.
  FIR IOLARION ( EAGLES BORN OF FIRE )
  The Fir Iolarion - Eagles Born of Fire -were almost completely destroyed four centuries ago when 
  they lost control of the warp gates onboard their Craft world, Lugannath, allowing the Daemons of 
  the warp to enter and attack them. For many years the clan drifted helplessly in space while they 
  laboured to make the necessary repairs; stranded, and with their numbers severly depleted by 
  the creatures in their midst, they were reduced to being one of the weakest Eldar clans.
  Over time however, thanks only to their own unrelenting and steadfast efforts, they have not only 
  regained the power they once had, but have exceeded it tenfold. their almost total obliteration is 
  now regarded by their leaders as a baptism of fire.
  In the months after their warp gate accident, the Iyanden Craft World sent Eldar troops to nearby 
  systems to gather materials for repairs. On the Ork world of Gragnar they found a lake of liquid 
  copper vital to the restabilisation of their warp gates. Although their operations to drain the lake 
  were constantly hampered by attacks from Ork Gargants, the presence of the Fir Iolarion 
  Phantoms meant that they were able to get the metal they required without sustaining heavy 
  losses.
  Most Eldar craft-worlds have their own Titan forces whose crews work together with an Infinity 
  Circuit.
  The Infinity Circuit is used in many forms by the Eldar, where other races would use computers 
  and similar devices. Each Infinity Circuit is imprinted with the character and memories of a living 
  Eldar through the process of 'soul-grafting' (Failleanam). The Eldar's body is left as a mindless 
  husk, but his thoughts live on in the Infinity Circuit . Soul-grafting is seen as the ultimate sacrifice 
  that an Eldar can make for his people, and the ancestors and relatives who live on within Infinity 
  Circuits are treated with great respect. They are revered and marked by the title of Tuisich-
  Novasmair, which Imperial sources normally translate as Lord-Phoenix.
  The Infinity Circuit of an Eldar titan is normally mounted in the centre of the crew compartment, 
  and takes the form of a large and intricately faceted piece of carrecenad, the 'soul-stone' which 
  forms the basis of Infinity Circuit technology. Unlike their Human counterparts, the crew of an 
  Eldar Titan is not physically connected to the machine; smaller chips of stone set in headbands 
  allow the crew to meld psychically with the Infinity Circuit and the highly-sophisticated Mind 
  Impulse Units it controls.
  An Eldar Phantom crewman is immediately recognisable by the Spitit Stone he wears upon 
  hisforehead. Upon becoming a Titan crewman, a ceremonial band is wraped around the Eldar's 
  
  head; almost immediately, the band bonds to his skull and sends tendrils into his brain. The 
  headband bears a small chunk of Spirit Stone taken from the Titan that the Eldar is to serve. 
  Upon taring his place in the cockpit, each crewman psychically links with the Titan using the 
  fragment of the stone. In effect, the Titan and crew become a single entity. The band may only be 
  removed upon tk Eldar's death.
  Like all Eldar, a Titan crewman bears a Spirit Stone on his chest that, upon his death, will 
  preserve his spirit for a short time. The shape of this stone often reflects the symbol of the Eldar's 
  clan: the Fir Lirithion, for instance, have heart-shaped stones.
  Because of the close links that are required between the Titan's crewmembers and the Titan 
  itself, it is usual for each crew to consist of Eldar from one family. This affords them a great deal 
  of respect within the craft world's hierarchy, as a family must be truly worthy to serve in a Titan 
  clan.
  When in battle, each crewman wears a close-fitting boiler suit that contains the life-support 
  systems he needs. His boots are made of a slightly adhesive substance that is ideal for moving 
  around the organic tubes and passageways that cris-cross the Titan. When outside the Titan, 
  each Eldar wears either a jacket or a coat for warmth. Like the boiler suit itself, these topcoats 
  bear the Titan's rune and victory symbols on the left shoulder, and the Eldar's clan symbol on the 
  back. 
  The Phantom has a crew of four - three living Eldar and one Infinity Circuit. The Infinity Circuit is 
  normally mounted in the centre of the crew compartment in the Titan's head, and the living crew 
  -frequently blood-relatives of the Infinity Circuit - occupy couches around it. Unlike their Human 
  counterparts, they do not have specific functions. Each crew member is equipped with a 
  headband in which is set a fragment of the carrecenad stone; by means of this they merge their 
  minds with the Infinity Circuit, forming a composite mind capable of handling multiple thoughts 
  and actions. This mind is linked to the Phantom's mechanical systems by Mind Impulse Units 
  which are far in advance of those used by the Imperium. The relationship between a Phantom's 
  living crew and its Infinity Circuit is intimate and all-sharing; they know each other totally, and are 
  marked by their ability to finish each other's sentences and thoughts out loud. In any other Eldar, 
  this would be unthinkable presumption, but Titan crews are know for the closeness they develop 
  and the eccentricities that arise from it. To Eldar outside the Titan Clans, they are almost a race 
  apart.
  ELDAR STORIES
  Iyanden was going to war. Grav-tanks Sped forward, leading the way for the Titans. Four 
  Phantoms wore the green and gold of Lirithion, with the heart and thorns on their banners.
  Behind the Titans came an army of Walkers, and above them hovered a swarm of Jet bikes, 
  buzzing like angry hornets. Gracefully, the Titans picked their way through the Infantry that Milled 
  around their feet. The leading Titan bore the sigil of Lord-Phoenix Fiallathandirel, Wall against 
  Evil. In its head ,a domed mass of Carrecenad soul-stone held the essence of the Eldar who had 
  borne that name. The living crew - blood-relatives of the Lord-Phoenix - reclined on couches 
  around the stone. Each wore a headband of polished metal, set with a smaller brother of the 
  stone on the floor Their eyes were empty; their minds were one with their Ancestor. They had 
  become -Fiallathandirel. 
  The crew's eyes saw nothing: it was the mind of the Titan that beheld the Orks through the 
  sensors that were his eyes and ears. There were many foes: hideous Gargants towered above 
  Buggies and Battlewagons. Here and there among the mass of troops could be seen the squat, 
  brutal Dreadnoughts. Orks covered the ground like a poisonous green mould 
  Iolavai Firnamaidd! The battle-cry came from all places and from nowhere it flew from the throats 
  of the living, and echoed round the silent stones. Time for the killing.
  Grav-tanks leapt forward, spitting bright laser-fire. Artillery added many voices to the song of war. 
  Dreadnoughts and Walkers loped forward and behind them, with shorter strides, ran the battle-
  suited Avenging Warnors 
  The Phantoms leapt ahead, swift movement and bright laser-bolts weaving a tapestry of death. 
  
  Fillathandirel led, dancing in a storm of refracted colour as defensive screens broke up his image. 
  Missiles flashed from the Phantom's wing, and his pulse laser traced a line of fire across a 
  Gargant's shields. Swift Badbaltrilas raced forward. Lady Double-Armed With Swords of Light. and 
  a Gargant died. One of her pulse lasers destroyed its shields. and the other broke its oily heart in 
  a gout of fire. Missiles and laser fire rained down on the Ork infantry. Spirit Warriors brought 
  Wartraks and Buggies fiery doom. But the Orks were taking their own toll. From a score of 
  positions. las-cannon picked off Dreadnoughts and Walkers.
  Fiallathandirel saw Rash Lantillifieth. Bright Slayer of Darkness. rush forward through a storm of 
  enemy Shells. Before he could fire. his pulse laser was destroyed and bright blue sparks 
  showered from one wing. The crippled Phantom swerved violently and his power fist tore into the 
  head of a Gargant.
  Far off to the left. another Gargant died. Caught in a web of fire from the Walkers and artillery, it 
  began to pour smoke and settled on its broad haunches. One of its turrets rattled briefly and 
  Dreadnoughts fell like grass in the wind.
  Away to the right a haze of colour solidified into brave Brylidassian, Opener of The Gates of 
  Doom. The Phantom stood like a statue as a vortex of light swirled out from his D-cannon. The 
  last Gargant toppled and crushed the troops beneath. Half its right side had simply vanished. The 
  Phantom was lit up with fire - his pulse laser turned to slag. Before he could seek safety in 
  movement he was destroyed. Fiallathandirel was saddened; another Spirit-Brother would dance 
  no more. 
  The Orks were wavering; their charge had been brought to a standstill. Here and there pockets of 
  infantry dug in, and hails of bolters fire greeted the advancing warriors. This was the Fate-time; 
  the moment at which all would be lost or won.
  Suddenly, the air was filled with the scream of flight packs. Like a storm of meteorites. the Fian 
  Silspeiraigh plummeted into the heart of the Ork infantry positions. 
  Seeing the Caurifellianaidd was almost a shock after the stories. Liafil had heard - they looked 
  very like himself. He tried not to stare at the shifting red-and-black of soul-stone in their head-
  bands. "It is my thought," said one, "that the Orks..." "Agreed." The second interrupted. "But 
  recall..." "Very different terrain." A third voice. "However..." "Luatheinn on the left flank can..." "If 
  necessary. We shall know more from this briefing." Liafil was relieved to reach the briefing-
  chamber. The Caurifellianaidd's constant interruption of each other made him very 
  uncomfonable. 
  In the head of the Phantom, three Eldar reclined on ornate couches, loose-limbed and empty-
  eyed, twitching occasionally against their straps as their minds moved the great war machine. 
  Each wore a metal headband set with a luminous red stone, shot through with a shifting filigree 
  of black. At the centre of the triangle formed by the three couches, a larger piece of the same 
  stone was set into the cabin floor.
  A slight smile appeared simultaneously on three vacant faces as the renegade Humans came into 
  view. It was a huge force. Crowds of infantry scurried like insects by the feet of the lumbering, 
  unlovely Human Titans. The Eye of Horus glared from a dozen banners, proclaiming their 
  allegiance to Chaos.
  The first Phantom was already dodging as a battery of weapons came to bear from the Traitors. A 
  hail of plasma and laser fire cut through the whirling, multicoloured shards of disrupted light 
  where the Phantom had been, just as its pulse laser spat a volley of multi-coloured laser bolts. 
  The flare of void shields was followed by an explosion as a Traitor Titan lost a power first. A 
  second volley of shots smashed into a building as the Phantom ducked behind it.
  Another Traitor Titan met its doom as the searing volley of a pulse laser cut its legs from under it, 
  but the second Phantom had stayed still a fraction too long. As its shape coalesced out of the 
  whirling holo-field distortion, a macro-cannon spoke, and the pulse laser was snapped in two like 
  a twig in a hurricane. The third Phantom was no more than a blur. Its Holo-field defences 
  scattered its image over a wide area as it strode flat out, trying to outflank the Traitor force. A 
  trail of file followed its disrupted form, but the Traitors could not find their target.
  The jet bikes screamed down on the Traitor infantry as the dreadnoughts and artillery opened fire 
  
  on the foremost of the Traitor Titans. A pair of plasma cannon vanished in a boiling cloud of 
  vapour, and its legs ground to a sparking, sputtering halt.
  A cluster of blue icons appeared on the holo. Blue for unidentified. Brannon snapped the comm 
  open.
  "Praebete aures, Hornet Group, this is Leader. These could be our Traitors. Odd numbers will 
  proceed left around the buildings. Even numbers will follow me to the crest of the hill. Await my 
  order to fire. Acknowledge."
  The white icons representing the rest of the Fire Wasps force flashed gold once, and the 
  formation split with parade-ground precision.
  Half of Hornet Group followed Brannon's Nemesis to the crest of the hill, spread out in arrowhead 
  formation.
  "Moderati will prepare their weapons." 
  "Macro-cannon ready." 
  "Plasma gun ready."
  "Las-cannon ready." 
  "Chain fist ready."
  "Iyanden is ready."
  Brannon punched the comm button angrily.
  "Who said. . . ?" At that moment, his Nemesis crested the hill. On the plain below, a force of Eldar 
  was waiting. There were three slim, deadly-looking Eldar Titans; dreadnoughts, infinity-circuit 
  robots and war walkers stood at their feet while a small group of jet bikes hovered by the 
  shoulder of the lead Titan. To the rear, Brannon could just make out a detachment of mobile field 
  artillery. Even as Brannon took in the size of the Eldar force, the strangely-accented voice 
  sounded again.
  "Iyanden is gladdened, friend Hornet." Something about the languid tone irritated Brannon, and 
  he tried to keep his voice level as he replied.
  "This is Hornet Leader. What is your purpose here, Iyanden?"
  "Our purpose is not incompatible with your own, friend Hornet. We, too, seek those whom you 
  call Traitors.''
  "This is Imperial business, Iyanden." Brannon replied through clenched teeth. "We have not been 
  informed of any treaty of co-operation."
  "There is none.'' Brannon was sure he heard a hint of supercilious mockery in the Eldar's tone. 
  "Our business is not with your Imperium, either as friends or as enemies. We seek those whom 
  we seek for reasons of our own."
  "Iyanden." Brannon's tone was stiff with formality and irritation. "Be informed that this planet is 
  within Imperial jurisdiction, and that your presence here constitutes a technical invasion. If 
  necessary, we stand ready to..."
  "To weaken both our forces Such a thing would gladden those you call Traitors, who, by the way, 
  are approaching. You will pardon us for the present, although we shall be happy to continue this 
  discussion in a short time."
  The Eldar force had already begun to move off, and the lead Titan raised its power fist in a casual 
  wave as it turned. Almost at the same tirne, a thick spread of red Traitor icons appeared at the 
  edge of Brannon's holo-display.
  "Hornet Group, this is Leader. Pugna incepta. All Titans will move to engage the Traitors. Treat 
  the Eldar as non-hostile, but be on your guard. Those decadents are capable of anything."
  As he led Hornet Group toward the Traitors he recited the Fire Wasps' Litany of Combat silently, 
  summoning his faith in the Emperor to overcome his resentment of the Eldar's high-handed 
  attitude and clear his mind for the coming battle.
  The Fire Wasps arrived just in time to see a damaged Eldar Phantom charging a Traitor Nemesis 
  The severed stump of its pulse laser blocked a scything chain-fist as plasma vaporised one of its 
  wings, then its power fist siezed the Nemesis by the barrel of its las-cannon, the Phantom locked 
  one leg behind the Nemesis' knee-joint, and the Traitor Titan toppled and fell.
  On the Traitors' far flank, a pulse laser volley crashed into the blind side of another Titan, 
  fracturing the reactor vessel at its heart. Plasma boiled skywards, and another Traitor Titan 
  staggered crazily out of the explosion, struck a building and fell.
  
  The Imperial Titans of Hornet Group fell on the Traitors' near flank like a thunderbolt, laying down 
  a holocaust of plasma and laser fire as they advanced.
  With the Traitors already weakened by the Eldar, the battle was brief 
  Fiallir led his Wind Riders high over the battle. In the distance four of the ugly, brutish Ork 
  Gargants lumbered forward, contrasting grotesquely with the Phantoms of Fir Lirithion they faced. 
  Grav-Tanks sped forward weaving as they headed for the chosen artillery positions.
  The Wind Riders left the Titans behind. Fiallir wondered briefly what it must be like to have a 
  machine respond as if it were your own body. Then he laughed out loud. He knew. His Cycle 
  rolled and swerved, sharing his laughter.
  Far below him the artillery was firing. Explosions appeared among the advancing horde of Orks. 
  With the wild song of the Avenger keening through his veins, Fiallir led the Wind Riders to the 
  attack.
  "Iolavai Ceifulgaithann!" Six voices echoed the warcry as the Wind Riders swooped. Shuriken tore 
  through steel and leather. flesh and bone. Orks scattered: Bikes and Wartraks swerved madly to 
  avoid the onslaught. A Wartrak gunner died trying to bring his las-cannon to bear. Another was 
  faster - Fiallir threw his Cycle into a tight turn as a lasa-bolt grazed his front fairing. Behind him 
  Rhiadlior fell in a storm of bolter shells - now they were five.
  Hugging the ground the Jet Cycles screamed along the Ork lines. Grav-tanks hurried to reach the 
  gap before it closed. Rubble flashed by, inches away - vital cover against the concentrated bolter 
  fire of the Ork infantry. Five Orks died against the stump of a wall but Mathlahir fell with them.
  Dodging and weaving the four Jet Cycles headed deeper into the Ork lines. Auto-cannon shells 
  marched along a wall behind Fiallirs shoulder; he flung his Cycle sideways out of the line of fire 
  and swung round the building.
  The Gargant came as a complete surprise Fiallir swerved and climbed, almost rolling over in the 
  effort to avoid the huge machine Liassalath reacted an instant too late. A dozen Orks died at their 
  firing-posts as the three Jet Cycles flashed past. The Gargant was behind them before the 
  answering bolter fire started.
  The Wind Riders bore down on the front line to find it awash with Avenging Warriors. The whole of 
  the Ork centre had dissolved into small hand-to-hand skirmishes, and stalking Dreadnoughts 
  sowed destruction along the flanks. A wrecked Gargant lay on its side, a makeshift fortress where 
  a small group of Orks made a determined stand.
  They took the Orks by surprise. A huge Ork stood bellowing orders - Fiallirs shurikens cut him in 
  two and the others fled. With Eldar infantry all around them and Jet Cycles attacking from behind, 
  panic spread quickly. A few fired back, and Talission fell.
  The two surviving Wind Riders made a low pass over the ruined Gargant. but there was no 
  answering fire. Fiallir exchanged a wave with one of the Avenging Warriors, and headed back 
  toward the Eldar lines.
  Ralahir sat quietly in the hold of the Falcon, waiting for the Vengeance to begin. Around him sat 
  nine others, all clad, like him in the mask of The Avenger. Ten Eldar, one face, One mind. The 
  Avenger's Song beat soundlessly through his mind as he knew it beat through nine others - and 
  across the battlefield, in thousands more. Two thousand minds, two thousand guns, one mind, 
  one song, one spirit. So it was taught - that each was The Avenger and The Avenger was all.
  An explosion jolted the Grav-Tank but it veered and regained its course Ralahir was thrown 
  against the straps of his harness and for a moment his concentration strayed. Then his mind 
  became one with the song again; his spirit rose and fell in tune with two thousand others.
  Through their mental song with distant ears, he heard the dull crump of Ork weapons and the 
  voices of lasers and shuriken cannon. They blended somehow, forming bass and descant to the 
  song of war.
  The Falcon stopped abruptly, as a dancer stops at the end of a high leap. Ralahir loosened his 
  harness and stood up in a single motion, holding his shuriken catapult in readiness. Doors swung 
  open, and the Avenging Warriors went to war.
  The Phantoms were almost with them, blurs of colour behind and to the right. Jet Cycles 
  screamed overhead as the Falcon sped away with the rest of its group, to harry the Orks left 
  
  flank. In the distance Gargants lumbered forward like mobile buildings, towering above the crowd 
  of infantry and the hordes of wheeled and tracked vehicles. The air was bright with laser fire and 
  the ground shook to the tread of the huge machines.
  The heavy weaponry was already within range; soon it would be time for shurikens. The Jet 
  Cycles sowed explosions along the Ork front line; one fell, like a shooting star. Ork vehicles 
  lurched forward from the flame and smoke spitting shells, plasma and laser fire. Dodging 
  between ruins and rubble the Avenging Warriors ran forward to meet them.
  A gang of Wartraks thundered down on their position. spewing, death as they bounced and jolted 
  across the broken ground. Their lasers were answered with shurikens. The driver of the leading 
  vehicle slumped across his handlebars; it swerved abruptly into one of its fellows. The surviving 
  crews jumped clear of the wreck, drawing bolters. None lived long enough to fire.
  The other Wartraks were past them now, heading deeper into the Eldar force to exchange fire 
  with the Walkers.
  Ralahir looked around; across the battlefield the wave of vehicles had cut through the Eldar 
  infantry. A few headed straight for the Phantoms prompted by some suicidal bravery to attack the 
  biggest target they could find. Meanwhile the Ork infantq was closing.
  Shuriken and bolter fire lit up the air with a deadly-bright hail as both sides dug in. The broken 
  ground was a deathtrap - whoever left cover first would die first.
  Jet Cycles made a strafing pass over the Ork positions but their fire would never be enough to 
  break the deadlock. Ralahir thumbed his communicator into life.
  " Iolavai Silspeiraigh!" There is food for the Hawks here! Let us feast on the sorrows of our 
  enemy!
  The battlefield was silent. Corpses were strewn across the ground, their weapons as broken as 
  their bodies. Vehicles lay smoking, overturned, their dead crews sprawled on and around them.
  But among the death, there was movement. Grim graceful figures glided from ruin to ruin, from 
  wreck to wreck. Slowly, silently, the Eldar took back their dead.
  At the center of the field, where the fighting had been fiercest, six great pyres were lit. The Orks 
  were ignored, their bodies left to feed the carrion-beasts which already scuffled and chittered 
  among the rubble. Not for them the rites of Tienespiorath; no remembrance for the enemy.
  Liathair turned his back on the pyres for the fourth time and went back toward the ruined 
  building. A jet bike passed him, the normal scream of its engine lowered to a mournful hum as its 
  rider brought back a fallen comrade. Further away, he could see a group of searchers carrying 
  bodies into a Grav-Tank. To his left, a Banshee strode towards the pyres holding the body of an 
  Avenging Warrior in its great hands like a broken doll.
  It was late now, and the dead were truly lost; earlier a few had been saved into the spirit-stones 
  of the Lords-Phoenix. Now, the slain were beyond saving, their spirits sucked into the void, into 
  the great abomination which the Eldar must bear, of which only the Harlequins speak.
  Inside the building, Liathair kicked an Orkish carcass aside and gently lifted the last of the Eldar 
  bodies in his arms. For the fourth time he made the journey back to the place where a fresh pyre 
  was being built. The mask of the Avenger snarled up at him from the helmet: my life was sold 
  dearly.
  He laid the corpse on top of the growing pyre. He did not look behind the mask, to see who it was; 
  it was irrelevant. All the dead had died in the spirit of the Avenger, their other selves forgotten, 
  No names, no faces - just snarling masks and blazing shuriken catapults.
  Pain is ours, and sadness at your parting, 
  Never to taste of our victory's joy. 
  The fires are lit for you, those who live weep.
  Not enough Orks exist to atone for your lives.
  The dirge rose over the communications network, stately and measured. Though the lost had no 
  names still they were lost. He had found the four dead from his coillineir and performed the 
  marcarath which the living owed the fallen.
  A great shadow fell over the unlit pyre; one of the Phantoms now towered above it. A huge pulse-
  laser reached down, with something like gentleness - a flash, a crack, and the pyre was lit. The 
  Titan stood over the pyre as it burned, arms crossed and head bowed in mourning.
  
  +++Eldar Background Information+
  ++
  +++Datafile 2+++
  Overhead, a sun the colour of blood beat down turning the ash plain into a lake of crimson light. 
  A good omen, Karhedron decided. They would sweep the foul influences of Chaos from this world.
  He surveyed the scene through the eyes of his Warlock mask, his long thick robes fluttering in the 
  breeze. He scanned the horizon, hoping to catch sight of the enemy.
  In his mind lethal energies pulsed and surged. He felt the urge to unleash them creep through 
  him. He was a vessel for transcendent power. All he had to do was focus it through his 
  channelling runes or his witch blade to bring death to his enemies.
  His mind cast back to his time as an Aspect Warrior, an experience he had hoped never to have 
  submit himself to again. Countless times had he stood waiting like this for battle to commence. 
  As a Fire Dragon Karhedron had fought on fields of ice under turquoise skies, danced through 
  whirling red dust on burning desert plains, crept through underground labyrinths of dank dark 
  stone. The ancient weapon he bore remembered too. It had not always been his - he had 
  retrieved it from beside the fallen body of the famous Warlock Tatheya, where she lay 
  surrounded by dead Orks.
  The song of wings filled the air as a group of Swooping Hawks soared ecstatically into the warm 
  sky. They drifted lazily upward, catching thermals like giant birds of prey. Karhedron knew that 
  their seeming indolence was illusory. The Keen-eyed Ones kept careful watch in case the enemy 
  attempted a surprise attack.
  He studied the squad of Aspect Warriors sitting on the nearby rocks, meditating on the inner 
  nature of their weapons. The sun glinted off their blue armour, highlighting the Fire Shrine rune 
  that marked them as belonging to their Craftworld. Their shuriken catapults lay dormant across 
  their knees. Karhedron was not fooled by their apparent passiveness. He knew that the Dire 
  Avengers could shift from quiet repose to instant action in the blink of an eye.
  A high-pitched keening wail filled the air as the Howling Banshees performed the Dance of Skulls 
  near their dropship. Karhedron watched as the women sparred in slow motion with invisible foes, 
  each movement part of some greater intricate pattern, as if the whole unit were one organism 
  sharing a single mind. Scarlet tresses swept through great arcs as the women swayed. 
  Langourous kicks just seemed to miss each of the dancers. As the ritual continued the pace of the 
  footstamping and handclapping speeded almost imperceptibly until the Banshees moved and 
  tumbled almost too fast for the eye to follow.
  A shimmering of air between the gateway tetrahedrons announced the arrival of a squad of 
  chitinously armoured Striking Scorpions. They skittered across to the Parseer's position and 
  bowed before Kelmon, the chosen Battleseer. Kelmon acknowledged their presence with an 
  ornate salute. Mandiblasters clicked acknowledgement then they turned and moved to take up a 
  perimeter position.
  Nearby atop a great butte, Dark Reapers, arranged in three-man fireteams, stood immobile as 
  statues. Their massive forms radiated menace yet their presence was strangely reassuring. 
  Karhedron knew no enemy could approach without being the target of their missile launchers. 
  A line of Fire Dragons weaved across the plain as the Eldar army arrived through the gateways 
  and assembled, squad by squad, on the plain. A thrill passed through Karhedron as he realised 
  the extent of the force the Craftworld was fielding. Unit after unit of Guardians arrived and took 
  their place in the formation. Mighty Spirit Warriors stalked among the ranks on long insect-like 
  legs.
  As the last of the force assembled Karhedron speculated on the nature of the enemy they were to 
  face. The corruption of chaos must be mighty indeed to justify the deployment of such a massive 
  military strength, he thought.
  As the formation was nearly complete a change of mood swept through the army. He felt tension 
  galvanise the nearby Dire Avengers. The Banshees ceased their dance and stood poised like 
  ballerinas, waiting. A hush of expectation settled over the assembled Eldar. The whole army held 
  
  its breath.
  Suddenly the smell of ozone filled the air. A crackling, hissing sound emerged from the gateway 
  tetrahedrons. The runes along their sides blazed as if being overloaded with power. A bloody 
  glow illuminated the area between the pyramids.
  Space seemed to warp and then the Avatar was there, looming over his honour guard of Exarchs. 
  Even the mighty masked warriors were dwarfed by his massive presence. The incarnation of 
  Khaine stood half-again as tall as those who surrounded him. In his left fist he clutched a gigantic 
  battle blade. Blood dripped from the fingers of his left hand. Crimson eyes glowed like red-hot 
  rock within his helm. He swept a burning glance over his awe-stricken followers. Karhedron felt a 
  cold wash of horror drench his soul as he beheld the god-like being, followed by an unholy thrill of 
  anticipation.
  The Avatar's incandescent gaze seemed to bore into the very heart of the Eldar warriors, kindling 
  the fire of battlelust there. All fear, all hesitation was burned away by unholy joy and murder lust. 
  The killing power within them stirred in answer to the being's call. A cry of pure exultation was 
  torn from Karhedron's throat. It mingled with the great roar of the entire army.
  The warcry rumbled like thunder over the plain, a shout to inspire pure terror in any living thing 
  that heard it. It continued to rise into crescendo after crescendo till the Avatar made a short 
  chopping gesture for saence. Instantly all was quiet.
  Then, following their Bloody-handed God, the Eldar marched to war. Flanked by his apprentices 
  Kelmon prepared himself for the battle. His fingers toyed idly with the wraithbone tiles of the 
  battlerunes. The air carried the scent of ozone and blood. He gazed into the viewing tesseract 
  and studied the disposition of the armies, fixing them in his mind.
  The Light in Infinite Darkness forces stretched out across a long front. The Avatar and most of the 
  Aspect Warriors held the centre in strength. Spirit Walkers guarded the right flank. The left flank 
  was secured against the base of a huge butte. Dark Reapers commanded the heights. A strike 
  force of Banshees waited in the gulleys ready to advance in cover along the dry stream bottom. 
  The Guardian Squads reinforced the centre. Swooping Hawks cast long shadows on the ash plain. 
  The Eldar force was a river of colour suddenly frozen.
  The chaos cultists faced them along the top of the ridge, a huge ragged army of depraved 
  humans clutching ill-assorted weapons. Once perhaps they had been part of the Planetary 
  Defence Force befote this world fell to the forces of depravity. Now they stood mouthing silent 
  obscenities. A few hastily converted Rhinos lay hull down against the great ridge. The sign of 
  Slaanesh was splashed in red paint along their side. The skeletal fingers of dead tree branches 
  clutched at the sky. Beyond them Kelmon sensed rather than saw an obscenely powerful 
  presence. A dozen rusty Dreadnoughts lumbered into position on the humans' left flank.
  It was time. Kelmon breathed deeply and entered the trance. His fingers danced through the air 
  scattering the red and blue runes representing the opposing forces. He emptied his mind and 
  sifted through the possible futures, searching for a probability line that would give the Eldar 
  victory. As always the future was turbulent, waves of possibility and psychic power and passion 
  clouded the potential course of events. The power of the Avatar itself warped the timelines round 
  it.
  He felt a surge of exhilaration as the power flowed through him - nothing could compare with this 
  feeling of power. All the game-playing and Event challenges among the Seers were only 
  preparation for it and offered only pale hints of its satisfactions. He focussed all his attention on 
  the runes, and under his scrutiny they moved delicately into conjunction with each other, 
  establishing the weave of the pattern. The runes danced around him, shifting like a shoal of fish 
  in ocean depths. Each represented a part of the assembled forces, and through them he could 
  maintain a psychic link with the Eldar troops.
  The blue stone representing the Spirit Walkers moved off cautiously, and on the battlefield the 
  great war-machines strode forward. In his multi-compartmented mind a dozen potential futures 
  blossomed. He saw the machines fall blasted by heavy weapons. He saw them stride among the 
  dreadnoughts and engage in melee. He saw them stumble on the rough ground.
  In the air the red runes rearranged themselves. In his minds eye he saw the human heavy 
  weapons belch. Flowers of flame bloomed at the feet of the Spirit Walkers. Kelmon reeled, feeling 
  the pattern of the conflict emerging from the maelstrom of probability. Events were rapidly 
  speeding up, and the dance of the runes reflected this. He struggled to keep track of the pattern 
  as it became ever more complex and intertwined, twisting into impossibly convoluted designs 
  
  symbolk of the state of the baule.
  As one group of runes moved, another set responded in-turn. Images flickered through his mind. 
  Swooping Hawks soared over the enemy front line dropping explosive grenades. A storm of 
  laserbursts erupted round them. Several Hawks dropped like wounded birds into the ranks and 
  were swiftly tom to pieces. Their rune flicked away from its endangered position and the airborne 
  troops drifted into the sky out of laser range.
  A wave of screaming humans raced forwards. They slid down the slope of the ridge, plumes of 
  ash billowing round their feet, bolters blazing, looks of ecstatic bloodlust frozen on their faces. 
  The Rhinos provided supporting fire. The red runes span round each other like a Catherine wheel 
  and touched the blue rune of the Dark Reapers. A hail of missiles leapt from the mesa top and 
  tore the cultists to shreds. Another of the blue runes moved into the pattern and the Banshees 
  started sneaking forward up the culverts of the stream bottom.
  Pain flared through him as the Avatar rune grew in size and luminescence, attracting more blue 
  runes around it as the Bloody-Handed One led the Scorpions and the Dragons towards the 
  survivors of the human charge. Kelmon threw his efforts into following the new probability line 
  the Avatar had instigated. The Hawks flew down across the ridge to assault the snipers and the 
  Rhinos. The attack wasn't elegant but it distracted the humans from the frontal assault as they 
  concentrated on the fliers.
  Human reinforcements raced down the ridge throwing themselves into the fray, seemingly 
  unafraid of the Avatar. Once again Kelmon sensed the presence of some daemonic power. The 
  rune of the Accursed One span into the middle of the pattern, and the sense of looming presence 
  intensified. Men screamed as the Dragons' meltaguns charred their flesh. The Scorpions ripped 
  through them, mandiblasters spitting death.
  On the right, the Spirit Walkers had bogged down in an exchange of fire with the dreadnoughts. 
  They seemed to be losing. The Spirit Walker rune flipped into a new position, placing itself in 
  conjunction with the defence rune. The Walkers moved further to the right seeking cover.
  The Dreadnoughts were on the move now, heading towards the swirling melee at the ridge 
  bottom. In his minds eye Kelmon saw the Avatar turn and shred a mighty machine as if it were 
  made of paper. Blood and oil mixed as the man within was ripped in two.
  Warlocks danced through the fray, blasting their foes with psychic bolts. Kelmon sensed the ebb 
  and flow of their power within the runes. There was a brief flicker of unexpected contact where he 
  looked through the eyes of the Warlock Karhedron. He felt the shock of contact as the Warlock 
  rammed his witchblade into the stomach of a cultist then withdrew it almost before the blood 
  spurted.
  The Rhinos started to move rumbling forwards, bolters blazing. The hail of fire shredded through 
  cultist and Eldar alike. It pattered off the Avatar's arrnour like gentle rain. When the arrnoured 
  vehicles came into range the Dark Reapers moved into action. Orange contrails of rocket fire 
  flickered hellishly, and explosions ripped the earth around the Rhinos. A direct hit reduced one 
  vehicle to mangled wreckage.
  The withering rain of rnissiles stopped the armoured advance. Kelmon let his attention slide 
  elsewhere. The Screaming Banshees had reached the hillside and their rune twisted as they 
  charged up the slope to clear the ridgetop. The outcome of this move was strangely obscured 
  and when they were in position he found out why.
  His heart skipped a beat as he felt empathically the terror of the warrior women. Row upon row of 
  human warriors waited and when Kelmon recognised the being that led them he realised what 
  had hid them from his vision. A Keeper of Secrets. A Greater Daemon in the service of Slaanesh 
  towered over the assembled throng. Jewelled eyes glittered in its bull-like head. its huge pincer 
  arms caressed the head of a priestess almost lovingly. It beckoned with one of its other pair of 
  human arms and a wave of cultists surged towards the Banshees.
  The dancers held their ground, vaulting among the frenzied soldiers. Their masks screamed and 
  Kelmon could hear the high piechsed wailing tn his head. Men fell clutching bleeding ears, faces 
  liquefying under the impact of high intensity ultra-sound. Then the Daemon entered the fray and 
  the Banshees died. The creature's fury was awesome to behold.
  The Slayer of Slaanesh seemed almost to gloat as it thundered through the Eldar force, pincers 
  ripping off heads. It lifted one frail body and tossed lit aside casually, like a discarded toy. Laser 
  bolts reflected from its glowing skin. It ignored the strike of the Banshee leader's power sword 
  before playfully disembowelling her. The Banshees tried to retreat but they were cut off by the 
  
  cultists surrounding them. Mad laughter frothed from the humans' foam-flecked lips as they killed 
  the Aspect Warriors.
  Now the Keeper of Secrets emerged onto the ridge top, holding the shattered body of a Banshee 
  over its head. It stood there silhouetted against the sunlight and roared its contempt of the 
  enemy below. It plucked the brightly-glowing waystone from the woman's armour and popped it 
  in its mouth like a sweetmeat. A look of obscene pleasure passed across its face as it consumed 
  the soul contained within.
  The Eldar army froze. Moans of terror issued from a few lips. A lull settled over the battlefield and 
  even the chatter of small arms fire seemed to recede.
  The Avatar turned its burning gaze on the Daemon silently responding to its mocking challenge. 
  The slow drip-drip-drip of blood from its left hand intensified Its blade glowed brightly in its 
  clenched right fist.
  Kelmon sensed that they had reached the crisis point of the battle. Two mighty probability waves 
  were about to dash, one bringing screaming terror and defeat to his people, the other bringing 
  joyous victory. The outcome was unclear. Forces beyond his ability to comprehend had been 
  unleashed here.
  The Daemon led its followers down the ridge. The Eldar charged to meet them. Great clouds of 
  dust rose around the combatants. Now all sublety was thrown aside in the primal fury of conflict. 
  The fighting became close and deadly as the two forces mingled. The Avatar and the Keeper of 
  Secrets ploughed towards each other, leaving red destruction in their wakes. Swooping Hawks 
  entered the melee. The Daemon rent two Exarchs asunder before it confronted the Avatar.
  The earth shook as the two mighty beings clashed. The Avatar and the Daemon wrestled, each 
  seeking advantage. Auras of power flickered around their heads as they duelled with blades of 
  psychic force. The Daemon's claws locked tight on the Eldar's armour, striving to crush the being 
  within. The Bloody-Handed One's left hand closed on the Daemon's throat as it sought to strangle 
  its foe.
  Kelmon felt a surge of power as the Warlocks entered the fray. Their witch blades flashed, cutting 
  into the daemon's hide, distracting it for a second as it lashed out with its fists, breaking bodies 
  with each terrific blow.
  For a long moment the conflict stood in the balance. The Avatar and the Daemon stood locked, 
  straining to their uttermost, neither able to break the deadlock. Kelmon sensed the total nature of 
  the combat. Here were two beings, driven by burning hatred, battling on every level, physical, 
  mental, spiritual; reenacting an old cosmic battle. Around them the struggles of man and Eldar 
  were dwarfed by the energies unleashed. It was like two giants fighting in an ant-heap.
  Slowly, painfully, the Avatar forced the Daemon back. The Daemon held its ground, but was 
  forced to sway, curving its back away from its foe. The Avatar seemed to grow as it exerted itself 
  more fully. Suddenly, with a final desperate surge it lifted the Daemon and broke its back over 
  one armoured knee. A terrible psychic scream rang out. The feedback through the runes almost 
  caused Kelmon to faint.
  The Avatar stood now in the centre of battle and raised its blade in triumph. The cultists moaned, 
  having seen their god destroyed. The Avatar glared around. Its gaze fixed on one man who fell to 
  his knees screaming. The Avatar reached out with its bloody hand. There was a great splintering 
  and rending of bones as the man's heart burst out through his chest and floated into the Avatar's 
  grasp. The cultists fell back demoralised.
  The battle was over. The massacre began.
  Karhedron walked across the plain of ash. All around Bonesingers in wraithbone armour loomed 
  from the twilight, their ornate helmets and baroque armour turning them into menacing spectral 
  figures. They stood over the bodies of the Eldar dead, singing the Requiem for Fallen Heroes.
  A thousand points of light glittered in the shadows transforming the battlefield into a carpet 
  strewn with tiny stars. Each small fire was a waystone, pulsing with the soul of a slain warrior, a 
  refuge against the ultimate death. Slowly the lights winked out as the Bonesingers reverently 
  collected them for merger with the Infinity Circuit.
  Karhedron passed the burned out remains of a fallen Spirit Walker. The machine was shattered 
  beyond repair, its external carapace pitted with blast craters, its great head fused to molten slag. 
  It lay on its side like the skeleton of a fallen giant.
  He remembered the Spirit Walker as it had marched to battle, striding like an elegant 
  thoroughbred, spidersilk pennons aflutter. He mourned its passing. Another artefact of ancient 
  
  times destroyed, another object of irreplaceable beauty removed from the universe by the forces 
  of senseless destruction.
  He stepped over a human corpse. The man looked small and pitiful now he was dead, hands 
  outstretched, begging for mercy he never received. His eyes were open, looking up to the 
  unforgiving sky with an expression of shock. The Warlock bent down and closed his eyes gently, 
  thinking that no-one should gaze out into the darkness forever.
  Shocking quiet had fallen over the field now that the battle was over. Karhedron found it hard to 
  believe that only hours earlier he had been trapped in a roaring melee, partially deafened by the 
  clamour of battle. Now his ears seemed to ring with the absence of sound.
  Nearby a Dire Avenger sat cross-legged by the body of her fallen comrade. She had removed her 
  mask and crystal bright tears ran down her face. He knew her name was Talessa. He placed his 
  hands on his own mask and toyed with the idea of removing it. He did not.
  He knew that when he did so, the last remnants of his fighting persona would fall away and he 
  would have to confront his own reaction to the battle. Then he too would weep. At the moment, 
  armoured in the role of Warlock, he could ignore the worst of his sorrow.
  He stalked through the aftermath of carnage wondering if it was always like this, the grief and the 
  hollowness of heart. He began to understand why some of the Eldar became trapped on the 
  warrior path. Dealing with the sight of so much ruin could be too much to bear.
  We have won this battle, he thought, but we can never win the war. In the end this ceaseless 
  conflict we destroy us. Every fight leaves us dimihishedt a few more souls lost to the Warp 
  forever. He thought of Shiera, the Banshee whose waystone the daemon had devoured. That 
  bright joyous girl would dance no more at the Feast of Forgotten Sorrows. She was gone now and 
  a small part of the Eldar race had departed with her. The universe is colder for her passing, he 
  thought.
  All the bloodlust and the bright madness of battle had gone now. It was as if the Avatar had taken 
  it with him when he vanished back to his nether- realm in the heart of the Craftworld.
  Contemplating the darkness of spirit that the Bloody-Handed One's presence had revealed to 
  him, Karhedron almost hated the creature. Part of him had enjoyed the battle, had revelled in the 
  taking of life and the terrible exitement the being had led them into. The Avatar is part of us, he 
  thought. We cannot escape that fact or shift the blame to him. We created him and we 
  summoned him. His destructive potential is part of every Eldar. The Avatar's presence was simply 
  an excuse for unleashing our darker selves. He is only our refledion, an incarnate nightmare of 
  violence and death made real by our desires.
  He reached the centre of the field where the remaining troops were gathered. Most of the Aspect 
  Warriors had removed their masks, were becoming themselves again. Some sat quietly, some 
  wept, some laughed. The faceless precision of the Aspect Squads was gone, replaced by the 
  reactions of individual Eldar.
  A group of people had gathered around the Farseer. Among their ranks Karhedron could make 
  out the face of his mentor, Lahessa. Kelmon emerged to be greeted by their quiet approbation. 
  His face was flushed, triumphant. He was raised on high by two Guardians, who lifted his thin, 
  wasted body easily, and was taken down towards the bulk of the army.
  Somewhere, someone struck up a tune on the splinterpipe. The wild melody drifted over the 
  battlefield, moving slowly from a mood of melancholic sadness to exultant triumph. It was the 
  music of survival, of people who had passed through the inferno of combat unscathed. It spoke of 
  the strange joy of victory, of the simple gladness of being alive. It mourned the passing of the 
  dead yet spoke to the beating hearts of the living. It said tomorrow we will grieve but tonight let 
  us give thanks for our lives. All things pass, life goes on.
  Still armoured as a Warlock, Karhedron was unmoved by this. He was frozen in the role of the 
  hero, the eternal warrior. He confronted the Seer Lahessa. She met his gaze steadily.
  'It's over,' she said. 'The time for heroes is past.'
  For a long time he looked at her, wondering whether he could face being a simple mortal again, a 
  dying thing in a dying world. The music and the message of her eyes reached out to him and 
  Karhedron took off his mask, became truly himself again, and wept.
  THE ELDAR MOONS
  Although the whereabouts of the original Eldar homeworld is lost, it is known that the world had 
  three moons: Lileath the Maiden Moon which was white, Kurnous the Hunter's Moon which was 
  
  greenish and dim, and Eldanesh the Red moon. According to the legends embodied in Dance of 
  Asuryan, when Khaine slew Eldanesh the dead Eldar Lord was turned into a moom and coloured 
  blood red in memory of Khaine's bloody-handed deed. The moon is always said to be a symbol of 
  bad fortune and even today the Eldar regard the symbol of the red moon as a Portent of disaster.
  THE CRONE WORLDS
  The old Eldar homeworlds stilll exist in the Eye of Terror although they have been transformed 
  into hellish places where daemons rule over subjugated races of mortals. The Eldar call these the 
  Crone Worlds - refering to Moraiheg the Crone goddess. The Crone Worlds remain the primary 
  source of spirit stones. Aquiring new spirit stones is extremley hazardous because it necessitates 
  an expedition to an area of warp-real space overlap such as the Eye of Terror. However, there is 
  said to be untold Secrets buried on the Crone Worlds since the time of the Fall and this attracts 
  thousands of Eldar in search of their legendary past. According to legend the spirit stones were 
  made by Vaul from the Tears of Isha. This is interpreted as a metaphor for the crystalization of 
  psychic energies caused by the interface between the warp and the material universe. This 
  process is associated with the Fall, and especialy with the final catastrophe which ended the 
  Eldar civilisation. 
  THE MAIDEN WORLDS
  Before the fall the Eldar seeded many dead worlds with life as part of a program of colonotion 
  which would take many thousands of years to reach fruition. Many of these worlds did not 
  become inhabitable until many years after the fall , and some were then settled by humans and 
  Orks who were quite unaware that they were living on a planet originaly intended as an Eldar 
  colony. The Eldar refer tothese worlds as the Maiden Worlds, or Lilaethan after Lilaeth the Maiden 
  goddess of the Eldar. Since the Fall fresh colonies have been settled from the Craftworlds 
  themselves, often on worlds seeded before the fall, but sometimes on newly seeded or newly 
  discovered habitable planets. The Eldar refer to all such worlds as Maiden Worlds as opposed to 
  the lost Crone Worlds of their ancient dvilisation.
  THE CRYSTAL SEERS
  As Farseers grow older their close association with the life of their Craftworld begins to affect 
  them - their psyches become inextricably linked to the Wraithbone core of the Craftworld and 
  their physical bodies grow increasingly dormant. Eventually, a Farseer of great age will retreat to 
  the Dome of Crystal Seers, a bio-dome many miles across where the Wraithbone core of the craft 
  breaks through to the surface and forms a forest of Wraithbone trees. Once a Seer enters the 
  Dome his body begins to crystallise and grow transparent, first affecting his lower body so that 
  his upper torso still lives normally whilst his feet are rooted to the spot, then creeping upwards so 
  that only his head is still flesh, finally turning him entirely to transparent crystal. Once this has 
  happened the Farseer is part of the Craftworld his consciousness has flowed into the Wraithbone 
  core where its will be preserved forever in the infinity Circuit. Other Eldar sometimes come to 
  wander round the Dome of Crystal Seers to look upon the Seers of old whose forms are preserved 
  forever amongst the changeless Wraithbone glades.
  He found her in the arbor, gazing into the heart of a purple iris. She silently acknowledged his 
  approach, continuing to study the delicate dark petals of the flower. Elshar expected no more 
  greeting. Since he had become trapped in the Aspect of the Warrior his feelings for Irillith had 
  lessened to such a point that he could now barely remember them. Their paths had forked apart, 
  but he still felt respect for her. She was a fine warrior, an honour to her Aspect. All the Eldar 
  sensed the growing tension which heralded the awakening of the Avatar and the summoning of 
  the Aspect Warriors. A time of darkness and blood, a time when they had to trust their darker 
  sides to preserve them from evil. He supposed she resented it, or was saddened by it while he, as 
  
  an Exarch, welcomed the the coming conflict. He found peace-time monotonous, only the thrill of 
  battle made him feel truly alive. He was like a hunting hound being taken out to the chase.
  'You've heard the news?" he asked her.
  She shivered slightly at the rhetorical question, and turned to face hirn, her dark hair gliding over 
  her shoulders.
  'Yes, we go to fight again.. The wraithbone hums with the message of war. I feel....him. He is 
  beginning to wake. Soon I shall be assuming my Aspect, and you... Do we need to say farewell 
  Elshar, or will you even care to remember me?' Macthen drew back respectfully as Elshar strode 
  past. The Exarch didn't appear to have noticed him. They used to be as close as brothers when 
  they fought together as Aspect Warriors. While Macthen had travelled the Path of the Warrior and 
  reemerged into the light, Elshar had become increasingly caught up in the Aspect until he 
  entirely surrendered to it. And now the Time of War was upon them, and Elshar had been elected 
  the Young King. Macthen didn't envy him his role.
  He'd once officiated at the awakening of the Avatar, and the terrible experienc still haunted his 
  dreams. Now he followed a different path couldn't remember the details of the ceremony very 
  clearly, but the image of the Avatar bursting through the doors of bronze would remain with him 
  always.
  Elshar was an Exarch of some standing now, his daring exploits celebrated in song and dance 
  through many Craftworlds. Now all that separated him from his ultimate fate was the span of two 
  days and a mortal body. It was a great honour to join the Avatar in irnmortality, but Macthen 
  found the idea and the process involved quite horrifying. 
  Elshar fixed his gaze to the opposite wall and held himself rigidly still. The attendant Exarchs 
  moved around him silently, and he felt, rather than saw, them start to paint the runes on his 
  naked body. The blood dried instantly, burning Corrosively into his skin. He could feel the pattern 
  creeping over his body, as if he were being covered with a net of fire.
  A tiny part of him, which he thought long gone, whimpered softly in fear, and he suppressed it 
  viciously. He had climbed to the peak of his terror and elation, and now all feelings were falling 
  away. Emotionally and spiritually he was growing numb, bleakness filled his soul. His thoughts, 
  the finish and beginning of his existence were polarised into a single point of time, bearing down 
  upon him like a ball of fire......
  Irillith and Berel clasped each other closely, the last moment of human contact before they 
  assumed their warrior aspects. Around them, the walls of the shrine were humming with tension, 
  sparkles of psychic energy running along the wraithbone.
  They pulled apart and took their positions with the others on the floor. The Exarch raised her 
  arms and the ceremony began. As the Eldar intoned the ritual chants and performed the familar 
  gestures they felt their humanity sliding away as the dark side of their nature was slowly 
  released. Irillith's natural gentleness, her fears, her pity for Elshar were washed away by the 
  relentless tsunami of the Aspea of the Warrior. As the mental breakwaters seceded, the part of 
  her that was Irillith was swept further and further back until it was exiled to a tiny refuge in the 
  core of her being.
  Fully suited now, but still holding their masks, the Banshee warriors received the final blessing. 
  The Exarch passed among them, dipping her finger in blood and drawing the sacred rune of the 
  aspect on their foreheads. 
  The psychic tension was now almost unbearable, and the mane of hair on the Banshees' helmets 
  stood on end with static. As one, they closed their eyes and raised their masks to their faces. A 
  psychic shockwave boomed through the Craftworld as, Simultaneously, the Avatar burst through 
  the doors of bronze and the Aspect Warriors donned and fastened their masks. 
  Irillith snapped open her eyes, and a film of pure red washed down over them. Blood. she smelled 
  blood. The call to battle raced through the veins of her body. She wanted to leap, to sing with the 
  joy of death. Most of all she wanted to kill.
  The moment must be very near now, thought Macthen, nearly upon us. Over his head, the Ozone 
  sparkled and pulsated with power. He tried not to think consciously about his work, his Seer's 
  mind empathically absorbing the psychic waves that danced through the core of the World. He 
  felt the energy being channelled through his body, rippling down his arms, flowing through his 
  wrists and hands to the sculpture. When the shockwave of the Avatar's awakening had passed, 
  he looked down at his creation. From the crude iron ingot a leaping figure of an Avatar arced 
  gracefully up. He was not suprised that the daemon mask of its armour echoed Elshar's face. 
  
  He found her in the arbor, gazing into the heart of a purple iris. She silently acknowledged his 
  approach, continuing to study the delicate dark petals of the flower. He examined her face, 
  looking for some improvement in her mood since their return.
  Two months had passed since the massacre on Sarlinn's World. Outfaced, outnumbered and 
  outmaneuvered, the Eldar forces had been forced to fight a bloody retreat back through the warp 
  tunnel hich linked them to the planet. Barely a tenth of the Eldar engaged in the campaign had 
  returned, a bitter blow to Craftworld's already diminished population. Worse still, in the desperate 
  struggle against the forces of chaos there had been few chances to gather the Waystones of the 
  fallen.
  Physically and spiritually the Craftworld had been dealt a mortal blow, a blow from which it was 
  unlikely ever to recover. Their few colonies were already seriously depleted of personnel and 
  resources, and they could expect little reprieve from that quarter.
  The Eldar had clawed their way out of the of the pit of despair, but were never able to surmount 
  the brim of their eternal tragedy. They were too few, the omnipresent darkness of Slaanesh was 
  too powerful. The only respite was bought at such a terrible cost of lives and souls.
  The Craftworld seemed ominously empty now. It had never been very populous, but the corridors 
  and rooms had rung with laughter and music. Everything, every being, every Creation was so 
  precious, and they were all aware of that fact.The Eldar had continuously celebrated the joy of 
  their existance, had fought when they needed to, had passed through the darkness back to the 
  light again.
  Now, it seemed they had lost sight of the light. The Eldar who had returned brought no joy of 
  victory with them, only the shadow of dispair. So many had died on the stony fields of Sarlinn. 
  Worse than dead, their souls had been lost forever to chaos. The awareness of this irreplaceable 
  loss loomed over the remaining Eldar like a close dark cloud, oppressing their thoughts and their 
  spirits. In their tunnel vision, all they could see was a slow, inevitable decline. No more laughter, 
  no more life, no more hope.
  Strange rumours were whispered in the empty corridors, that the rooms of the dead had sealed 
  themselves off, that Wraithguard had been seen patrolling the outer limits, that the Avatar no 
  longer sat on his throne of iron. A deadness permeated everything, colours had lost their 
  brilliance, tunes fell flat and monotonous.
  'Irillith?' he said gently, touching her on the shoulder. 'Come back with me, you look pale, you 
  need to eat. you shouldn't spend so much time alone, it won't help anything.'
  she threw off his hand and turned to face him, violet eyes glowing in her shadowed, gaunt face. 
  'Leave me alone Macthen. There's nothing more for me out there, for any of us. You've heard 
  what the seers have seen, nothing... Nothing!'
  'That's not true,' he replied, the lie coming awkardly from his mouth. 'There is always a future. 
  you mustn't give up hope. As long as we have hope, we have a future. I've brought you 
  something - I think Elshar would have wanted it.'
  She took the bundle from him and unwound the silk wrappings hesitantly. He saw her eyes 
  glisten with emotion as she turned the statuette over and in her hands, feeling its grace and 
  symmetry.
  Realising he could do nothing more to help Irillith, Macthen left. As he closed the door he thought 
  hecaught a glimpse of someone standing behind her, a stooped old woman, but he couldn't be 
  sure. It might just have been a trick of the light.
  +++The Black Library+++
  Much of the Eldar's ancient knowledge and culture was lost during the flight from Chaos. The 
  craft-worlds became the sole repository of Eldar wisdom, and this fragmented as the Eldar 
  nations drifted apart. Craft-worlds were lost over the millenia, and knowledge vanished with 
  them. 
  A single source of Eldar knowledge has remained untouched and inviolate since the Fall. Aboard 
  a dark craft-world, far beyond the boundaries of the Imperium, is the Black Library of Chaos. Here 
  are the collected tomes, books and codices describing the Eldar studies of the warp. The 
  forbidden lore of the Black Library describes the blandishments, influences, forms, creatures, 
  perils, promises and horrors of Chaos. Enclosed within a nearly impenetrable psychic barrier, the 
  
  Black Library is watched and maintained by its Guardian-Scribes; they collate and transcribe the 
  knowledge of the Library, a task that they have carried out since the Fall of the Eldar. They also 
  maintain a hawk-like watch over their charges, the books; dreadful repositries of secret powers 
  and must be monitered at all times." 
  The existence of the Library is known to only a few, and entry is allowed to even fewer 
  individuals. The library's 'mind' defends itself from the weak who would misuse its knowledge by 
  refusing entry to all except those who have acknowledged and tempered the Chaos within 
  themselves. The immature, who are still vulnerable to the promises and seductions of Chaos, find 
  that they are unable to pass through its gateway. As a resultfew have seen within the Library or 
  read any of its books. Only two groups come and go at will: The Human Illuminati and the 
  Solitaires of the Eldar Harlequins. The Guardian-scribes rarely leave once they have entered.
  +++The Harlequins+++
  The Harlequins are followers of the strange Eldar god the Great Harlequin, also known as the 
  Laughing God, one of only two Eldar gods to survive the Fall. The Harlequins live on no Craftworld 
  but wander from world to world through the network of interspacial tunnels that binds the 
  Craftworlds together. Only they know the whereabouts of the Black Library, for they are the 
  keepers of its terrible secrets about the Fall and the tru nature of Chaos.
  The Harlequins are warrior troubadours whose carefully constructed masques and impressive 
  displays of mime and acrobatics tell the many strange stories of Eldar mythology. They wear 
  exotic multi-coloured costumes, brightly patterned to represent figures from the Eldar myth 
  cycles. They never show their real faces but conceal them beneath a shifting costume mask 
  which can assume any image at the will of the Harlequin. When the Harlequins fight in battle 
  their masks are said to reflect the worst nightmares of all those who gaze upon them, causing 
  their foes to quail with supernatural terror.
  The Black Library of the Eldar
  Much of the Eldar's ancient knowledge and culture was lost during the flight from Chaos. The 
  craft-worlds became the sole repository of Eldar wisdom, and this fragmented as the Eldar 
  nations drifted apart. Craft-worlds were lost over the millenia, and knowledge vanished with 
  them.
  A single source of Eldar knowledge has remained untouched and inviolate since the Fall. Aboard 
  a dark craft-world, far beyond the boundaries of the Imperium, is the Black Library of Chaos. Here 
  are the collected tomes, books and codices describing the Eldar studies of the warp. The 
  forbidden lore of the Black Library describes the blandishments, influences, forms, creatures, 
  perils, promises and horrors of Chaos. Enclosed within a nearly impenetrable psychic barrier, the 
  Black Library is watched and maintained by its Guardian-Scribes; they collate and transcribe the 
  knowledge of the Library, a task that they have carried out since the Fall of the Eldar. They also 
  maintain a hawk-like watch over their charges, the books; dreadful repositries of secret powers 
  and must be monitered at all times.
  The existence of the Library is known to only a few, and entry is allowed to even fewer 
  individuals. The library's 'mind' defends itself from the weak who would misuse its knowledge by 
  refusing entry to all except those who have acknowledged and tempered the Chaos within 
  themselves. The immature, who are still vulnerable to the promises and seductions of Chaos, find 
  that they are unable to pass through its gateway. As a resultfew have seen within the Library or 
  read any of its books. Only two groups come and go at will: The Human Illuminati and the 
  Solitaires of the Eldar Harlequins. The Guardian-scribes rarely leave once they have entered.
  +++THE ELDAR EXODITES+++
  During the Fall the degeneration of the Eldar was not complete, for many Eldar resisted the 
  temptations of Chaos. Some, the more far-sighted, began to openly criticize the decadence of 
  their fellow citizens, and to warn against the insidiousness of Chaos cults. These people were 
  
  mostly ignored or else treated as narrow-minded self-righteous fools and fanatics. Soon the 
  general collapse of society convinced even the most resolute amongst them that there would be 
  no end to the reign of death and depravity. Some decided to leave the Eldar worlds, and settle 
  new planets free of the creeping corruption. They were the ones still untainted by the touch of 
  Chaos, and by now they were few.
  These Eldar are known as the Exodites. Of all the Eldar race they were uniquely far-sighted. 
  Amongst a race naturally indulgent and hedonistic they were reviled as dour self-righteous 
  fanatics obsessed with misery and self-denial. There were some whose dire premonitions were 
  perhaps yet another form of insanity, simply one more conceit taken to inhuman extremes. 
  Others were genuine survivalists who chose exile over degradation and destruction. In an 
  assortment of spacecraft the Exodites abandoned their homes. Many died in open space. Some 
  reached new worlds only to be slain by marauding Orks or natural predators. Many more 
  survived. For the most part they headed eastwards as far away from the main concentration of 
  Eldar worlds as they could reach.
  Upon the fringes of the galaxy the Exodites made new homes. The worlds they settled were 
  savage and life was often hard for a people unused to physical work and self-denial. When the 
  final cataclysm erupted, most of the Exodite worlds were far from the psychic epicenter and 
  survived. The resultant psychic implosion wiped out the rest of the Eldar race and left a gaping 
  hole in the fabric of space, but out on the fringes of the galaxy the Exodites were safe. Many 
  Craftworlds rode out the psychic shock wave and survived that way, but the Exodites had already 
  reached places of safety - or else they perished with the rest of their race and have been 
  forgotten.
  Since they were first settled the Exodite worlds have not changed a great deal. The Eldar that live 
  there have learned how to cultivate crops and harvest other natural resources. The psycho-
  plastics necessary for Eldar technology are rare and precious on these remote planets so the 
  Exodites utilize other substances and rely upon simpler ways and physical labor. The Exodites 
  have developed the craftsmen and artisans needed to work with natural materials to create the 
  items that are needed in their daily lives. The Craftworld Eldar regard the Exodites as rustic and 
  rather simple folk, vigorous and wild in a way that is quite unlike their own introverted societies. 
  Craftworlders and Exodites travel within each other's realms, but their different mental outlook 
  and way of' life means that they have their own concerns.
  The Eldar path determines the way of life for all Craftworlders but not for the Exodites. Because of 
  this they seem wild and individualistic compared to other Eldar, more independently minded and 
  adventurous by far than their cousins. They can survive in this fashion because they are distant 
  from the Eye of Terror, the hole in the fabric of space which still acts as a psychic focus for the 
  destructive influence of Slaanesh. This alone is not enough to protect them, but it is a significant 
  factor. More importantly, the Exodite societies are more rigorous and physical than those of the 
  Craftworlds. Where the Craftworlds cling to the past and preserve all they can of their fallen 
  civilization, the Exodites have turned their backs upon ancient traditions in favor of a simpler and 
  harder way of life. Their minds are tougher and more straightforward but not so subtle and 
  ultimately less powerful than the Craftworld Eldar. However, they have survived, and of all the 
  Eldar they seem most likely to continue to do so.
  The Exodite worlds are untamed and often dangerous planets. Mighty rivers roar unchecked over 
  their natural flood plains. Massive forests stretch over thousands of miles of virgin woodland. The 
  few meager settlements co-exist with wild beasts of all kinds. The Exodites are too few to disturb 
  the balance of nature. Their settlements are small and thinly scattered. Many are occupied only 
  for a few months of the year, because on many worlds the Exodites are nomadic, moving with the 
  seasons and the herds. They time their migrations so that they arrive at their camps in the late 
  summer to collect crops planted in the spring, remaining until it is time to plant the following 
  year's crop and move on.
  The wild creatures that inhabit the Exodite worlds are many and varied. Most of the Exodite 
  worlds are now home to large herds of megadons and other gigantic beasts which the Exodites 
  know by the name of dragons. It is likely that these creatures are native to the region, but that 
  the early settlers spread them throughout all their worlds so that they are now common. The 
  Exodites follow the dragon herds as they graze the endless grasslands of the great plains. By 
  carefully managing the herds the Eldar live upon them, eating their flesh and even drinking their 
  blood, and utilizing their skins to make clothing and leather. Even bones and horn have their 
  
  uses, and these materials partly substitute for the psychoplastic substances used by the 
  Craftworld Eldar. Although this lifestyle is in many respects a primitive one, the Exodites have 
  many advanced technologies and are familiar with all the sophisticated materials used on the 
  Craftworlds. It is by choice that they live as they do, and their way of life has proven every bit as 
  successful as that of the other Eldar.
  There are many different kinds of dragons, some unique to specific worlds, and they are used in 
  different ways according to their size and nature. The megadons are massive herbivores, slow-
  witted and easy to manage, although deadly if panicked or mistreated. These creatures provide 
  most of the material resources of the Exodites, and small ones are used to transport cargoes and 
  people across the great plains. A large megadon can carry a massive structure on its back, and 
  they bear the most enormous weights without concern. Smaller carnivorous dragons ridden by 
  Exodite warriors are used to herd and control the megadons. Warriors are virtually born into the 
  tail dragon saddles, and wield their long lances with consummate ease. A stab with a lance will 
  turn or stop a megadon without causing it any harm, but the same blow would knock the most 
  hardy Eldar to the ground dead. Warriors are an important part of Exodite societies. Their role is 
  to protect each community as well as to safeguard its beasts from predators.
  The Exodites are a tribal people. Each tribe owes allegiance to a local ruling tribal leader, who 
  may rule over several lesser tribes, which in turn owes fealty to the planet's king and his royal 
  tribe. As there are relatively few Eldar there are few territorial disputes. The tribes live within 
  substantial areas which easily meet their grazing and cultivation requirements. Open wars 
  between tribes are rare but skirmishes between rival young Dragon Knights are common. 
  Although not openly warlike, the Exodites are a robust, self-confident people and they have the 
  legendary pride of the Eldar race. Knights frequently try to steal away a rival's beasts or may 
  attempt to move their herds over the grazing areas of other tribes. Such matters are seen as part 
  of a Knight's training, and the dangers of death or serious injury are an accepted part of a young 
  warrior's life. These raids and occasional deaths do not embitter the tribes, and it is notable that 
  no matter how hard fought their disputes might be no Eldar would despoil or steal the crops of a 
  rival tribe even though these lie unprotected for months at a time.
  War and battle is not uncommon on the worlds of the Exodites. Ork raids are a constant threat 
  and human settlers are no respecters of Eldar territory. Amongst the most persistent foes are the 
  human settlers of the Knight Worlds which lie closely intermingled with the planets of the 
  Exodites. The human Knight Lords are aggressive, warlike people whose determined 
  independence makes it impossible for even the Imperium to control them. Like the Exodites they 
  are descendants of ancient settlers, raised amidst constant danger and proud of their autonomy. 
  Their fierce war machines are a common sight on the Exodite worlds. Battles between giant war 
  machines and valiant Eldar dragon warriors are always hard-fought and destructive. But the Eldar 
  are capable of aggression too. They use the Webway to reach the Knight Worlds where their raids 
  are often so devastating that entire planets are subsequently abandoned.
  WORLD SPIRITS OF THE EXODITES
  The wraithbone core of each Craftworld acts as a repository and conductor of psychic power. It is 
  also the ultimate refuge for the spirits of its people in death. Every Exodite world has its own 
  equivalent to the infinity circuit which is called the world spirit. This is an immense store of 
  psychic energy where the minds of dead Eldar are preserved forever. Exodites too wear spirit 
  stones and when they die they are taken beneath the earth into one of the great tribal barrows. 
  They are laid to rest there and their spirit stories are broken upon the altars of the world spirit.
  Each world spirit is a complex psychic energy grid which extends over the entire planet, 
  stretching between the tribal barrows, stone circles and standing stones. These important places 
  are where the spirit world and the material world can interact, where the spirits of the dead can 
  flow together, and where the living can talk to the dead if they have the power.
  The stone circles and standing stones are made from psychically interactive crystal. These 
  towering stones are gigantic spirit stones which anchor psychic power into the earth. The links 
  between them form part of the Eldar Webway, but the paths from the Webway into the world 
  spirits are well hidden and protected. Eldar are able to move between the Craftworlds and 
  Exodite Worlds by means of the Webway, and there are paths over the Exodite worlds 
  themselves. The most potent link in the entire world spirit network is the royal circle of the 
  planet's king. This impressive structure consists of a system of concentric circles connected by 
  avenues of megalithic spirit stones. The royal circle is supported by outlying menhirs which carry 
  
  power throughout the entire planet and focus the energy of the world upon that one spot.
  Because their worlds are home to their departed spirits and shelter them from the predations of 
  Chaos, the Exodites will fight very fiercely to protect their planets. To abandon a world is akin to 
  abandoning the souls of your ancestors to the warp, for without constant replenishment the world 
  spirits diminish slowly and become vulnerable. Just as the wraithbone core of a Craftworld can 
  unwittingly harbor a daemonic intelligence, so the standing stones can provide egress to 
  daemons from the warp should the psychic paths be left unguarded. For a daemonic army to pour 
  from the barrows and standing stones of the Exodites would be the realization of their worst 
  nightmare, but such things have happened in the distant past and remain an ever-present 
  danger today.
  OUTCASTS AND THE EXODITES
  Many Eldar take the Path of the Outcast during their lives, leaving their Craftworlds and seeking 
  adventure in the wide universe. These Outcasts travel between the stars in their spacecraft. They 
  search for Maiden Worlds to settle, and visit the Exodite worlds where they may live amongst 
  their distant cousins.
  Outcasts are common enough on the Exodite worlds, often seeking the patronage of one of the 
  Eldar tribes. In return they fight alongside the tribe's warriors and, for a while at least, enjoy the 
  freedom of mind which is impossible on the Craftworlds. Sometimes Outcasts settle permanently 
  amongst the Exodites, or upon some uninhabited world, and become the first settlers of a new 
  Eldar colony. To the Exodites the Outcasts are strange romantic figures, the masters of a hidden 
  lore and way of life which is arcane and archaic. They bring skills which the Exodites value highly, 
  and so are always made welcome at the courts of the tribal Eldar.
  +++THE PHANTOM CLASS TITAN++
  +
  The Phantom, or Finnadan, is the most common class of Eldar Titan. As its name suggests, the 
  Phantom is fast moving and very agile, embodying the Eldar military philosophy that prefers 
  speed and mobility to heavy armor. 
  Like all Eldar military vehicles, the Phantom is designed for beauty as much as function, and 
  compared to an Imperial Titan it is very tall, slim and fragile-looking. This appearance is largely 
  deceptive, for the Phantom is strongly built, and can absorb at least as much damage as a 
  Human Warlord Titan. 
  Unlike Human Titans, however, Phantoms do not make use of void shields. Instead, they have a 
  system of defensive screens called dathedi ('between colors'). The screens project a holographic 
  disruption pattern, whose dispersion is linked to the Titan's movement. Thus, when a Phantom 
  moves, its image seems to explode into a storm of tiny multicolored shards. The faster it moves, 
  the more scattered its image becomes. When it stops, the cloud appears to coalesce into a solid 
  shape. 
  Eldar defensive screens are designed to disrupt enemy targeting rather than stop incoming fire 
  as void shields do. Compared to Imperial Titans, the Phantom is vulnerable to damage, but its 
  screens make it more difficult to hit provided it keeps moving. While many Imperial Titan 
  commanders see this as a weakness, it is entirely in harmony with the Eldar conception of war; 
  hit-and-run tactics are normally employed, with the Phantoms using their speed and agility to 
  maneuver into an opponent's blind side before firing. 
  The Phantom has a crew of four - three living Eldar and one Infinity Circuit. The Infinity Circuit is 
  normally mounted in the center of the crew compartment in the Titan's head, and the living crew 
  - frequently blood-relatives of the Infinity Circuit - occupy couches around it. Unlike their Human 
  counterparts, they do not have specific functions. Each crewmember is equipped with a 
  headband in which is set a fragment of the carrecenad stone; by means of this they merge their 
  minds with the Infinity Circuit, forming a composite mind capable of handling multiple thoughts 
  and actions. This mind is linked to the Phantom's mechanical systems by Mind Impulse Units that 
  are far in advance of those used by the Imperium. 
  The relationship between a Phantom's living crew and its Infinity Circuit is intimate and all 
  
  sharing; they know each other totally, and are marked by their ability to finish each other's 
  sentences and thoughts out loud. 
  In any other Eldar, this would be unthinkable presumption, but Titan crews are known for the 
  closeness they develop and the eccentricities that arise from it. To Eldar outside the Titan Clans, 
  they are almost a race apart.
  +++ELDAR CRAFTWORLDS+++
  Alaitoc Craftworld
  The Alaitoc craftworld relies upon the large number of Rangers who originate from the Craftworld. 
  These Rangers scout out possible trouble spots, enemy worlds, Maiden Worlds, and scout ahead 
  of the main force in battle. Alaitoc Rangers are trained to be sulf-sufficient, to know when and 
  how to fight. The Alaitoc craftworld relies on its Rangers to give it forward knowledge on locations 
  they are moving toward.
  Iyanden Craftworld
  Iyanden has suffered greatly in the past. In the years of the 41st millenium, they felt the tendrils 
  of the Kraken. A large part of Hive Fleet Kraken assaulted Iyanden, nearly overrunning the 
  craftworld. The craftworld was not lost, but the lives of many of its people were. The souls of 
  many warriors were added to the Infinity Circuit, but many of these warriors fight on past death - 
  they fight on as the Ghost Warriors of Iyanden. Even the dead Warlocks would not remain still in 
  dead, and fought on as Spirit Walkers, their spirit stone emplaced in a Wraithlord's metal body.
  Biel-Tan Craftworld
  The Biel-Tan craftworld has a large number of Aspect shrines, as it places great faith in the Path 
  of the Warrior. They have a much larger force of Aspect Warriors to fight for them than other 
  craftworlds do, and thus their armies have less need for the artisans, farmers, and other Eldar to 
  take up arms as often. In battle these armies of Aspect Warriors are extremely deadly.
  Saim Hann Craftworld
  The Saim Hann Crafworld employs the use of a large number of jetbikes and skimmers. In battle 
  they use these skimmers to make fast hit and run attacks against their enemies, slashing at them 
  with lasers, shuriken, and plasma fire. The crafworld is also know for its Wild Riders - jetbike 
  riders who are very skilled and very deadly. The Wild Riders swoop down upon their foe 
  relentlessly, destroying them with massed shuriken fire.
  Ulthwe Craftworld
  Ulthwe lies close the Eye of Terror, a dire realm inhabited by many vile followers and creatures of 
  the Chaos Gods. Ulthwe has many Farseers to quide it through the strands of the future, and 
  many Eldar of Ulthwe follow the Path of the Warlock. These Farseers and Warlocks must 
  constantly fight off the forces of Chaos. Ulthwe is constantly in danger of being overwhelmed, by 
  Chaos, by Orks, by the Imperium, and by another threat... the Sleeping Ones. The craftworld 
  seems almost damned to its destiny, a destiny of destruction.
  +++The Fall of the Eldar+++
  Over ten thousand years ago, a great tragedy befell the Eldar. The Eldar were at the height of 
  their civilization, and they held dominion over a large part of the galaxy. Their worlds were 
  paradises of great beauty and peace and cultural achievement. Then came the Fall.
  The Eldar were proud and arrogant, and viewed all alien races as inferior barbarians. They 
  excelled above all races and technology. There had never been a serious threat to their wealth 
  and prosperity, until the Fall. They created many beautiful things, and learned much of the 
  universe that is now forgotten, they lived long lives, and when they eventually died, their spirits 
  passed peacefully back into the Warp to be born again. There were no spirit stones to contain the 
  undying spirits in those days, for they had no need for such things. The Warp did not hold the 
  dangers for them it does today.
  Slowly, their own pride began to eat the Eldar race, to destroy all caution and caring for their 
  fellows. The Eldar had long outgrown the need for physical labour of any kind. The Eldar society 
  
  provided all that was required, without individual effort, leaving the long-lived Eldar to spend 
  their lives seeking pleasure and satisfying their desires. Many gave way to the most hedonistic of 
  impulses. Cults sprang up all over the Eldar domains dedicated to different aspects of arcane 
  knowledge and sensual excesses. As these cults gained more power over the Eldar, their society 
  became increasingly divided. They became more and more corrupt, became wanton and 
  abandoned. Sadistic killers prowled the streets in search of victims. The need for pleasures 
  became more and more demanding, and for the Eldar it became harder and ever harder to satisfy 
  their desires, so their acts became more and more depraved. The bestial roar of the crowds was 
  heard throughout all the streets, and gutters ran with blood.
  The depravity and foul sickness of the Eldar mind raised a creature born of that depravity. A new 
  Chaos God awoke, Slaanesh, who was created in the image of the Eldar desire and depravity. No 
  creature of the Warp was ever birthed that was as monstrous or as powerful as the Chaos God 
  Slaanesh, the Great Enemy, and the Doom of the Eldar Incarnate.
  For years, the Eldar were riven with madness, as Slaanesh dreamed in the Warp. The Eldar slew 
  and laughed and feasted upon the corpses of the dead, while worlds burned, and Slaanesh stirred 
  uneasily into wakefulness, reborn from his endless sleep. When Slaanesh was born into divine 
  consciousness, there was not one Eldar anywhere who did not feel the agony. With a howl of 
  psychic energy, Slaanesh rose into supernatural life and cried out his pain. A psychic implosion 
  tore at the universe. The spirits of the Eldar were drawn from their minds and consumed as their 
  god took his first infernal breath. Intoxicated with this first drought, Slaanesh laughed, and looked 
  upon a universe of gods.
  The epicentre of the psychic implosion lay within the heart of the Eldar realms. Most Eldar within 
  thousands of light years were destroyed in an instant, their spirits sucked into the Warp to feed 
  the hungry god. Even Craftworlds were overwhelmed as they fled, and only those furthest away 
  from the epicentre survived. Upon the fringe of the galaxy, the shockwave slew millions of Eldar 
  Exodites and twisted many others with the power of the Warp, leaving only the remotest worlds 
  largely untouched. In but a moment, the Eldar had become a doomed people, reduced to 
  refugees scattered throughout space, knowing that their Great Enemy had been born and would 
  pursue them for the rest of eternity.
  The area that was once the heartworlds of the Eldar has now become a great rend in space called 
  the Eye of Terror. It is the largest zone of its kind in the entire galaxy. Here the Warp and the 
  material universe overlap, Daemons bathe in the energy of the Warp, while Daemon Princes and 
  the Chaos Space Marines rule over planets turned into Hell worlds. Here lie the Crone Worlds, the 
  ancient worlds that once made up the Eldar empire.
  +++ORKOIDS+++
  The Orkish race is savage and brutal, and relish in war. Orks themselves are a warrior elite, who 
  lord it over their smaller cousins, Gretchins and Snotlings. Orks dominate their society because 
  they are the biggest, toughest and meanest. Orks are muscular and robust, and a typical 
  specimen stands about man height, but would be taller if he stood up straight. Gretchin are 
  smaller and less developed, but they have alert and cunning minds. By nature they are cheerful, 
  furtive, sneaky and fatalistic. Most Gretchins are owned by Ork masters as personal servants and 
  the Orks depend on them for most of the day-to-day running of their society. The smallest 
  Orkoids, Snotlings, are mischievous and willful but can be trained to do various tasks. Their main 
  role in Ork society is harvesting Squiggly beasts and fungus for food.
  ORK REALMS
  As a result of the erratic progress of Ork space travel, and their urge to seek adventure wherever 
  it may take them, Ork communities tend to be scattered throughout the universe. They travel in 
  warfleets of hijacked space hulks, patched up and made airtight by simple power-field 
  technology.
  Each community considers itself to be either a tribe or a confederation of tribes united 
  temporarily under a great warlord. A tribe may be wandering in space, settled on a planet, 
  isolated from other races or at war. Every tribe will include a motley collection of Ork clans and 
  castes.
  Orks are a very successful race, and they seem to be able to survive, expand and prosper almost 
  
  effortlessly compared to struggling humanity. On the whole, they have a more pragmatic attitude 
  to life than many other races, and seem better able to cope with the realities of a harsh universe. 
  The secret is that they just don't care. Orks simply follow the natural life they were intended for: 
  wild adventure, warfare, raiding and early death. Their remarkable progress has been achieved 
  mostly by trial and error, without pausing to count the cost or question the meaning of it all.
  CONQUEST AND TRIBUTE
  Orks need a regular supply of armaments and technology if they are to stand up to their enemies. 
  The Meks do a good job, but its not enough on its own. The only solution is to conquer and 
  enslave industrial communities, mount raids or exact tribute. Often this will be an arms-length 
  transaction with Ork space hulks turning up periodically to demand goods. Sometimes a planet 
  will be subjected to occupation, with the Orks ruling it as an uncouth warrior aristocracy and 
  forcing the population to manufacture arms and equipment for them.
  +++General Description+++
  +++of the Ork Race+++
  The Orks are a savage, and brutal race who love war. They are the dominant element of a race of 
  Orkoids that includes Orks, Gretchin, and Snotlings. The Orks are in charge because they are the 
  biggest, toughest, meanest, and most warlike of their kind.
  The Ork mind is specialised: it is devoted wholly to the pursuit of power and war. Orks are brave 
  and tough, and their bodies have a natural resilience which allows them to survive traumatic 
  injuries and the most primitive of surgery.
  Gretchin
  Gretching are much like Orks, though not as brutal, strong, or tough as their larger cousins. The 
  smaller Gretchin are more clever and cunning.
  Snotlings
  Snotlings' main role in Ork society is the cultivation of fungus. They also look after the Squigs. 
  Snotlings are bred and raised by a class of Orks known as Runtherds.
  Nobz and Warlords
  Nobz are Ork Nobles. They are wealthy, battle-hardened veterans who have gotten to where they 
  are by being bigger, tougher, and meaner than anybody else. Nobz can be found in positions of 
  command or organised into their own select bands. They prefer the company of other Orks of 
  equal status, and Nobz units are usually very well armed and equipped.
  The most powerful and prestigious Nobz are given the title Warboss or Warlord. The finest trophy 
  a Warlord can have is a Space Marine helmet. Orks judge the worth of a Warlond by the quantity 
  and quality of the enemies he has defeated in battle.
  When a Warlord's authority is challenged, the Warlord simply takes on any rival contenders in 
  gladiatorial combat in a pit fight.
  Ork Freebooterz
  The Freebooterz exist on the fringe of Ork Kultur. They are small roving bands of pirates, bandits 
  and mercenaries belonging to no Waagh! or clan. They are eager for adventure, combat, and 
  booty.
  These motly crews have long since abandoned any clan loyalties. The Freebooter band is now the 
  only home they have. They roam the galaxy in small dilapidated spacecraft and hide out on 
  isolated planets and large asteroids. The band is led by a hardened Boss or Kaptin. They use the 
  sign of the Jolly Ork to set them apart.
  Squigs
  Orks use Squigs for everything from food to hair and beards to ammunition, and sometimes even 
  pets! For some reason, anywhere Orks settle, Squigs will develop. No one knows exactly why.
  Orky Know-Wotz
  Oddboyz
  There are many types of Oddboyz, the most important of which are Mekboyz, Painboyz, 
  Runtherds, and Weirdboyz.
  Mekboyz make and maintain the Orks' wepons, wargear, and vehicles. They are essential to an 
  
  Ork Waagh!.
  Painboyz are the Ork battle surgeons, and they work with the Mekboyz to install mechanical bitz 
  on the Ork boyz.
  Runtherds train the Gretchin and Snotlings, and are responsible for the breeding of them.
  Weirdboyz are psykers with unpredictable powers. Most Weirdboyz are forced to live outside the 
  Ork village, as they are considered too dangerous to livae amongst the general Ork population.
  Bikes, Buggies, and Da' Kult of Speed
  The Orks' love of fast vehicles, known by the Orks as Da' Kult of Speed, accounts for the vast 
  array or customized buggies, bikes, and ramshackle vehicles that can be musted by an Ork 
  warband.
  Ork Dreadnoughts
  An Ork Dreadnought is piloted by an Ork who has been surgically implanted into the machine by 
  the combined efforts of an Ork Painboy and an Ork Mekboy. Most Ork Dreadnoughts have four 
  arms, although there is a small, two-armed version. However, the fact that the four-armed version 
  is both bigger and capable of carrying twice as much weaponry makes it the most powerful.
  Kustom Weapons
  Ork Kustom weapons can be bizarre and weird in form, they can be both powerful and dangerous 
  to their user at the same time, as no Mekaniak would ever admit to any shortcomings in their 
  creations.
  The Waaagh!
  Orks are evolved primarily for fighting, and this leads to rivalry and even outright war between 
  the different tribes. Although this gives the impression that Orks are disorganised and rebellious, 
  they are actually capable of a high degree of cooperation. The Techno-Magi of the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus have identified low levels of background psychic energy in the minds of all Orks and 
  Gretchin.
  As a particular Warlord grows in power, other Orks are attracted to his armies, and clamour to 
  assume subordinate positions under his command. This means that Ork armies can assemble 
  very quickly, growing into massive hoards appearing out of nowhere and attacking unsuspecting 
  planets. A Waagh! will last until the Orks are defeated, or until they run out of enemies
  +++GARGANTS+++
  Like many products of Orkoid military engineering, the Gargant relies on comparatively simple 
  technology and devastatingly heavy firepower, an attitude summed up by Boss-Mek Badlug One-
  Leg in his oft-quoted dictum "S'gonna be dead shooty, wiv loadza gunz all over."
  Orks do not rely on auto-systems to the same extent as other races, and Gargants carry a large 
  crew of both Orks and Gretchins. The crew is led by a Kaptin, who relays orders through a body of 
  officers. A speaking-tube is the preferred method of communication within a Gargant. Each officer 
  is in charge of one section of the Gargant, be it a weapon, the magazine, the engine room, or 
  whatever. Under the officer is a crew of Orks and Gretchins who carry out the orders passed down 
  to them. Repair crews are composed of Gretchins, whose smaller build suits them to crawling 
  through cramped spaces armed with wrenches and oily rags.
  Gargants are protected by up to eight banks of power fields. In practical terms, a power field is 
  very similar to a void shield, but cannot be repaired - when a hit is absorbed, one field generator 
  is permanently destroyed.
  BUILDING GARGANTS
  Ork raids are a constant hazard for all the intelligent races of the galaxy. Every two or three 
  centuries the frequency of raiding increases, closely followed by Ork invasion and wars of 
  conquest. This is known as the time of Waa-Ork. It is the root cause of Ork migrations and 
  responsible for the rise of great empires. The focal point of the Waa-Ork is the construction of the 
  mighty Ork Titans, known as Gargants.
  Waa-Ork is a spontaneous happening. It can begin in the mind of a single Mek, who forms the 
  vision of a colossal war machine in his mind, shaped in the image of the Ork war gods. From that 
  moment on he becomes obsessed by giving real mechanical form to this dream. He immediately 
  begins work, assisted by his Gretchins and slaves, and Mekboyz drawn in from the surrounding 
  area, inspired by the same idea. Soon the word spreads and the psychic call is heard by Orks all 
  
  across the galaxy. More and more Meks with their entourages gather at the site, which now 
  reverberates to the clanging of hammers on metal. Slowly the scaffolding is erected and within 
  the cradle of steel the great metal hulk that will become a Gargant takes shape.
  Gradually the Waa-Ork gathers momentum, as the scene is repeated throughout Orkdom. Each 
  tribe, realm or empire is engrossed with the construction of its own Mob of Gargants. In a process 
  which can take up to three hundred years to reach its peak, the whole of the Ork race will become 
  agitated, disturbed and dynamic. Waa-Ork is a time of tribes coming together, of great works, of 
  migrations, wars and conquests. Orks throughout the universe take to the warpath.
  The gigantic Titans known as Gargants stride at the core of the Waa-Ork. Each Gargant is a huge 
  towering war machine of awesome destructive power. It is also a mechanical, fighting, fire-
  belching idol in the image of the Ork war gods. The machines are served by a living crew of Orks 
  and Gretch ins, stoking the boilers and loading the guns in the Gargant's turrets. The construction 
  of a Gargant is in itself an act of god worship, and stands for all that is Orkish.
  Eventually the Waa-Ork reaches fever pitch. The Gargants are near completion, and the armies of 
  the warlords have been mustered. When the Gargants are ready, the scaffolding is pulled away 
  and the great boilers are stoked for the first time. A cheer rises as the great beasts belch smoke 
  and move forward. Then the Ork armies go off in all directions, wherever fate and fortune may 
  take them, and war comes to every corner of the galaxy.
  +++ORKOIDS+++
  The Orkish race is savage and brutal, and relish in war. Orks themselves are a warrior elite, who 
  lord it over their smaller cousins, Gretchins and Snotlings. Orks dominate their society because 
  they are the biggest, toughest and meanest. Orks are muscular and robust, and a typical 
  specimen stands about man height, but would be taller if he stood up straight. Gretchin are 
  smaller and less developed, but they have alert and cunning minds. By nature they are cheerful, 
  furtive, sneaky and fatalistic. Most Gretchins are owned by Ork masters as personal servants and 
  the Orks depend on them for most of the day-to-day running of their society. The smallest 
  Orkoids, Snotlings, are mischievous and willful but can be trained to do various tasks. Their main 
  role in Ork society is harvesting Squiggly beasts and fungus for food.
  ORK REALMS
  As a result of the erratic progress of Ork space travel, and their urge to seek adventure wherever 
  it may take them, Ork communities tend to be scattered throughout the universe. They travel in 
  warfleets of hijacked space hulks, patched up and made airtight by simple power-field 
  technology.
  Each community considers itself to be either a tribe or a confederation of tribes united 
  temporarily under a great warlord. A tribe may be wandering in space, settled on a planet, 
  isolated from other races or at war. Every tribe will include a motley collection of Ork clans and 
  castes.
  Orks are a very successful race, and they seem to be able to survive, expand and prosper almost 
  effortlessly compared to struggling humanity. On the whole, they have a more pragmatic attitude 
  to life than many other races, and seem better able to cope with the realities of a harsh universe. 
  The secret is that they just don't care. Orks simply follow the natural life they were intended for: 
  wild adventure, warfare, raiding and early death. Their remarkable progress has been achieved 
  mostly by trial and error, without pausing to count the cost or question the meaning of it all.
  CONQUEST AND TRIBUTE
  Orks need a regular supply of armaments and technology if they are to stand up to their enemies. 
  The Meks do a good job, but its not enough on its own. The only solution is to conquer and 
  enslave industrial communities, mount raids or exact tribute. Often this will be an arms-length 
  transaction with Ork space hulks turning up periodically to demand goods. Sometimes a planet 
  will be subjected to occupation, with the Orks ruling it as an uncouth warrior aristocracy and 
  forcing the population to manufacture arms and equipment for them.
  +++Oddboyz+++
  
  Oddboyz all possess an intuitive understanding of complex matters. It appears that bound up 
  within an Ork's genetic structure are artificial DNA strands that carry knowledge. As an Ork 
  matures any latent knowledge inherent in his genetic structure starts to make itself felt, and he 
  assumes a role in society to which he is best suited.
  These are theMekboyz, Painboyz, Runtherdz, Weirdboyz, Brewboyz, Diggerz, Sumboyz, Yellerz, 
  etc.
  Ork oddboyz are identical in physical make-up to their unspecialized mates. What denotes their 
  difference, is that Oddboyz will always have their 'gear', which is specialized to their role in 
  Orkish society. For example, a Painboy will be found with his toof pulla'z along with other large, 
  bloodied Orkish medical equipment (a large hammer works well).
  Oddboyz can generally be found in Ork camps with their own special establishments. The only 
  exception to this is the copper towers of the Weirdboyz and the roaming bands of deranged 
  Madboyz.
  Oddboyz are a result of the long-term planning of the ancient Brain Boyz. Knowing that their time 
  was limited, the Brain Boyz implanted knowledge directly into Ork DNA. This allows for the Ork 
  race to call upon a vast range of abilities without ever having trained or studied. The end results 
  can be interesting to say the least.
  Outside of the normal Ork lust for war, Oddboyz Develop the skills and abilities necessary to carry 
  on their role in Ork society. Mekboyz are Mechanically-inclined, Painboyz 'fix-up' Orks, Runtherdz 
  herd. Weirdboyz focus the Ork psionic potential, Brewboyz brew, Diggerz dig, Sumboyz sum, and 
  Yellerz yell...
  +++Freebooterz+++
  Following the ravages of war or some other disastrous disruption of their lives, some Orks 
  abandon what is left of their tribe and join a roving band of renegades, pirates or other outcasts. 
  These Orks are called Freebooterz, Bad'unz & Villunz ........
  These motley crews have long since abandoned anytribal or clan loyalties, and have adopted 
  highly personalized insignia in place of their former clan symbols. Ork Freebooterz can be readily 
  identified by the sign of the Jolly Ork, an Ork skull surmounting crossed bones. Freebooterz exist 
  on the fringe of Ork Kultur. They are bandits and sell-swords roaming the universe in small, 
  dilapidated spacecraft, and hiding out on isolated planets and large asteroids. Some of these 
  Orks prefer to remain anonymous, some want to forget, some want to start a new life, but most 
  have simply forgotten who they were. The pirate band is now their home. Outside of their former 
  life, Freebooterz are eager for adventure, combat, and booty, and are quite happy to tag along 
  with Ork tribes and armies as mercenaries.
  +++Tinboyz+++
  Tinboyz are designed and built by Ork Mekaniaks. Although the appearance of individual Tinboyz 
  vary a great deal depending on the whim of their creator, their internal workings are simple and 
  follow a common pattern. They are all worked by radio control rather than complex programming 
  this is a simpler method of constructing a robot and the controls are easier to understand. A 
  Mekaniak operates his Tinboyz from a distance by means of a hefty control box festooned with 
  switches, levers and flashing lights. The limited number of controls means that Tinboyz can only 
  be given a simple selection of commands, but these are quite enough to enable them to move 
  about and attack.
  +++TYRANIDS+++
  In the 41st Millennium. the rule of humanity encompasses almost the entire galaxy, a glittering 
  circle of stars ninety thousand light years from rim to rim. This is the Imperium of Man, the largest 
  
  and most populous empire of all time, an empire of more than a million worlds and untold billions 
  of human beings. The Imperium is ruled by the ancient and immeasurably powerful Emperor. 
  Once he was a living man but he has long since ceased to live in any normal sense. His body is 
  dead, yet for ten thousand years the Emperor has controlled the destiny of die Imperium, thanks 
  to a complex life-support system which preserves his spirit. His wishes are enacted by means of 
  the Adeptus Administratum, a colossal bureaucratic organisation based upon Earth but with the 
  authority and means to rule the entire galaxy.
  Despite the power of the lmperium, the human race remains under constant threat from the 
  many hostile aliens which seek to destroy or enslave mankind. The enemies of humanity are 
  strong, but man has so far proved stronger, more resourceful and ultimately more enduring. This 
  is largely due to the armed forces of the Imperium. Human fleets travel the star clusters of the 
  galactic core and the outer rim. Human armies wage war on planets fifty thousand light years 
  from Earth.
  Most important of all, the Space Marines stand ready to combat any threat to the Imperium. They 
  are humanity's finest warriors, bio-adapted to survive on the toughest battlefields, trained as the 
  ultimate fighting men, equipped with the most advanced power armour and the most potent 
  armament from the weaponshops of Mars. In ten thousand years of battle, the Space Marines 
  have served humanity well so that today, despite the relentless pressure of hostile foes, mankind 
  thrives under the beneficent rule of the Emperor and the vigilance of the Space Marines.
  Beyond the human galaxy, beyond the range of human space craft and astrotelepathy, lies the 
  unspeakable cold void of intergalactic space. This is a realm into which few men have ventured 
  and from which no-one has ever returned. It is the great barrier which divides galaxy from galaxy. 
  Yet the void is not empty. Through it moves an intelligence, a great creature that is formed from 
  countless billions of creatures, a mind that is many inter-linked minds. This entity, this race, is the 
  Tyranid hive mind, and it has come from a galaxy unimaginably distant. Now its advanced forces 
  have reached the Imperium, and the fate of mankind and every living thing in the galaxy hangs 
  in the balance.
  The Tyranids have travelled to the Imperium in a hive fleet consisting of a great dark swarm of 
  many millions of individual spacecraft. Each spacecraft is a gigantic living being, a creature 
  fashioned from organic tissue by means of sophisticated genetic manipulation. The journey 
  across the void has taken eons and during that time the Tyranids have slumbered in a state of 
  frozen hibernation. As the edge of the love fleet approached the Imperium the spacecraft stirred 
  from sleep and their inhabitants slowly began to thaw. However, the hive fleet is so large that its 
  trailing edge still slumbers beyond the galaxy's outer rim. The eternally slow thought processes 
  of the hive mind are gathering pace as more Tyranids wake and recall the age-old purpose of 
  their kind.
  The Tyranid hive mind hungers for fresh genetic material, gene-stocks that can be used to create 
  new bio-construct creatures and organic-machines. Their own galaxy is exhausted, its creatures 
  long since absorbed into the hive mind, their flesh turned to machine-like purposes or discarded 
  as useless. The Imperium with its billions of humans and countless other creatures offers the 
  Tyranids an almost inexhaustible stock of flesh and genes which will invigorate the hive mind and 
  enable it to embody itself in new forms.
  Humanity will be absorbed, broken into strands of DNA to be used to create a new generation of 
  bio-technology. It will be the death of the human race, but to die Tyranid hive mind it is no more 
  than the mining of a precious mineral or the harvesting of a field of wheat. For the Tyranids have 
  no sense of pity or compassion. they are as utterly beyond human understanding as humans are 
  beyond their comprehension. Where a man sees life. the hive mind sees only something to be 
  consumed. Such has been the fate of a thousand galaxies, of millions of intelligent species, since 
  time immemorial.
  TYRANID WARRIORS
  The Tyranids are the undisputed masters of genetic manipulation and bioengineering. By means 
  of the Great Tyranid Norn-Queens, vast living factory-creatures whose role is to make other 
  creatures, the Tyranids have created the countless bio-constructs that make up the hive fleets.
  The Tyranids themselves have six limbs and stand twice the height of a man. Their bodies are 
  covered with thick bony plates which overlap forming a tough natural armour. Pores between 
  their plates exude a colourless slime which oozes over their bodies and drips from their talons. 
  This slime lubricates the inflexible bony plates and prevents friction from gradually wearing away 
  
  their surfaces.
  The Tyranid's lower pair of limbs act as legs, enabling it to move, and end in hard bony hooves - 
  although not primarily intended as weapons a kick from a hoof can easily crush a man's skull. The 
  middle pair of limbs are incredibly strong and end in razor sharp talons - these limbs are used to 
  rip apart an enemy in close combat. The upper limbs are more delicate and end in jointed talons 
  which serve the Tyranid as hands and fingers - these are used to carry weapons and other 
  devices, to operate delicate bio-machines, and for other subtle manipulative tasks.
  The limbs are held together by a perforated bony girdle which protects the creature's spine and 
  soft organs from damage. Above the upper arms is a bony neck and the Tyranid's fearsome head 
  equipped with powerful jaws. This basic six-limbed layout is common to many Tyranid bio-
  engineered creatures, such as Genestealers, and it is quite likely that these creatures are derived 
  from Tyranid gene material or a closely related species from some long forgotten planet of origin.
  THE TYRANID HIVE MIND
  The Tyranid hive mind is a single co-ordinating will that directs the entire hive fleet. The hive 
  mind is formed from untold billions of individual consciousness, each of which is a Tyranid or 
  some other living creature in the hive fleet. Some of these minds are capable of individual 
  rational thought; some are capable of making only limited decisions; and others are mere 
  automatons whose minds perform only basic motor functions. The extent of this ability to act and 
  think freely varies and depends upon the creature's role in the hive fleet.
  As all Tyranid technology is based upon biological engineering, even the most simple functions 
  are performed by genetically tailored bio-constructs which have a rudimentary consciousness 
  and so form part of the hive mind. The Tyranid spacecraft are living creatures, and even 
  individual components such as sphincter doors, food hatcheries and teleportation cysts are also 
  highly modified living things. Even the most simple Tyranid devices have their origins as living 
  tissue and have a thread of the hive mind within them.
  Tyranids also use gene-manipulation to create new races of servant creatures from captives. 
  These advanced bioconstructs are artificial races bred by the Tyranids. Their minds form part of 
  the hive mind but they can still diink and act for themselves and can make and act upon 
  decisions within the limits engineered into them. There are many hundreds of these races, 
  amongst them the destructive Genestealers, the ponderous Zoats, and the murderous Grabber-
  Slashers. Although these awesome creatures may look improbable and horrific to human eyes, 
  they are all designed to fulfil some specific role in Tyranid society: for example as advance 
  fighters and infiltrators in the case of Genestealers, ambassador-conquerors in the case of Zoats, 
  and warrior assassins in the cue of Grabber-Slashers.
  THE SHADOW IN THE WARP
  In order to move from planet to planet, human spacecraft travel through an alternate dimension 
  known as warpspace. Warpspace is the medium through which human Astrotelepaths send 
  psychic messages enabling the million worlds of the hnperium to communicate with each other. 
  The Tyranid hive fleet also moves through the warp. Normally any space-craft moving through 
  the warp sets up vibrations which can be detected by a human Astropath, but the hive fleet is so 
  unimaginably vast that it creates an impenetrable disturbance like a huge blocking shadow in the 
  warp. This shadow is the dark, impenetrable will of the hive mind itself, before which the astral 
  spirit of a puny psyker is about as safe as a candle in a hurricane.
  Once the Tyranid hive fleet arrives, the shadow cast by the hive mind presents an impenetrable 
  block which prevents Astropaths from sending or receiving telepathic messages, stops spacecraft 
  entering the warp and forces spacecraft already in the warp wildly off-course. As the Tyranid hive 
  fleet advances, the area of the Imperium swallowed up by it simply stops communicating, giving 
  almost no clues as to what has happened.
  THE ADVANCE OF THE TYRANIDS
  The hive fleet has now reached the outer part of the Imperiurn and the entire southeastern spiral 
  arm lies under its dominion. Only now has the full extent of the danger been realised, as fleeing 
  refugees struggle back into free space. Only by tremendous luck have any victims survived at all, 
  their spacecraft pushed thousands of light years through the warp by the advancing edge of the 
  Tyranid hive fleet. A thousand human worlds have already fallen to the invader. Their populations 
  have been consumed or imprisoned by the Tyranids. Even after so short a time new races of 
  human-based bio-constructs are ready to join the hive mind.
  Only the vaguest details of the fighting have reached the Imperium. Millions of human warriors 
  
  have died. Entire chapters of the Imperium's finest Space Marines have vanished without trace 
  with no clue as to their fate. The Lamenters chapter is presumed to have been destroyed and the 
  Scythes of the Emperor chapter has been reduced to a few scattered remnants.
  But these human warriors have not died in vain. During the fiercest fighting Space Marine 
  spacecraft engaged ships of the Tyranid fleet. Boarding parties entered the vitals of the immense 
  alien craft, gathering information about the Tyranids and successfully destroying untold 
  thousands of aliens. The information gained by these brave Space Marines is essential if 
  the'ryranids are going to be driven back.
  Armed with this precious information the Irnperium prepares for open war against the enemy it 
  has called Hive Fleet Kraken after the mythical monster of Earth's ancient past. The weaponshops 
  of Mars turn out new and more potent machineries of war, gleaming new spacecraft pour from 
  the shipyards of Necromunda, the vast resources of the Imperial Guard gradually swing into 
  action as millions of men prepare to embark on a war for humanity's very survival.
  But the Imperium needs time - time which only the remaining Space Marine chapters can give 
  them. The most famous chapters of all, the Dark Angels, the Space Wolves, the Blood Angels and 
  the Ultramarines together with remnants of the Scythes of the Emperor, head towards the hive 
  fleet. Other Space Marine chapters from all over the human galaxy prepare ships to follow in their 
  wake.
  TYRANID STARSHIPS
  Tyranid starships are great living leviathans swimming through the hidden currents of space. 
  Between solar systems, they dive into the warp, naturally adapted to survive the tides of the 
  immaterium. surfacing once again in realspace to feed. They consume the cosmic detritus, the 
  comets and asteroids left by the creation of solar systems. A ship grows as it travels, adapting 
  itself to each new source of food, creating new digestive systems to break down the different "s 
  of matter. The old stomachs atrophy and harden so that an ancient Tyranid starship is a mass of 
  stony growths, often forming a fantastic whorl of armour around the still-growing body.
  As a ship moves slowly through the depths of space, the Tyranids hibernate. In the smaller 
  starships, hibernating Tyranids are gathered in small chambers, contained within pods that feed 
  them vital nutrients. In the largest ships there are great halls packed with hibernating Tyranids - 
  in their hundreds and thousands they pass the long years of travel in a dreamless sleep. 'Me only 
  creatures moving around the miles of passages and tubes within a ship are the countless 
  bioconstructs that perform the mindless, repetitive duties necessary to keep the ship healthy.
  When a starship approaches a star system, the Tyranids begin to wake. The chemistry of the hive 
  ship itself changes and new hormones are secreted, bringing the Tyranids back from their long 
  sleep. As the ship moves through the outer edges of a star system the hive mind prepares for 
  war.
  It is at this point in its journey that the Tyranid ship is most vulnerable. Tyranid Warriors are just 
  beginning to awaken but the ship is as yet lightly defended. A lightning assault can punch its way 
  through the weak defences to sabotage the ship's vital organs. If the ship dies, so does its cargo 
  of Tyranid Warriors and bio-constructs. Those still in hibernation never awaken as the supply of 
  life-sustaining fluids dries up. Those who are awake and survive the attack are doomed to drift on 
  the dying spaceship as it floats out into the cold of interstellar space.
  It is generally the smaller Tyranid ships that are attacked in this way. The largest ships are 
  unimaginably vast and are better left as targets for the battlecruisers of the Imperial Navy. But 
  the Navy can't patrol every star system - sometimes there isn't time for a message to be sent 
  before the shadow in the warp cuts the system off. At these times, the Irnperiun must depend 
  upon the loyalty and heroism of whatever forces are available. If the system is lucky there will be 
  Space Marines stationed there, for their bravery is beyond question, their skill as warriors beyond 
  compare.
  THE GREAT TYRANID NORN-QUEENS
  Within some of the spacecraft of the Tyranid hive fleet are huge chambers many hundreds of 
  metres high. Widiin each chamber is a creature so vast that its great, pulsing bulk almost fills the 
  entire structure. This is a Nom-Queen, also known as a Splicer-Beast, a creature whose function is 
  to make other creatures. Every living creature in the Tyranid hive fleet owes its ultimate origins to 
  the Nom-Queen, including the Tyranids themselves. Long ago the Tyranids gave up whatever 
  primitive form of reproduction afflicted their kind, and adopted genetic cloning as their sole form 
  of reproduction. A Nom-Queen is a huge biological machine, a factory whose only concern is to 
  
  produce other creatures.
  BIO-CONSTRUCTS
  All the weird creatures that live in the hive fleet, including the Tyranids themselves. are created 
  by means of the Norn-Queens. Genetic material in dw form of captive creatures and corpse 
  scavengers called Coffin-Crawlers is fed into the great maws located at the top of the Nom-Queen 
  and synthesised by its genetic shredder organs. The dissembled DNA structures form a gene-
  bank which provides the raw material from which new creatures called bio-constructs are created. 
  Once a type of bio-construct has been designed more identical creatures can be cloned by the 
  Nom-Queens.
  The many kinds of bio-construct emerge in different ways from different parts of the huge Splicer 
  Beasts. Clusters of eggs spill from rows of ovipository orifices along its flanks, fluid filled 
  depressions on its upper surface writhe with maggot-like larvae, foetal sacs hang like ripe fruit 
  from umbilical branches, and huge larval Teleporter Worms burst from incubator pouches on the 
  Nom-Queen's sides. Simpler bio-constructs may emerge already in their adult form to be 
  gathered and directed by the horde of creatures which feed and serve the Nom-Queen. Most bio-
  constructs are born as tiny wriggling larvae or may begin life as eggs which must be nurtured 
  further before they hatch and develop into adults.
  The ships of the hive fleets swarm with thousands of different kinds of bio-constructed creatures. 
  For example, tiny multiarmed creatures roam the innards sucking up detritus and processing it 
  into a sickly nutrient which they store in their swollen bodies and then feed to other creatures. 
  CoffinCrawlers consume fresh corpses and grow in bulk until they are ready to return to the Nom-
  Queen, carrying their swollen bodies back to feed the Nom-Queen itself. Another kind of bio-
  construct is the globe-like creature which hangs from the upper surfaces of the ship's tunnels; 
  these creatures synthesise a huninous chemical inside their own bodies proving a dim green light 
  for others to see by.
  These are just a few bio-constructs but there are many others which maintain the ship in good 
  working order, provide food and guard vulnerable areas. The ship's various controls and facilities 
  are themselves bio-constructs, although they are immobile and function much like biological 
  versions of teleporters, air recycling systems and communications networks.
  Small bio-constructs tend not to be very bright They go about their genetically-determined tasks 
  with a satisfyingly singleminded persistence, largely untroubled by the higher purposes of the 
  hive mind. Far more dangerous to intruders are the larger bio-constructed races such as the 
  Genestealers, Zoats and Grabber Slashers. There are many others too, some of which are 
  relatively rare whilst others are very common. No matter how large or how intelligent they are, all 
  bio-constructs form part of the hive mind and are an integral part of the hive fleet and Tyranid 
  society.
  GENESTEALERS
  lie Genestealer is one of the most deadly of all die Tyranid bio-construct creatures. It is very likely 
  that the Genestealer was created from the genetic structure of the Tyranids themselves, or if not 
  then a very closely related species. Like Tyranids, Genestealers have six limbs, including 
  ferocious, taloned mid-limbs which are used to tear enemies apart in hand-to-hand fighting. 
  Genestealers are the shock and infiltration troops of the Tyranids. They are fast and deadly but 
  they can also hide in alien societies for years, interbreeding with the native creatures and 
  producing generations of Hybrid Genestealer creatures ready to join a full-scale invasion.
  Although it seems unlikely that a creature so terrifying as a Genestealer could hide in human 
  society, they achieve this by implanting their genetic structure inside unsuspecting humans. This 
  genetic material is passed down to the offspring of the infected humans, creating a generation 
  which includes monstrous Genestealer Hybrids as well as seemingly normal children. The Hybrids 
  are genetic time bombs whose own descendants will eventually become fully-developed 
  Purestrain Genestealers. The effect is quite horrifying suddenly for no apparent reason monstrous 
  Genestealers start to appear all over the world, destroying and enslaving humans in preparation 
  for the arrival of the Tyranid hive fleet. Mature Genestealers, called Patriarchs act as psychic 
  beacons which attract the Tyranid hive fleets, signalling that their world is ready for invasion. 
  Genestealers are also ideal warrior-guardians, so the spacecraft of the hive fleet contain many of 
  these creatures to defend against infiltrators and invaders.
  ZOATS
  Zoats are probably a very ancient strain of bio-construct because they share the same six-limbed 
  
  structure as Tyranids and Genestealers. It is quite likely that this sextrupedal form is derived from 
  the native creatures of the lost Tyranid homeworld in whatever remote galaxy they originally 
  came from. Zoats are robust creatures with thick powerful limbs. Only their upper arms are used 
  to hold or carry things; the lower two pairs are used for movement and have horny toes rather 
  like a rhino.
  Zoats have been specially developed so that they can communicate with alien creatures. Their 
  minds are capable of tremendous leaps of logic and they are able to master new languages with 
  astonishing speed. This enables Zoats to act as ambassadors to races taken over by the Tyranids 
  and it also enables the Tyranids to find out about the races they have conquered. No matter how 
  strange or mentally incompatible a race might be, the Zoats can learn how they think and act, 
  and thereby access their true value to the Tyranids. Zoats are also tremendously strong and have 
  thick horny skins. When they unleash their warrior skills they can destroy many times their own 
  number of humans or other races, a feat which may serve to impress upon the defeated 
  creatures just how superior the Tyranids are.
  HUNTER-SLAYERS
  Of all the Tyranid bio-constructs, the Hunter-Slayer most closely resembles the Tyranid Warriors. 
  The most apparent different is only size, for the Hunter-Slayers are much smaller than a Tyranid 
  at only two metres tall. Hunter-Slayers are incredibly fast and ferocious creatures so that 
  although they don't have the strength or resilience of a Tyranid they're far more mobile.
  Hunter-Slayers move quickly through the small arterial tubeways in the hive ships, exploiting 
  their size and speed by wriggling through narrow ventricles and soft constricted passages. Their 
  role is to protect the hive ships from intruders, moving swiftly from one part of the craft to 
  another in search of their foes. When enemies are discovered, whole swamis of Hunter-Slayers 
  burst from the narrow orifices and vents in the tunnel walls, dropping on their foes from above 
  and wreaking havoc with their sharp talons and deadly bio-weapons.
  Given the similarity between Hunter-Slayers and Tyranids, it is likely that the Hunter-Slayers are 
  a very ancient kind of bio-construct developed from Tyranids genes, possibly as a sort of fast 
  attack warrior 
  GRABBER-SLASHERS
  The Grabber-Slasher is a destructive warrior assassin which has certain biological traits in 
  common with Orks, including blood containing symbiotic algae which enables the creature to 
  digest its prey. Indeed, it is possible that the Grabber-Slasher has been created from Ork 
  captives, in which case it heralds the birth of new bio-constructs based upon creatures from the 
  human galaxy. The algae in the Grabber-Slasher's bloodstream synthesises the genetic material 
  of its victims which is then absorbed into the Grabber-Slasher's body enabling it to gradually 
  mutate its own form. However, the Grabber-Slasher can always revert to its basic GrabberSlasher 
  shape. although the change may take a day or so to complete.
  Its powerful body is very muscular and it can propel itself along by its tail. A single flick of its tail 
  sends it bounding through the air towards its chosen target. The target is then grabbed by the 
  clawed hand-like organ on top, and immediately disembowelled by means of the razor-sharp 
  protrusion underneath. Grabber-Slashers are very single-minded creatures: if instructed to 
  assassinate a particular individual they will stop at nothing until the target is dead, ignoring all 
  other threats to themselves entirely.
  MIND SLAVES 
  The Tyranids have come to the human galaxy in search of fresh genetic material to feed their 
  Nom-Queen and revitalise the hive fleet after its long journey through space. However, not all 
  captives are fed to the Nom-Queen; some are useful simply as food for the Tyranid bio-construcu. 
  And some are sacrificed to the breeding programs of other creatures; it is their grisly fate to 
  become hosts for immature grubs or the larvae of a bio-construct.
  If the Tyranids want to store a captive so that he can be eaten, genetically shredded or used as a 
  breeder host at a later date, then a special biocontruct called a Shroud-Spinner weaves an 
  anaesthetising cocoon round the victim to keep him alive and fresh. This is the reason why traps 
  assaulting a Tyranid ship sometimes find whole chambers of these cocooned victims.
  One particular creature which feeds upon a captive during its larval stage is the parasitic Mind-
  Slaver. The mature MindSlaver is a crab-like bio-device which is used by the Tyranids to gain 
  temporary control over another bio-machine which has malfunctioned or been damaged. As such, 
  the Mind-Slaver takes over the individual mind of the bio-machine and allows the hive mind to 
  
  control its mechanical functions.
  The larval form of the creature is about the size of a pea or small pebble. When the egg laid by 
  the Nom-Queen hatches, the creature is introduced to a living captive. It burrows into the 
  captive's skull and searches out the brain stem. Here it clasps in place with its legs and attaches 
  itself to the base of the medulla.
  At first the immature creature is not powerful enough to influence its host but, as it feeds from 
  the host's blood stream it becomes stronger, allowing the hive mind to seep into the host's brain 
  and eventually take over and direct all of the creatures higher brain functions. These victims are 
  known as mind slaves. Although they're captives, their actions and thoughts are completely 
  controlled by the Tyranid hive mind.
  Eventually the Mind-Slaver outgrows and destroys its host but, until it does so, the mind slave 
  moves about the ship and performs tasks under the direction of the hive mind.
  If the ship is attacked, the mind slaves will be amongst the first to move to its defence, especially 
  if they belong to an armed warrior race whose fighting skills may be usefully employed by the 
  Tyranids. As the Space Marines move through the spacecraft they may meet mind slaves 
  controlled by the Tyranid hive mind and will recognise many of the creatures of the Warhammer 
  40,000 galaxy including Chaos Space Marines, Imperial Guard, Orks and Eldar.
  The ultimate fate of a mind slave is to be sacrificed to the next part of the life cycle of a mind 
  slaver. When it is quite large and almost fills the cranial cavity of its host, the Mind-Slaver exudes 
  a chemical which encysts the host, dissolves him from the inside and turns his body into 
  nutritious soup. The Mind Slaver feeds off this soup and grows into its adult form.
  +++Space Hulks+++
  Space hulks are massive, derelict vessels, locked in a strange eternal voyage through the warp. These mysterious vessels 
  appear only very rarely in Imperial space- and they bring either great wealth or great calamity to those who find them.
  Very little is known about the warp. Some studies were undertaken during the Dark Ages of Technology, but most of the 
  knowledge was lost in the Age of Strife, or suppressed by the Ordo Malleus in the years since. However, it is known that 
  there are currents and eddies in the warp, which can trap a vessel in warpspace forever, or turn it from its course and 
  deposit it back in realspace lightyears- or centuries- from its intended destination.
  The vessels known as space hulks suffer a different, and in many ways, more unpleasant, fate. Space hulks havebeen 
  wrenched from their course and drift helplessly through warpspace, travelling wherever the currents take them. They may 
  stay locked in warpspace for centuries, or drop back into realspace minutes after entering the warp.
  It is impossible to determine where or when- or if- a hulk will return to real space, and even the psychic Astropaths are 
  unable to influence or predict the hulk's voyage. Once the hulk is returned to realspace, it is not free. Minutes, hours, 
  days, or years later, it will be sucked back into the warp, to endure another uncertain, endless voyage.
  Passengers trapped aboard a drifting space hulk face slow death by starvation- or quick death by madness. Possibly the 
  most unfortunate are those whose vessels have efficient life-support systems: they may linger for centuries.
  There appears to be some sort of pattern to the arrival and departure of space hulks, and periodically, two or more appear 
  in realspace at the same place and time. If one is empty and dead and another is inhabited, the crew of the inhabited 
  vessel scavanges the other for metal, energy, and spare parts, seeking to repair their own dying ship or expand their living 
  space by binding the two vessels together. If both ships are occupied, the crews may fight savagely to take each other's 
  vessel. Over the millenia, the patchwork vessels attain huge size.
  Space Hulks and Genestealers
  It is impossible to predict when a hulk will re-enter the warp, so anyone who boards them risks eternal prison. However, 
  there are many who are willing to take that risk. Some hulks have been in existence since the Dark Age of Technology or 
  even earlier- though their original inhabitants are long dead, these vessels are treasure houses of lost technology, 
  containing secrets which could bring unimaginable wealth to anyone who dares plunder them.
  Genestealers use this to their great advantage in the war against Man. They have boarded a number of space hulks, 
  accompanied by their hybrid children. The hybrids construct cryogenic suspension chambers for the pure Stealers- though 
  hardy and long lived, even the Stealers cannot survive for centuries in the awful cold and vacuum of space.
  Once the cryogenic chambers are complete, the hybrids depart. The purestrain Genestealers sleep, and the hulk continues 
  its eternal voyage. Though it may take centuries, eventually- inevitably- some day the space hulk will reappear in 
  populated space, to be discovered and boarded by foolhardy treasure hunters.
  When the space hulk is boarded, sensors are triggered, awakening the sleeping genestealers. The boarding party is 
  attacked, overwhelmed, infected- and then released. Several stealers accompany the party back to the ship, infecting the 
  ship's crew as well, and then hiding themselves in the ship's holds.
  Psychically controlled by the Stealers, the ship's crew have little or no memory of the attack, and may not be aware that 
  
  they have been infected or that they are carrying Stealers. When the ship reaches a Human-held planet, an implanted 
  crewman departs, accompanied by a genestealer. The vessel becomes a plague carrier, bringing its cargo of death and 
  despair to each planet it visits.
  Once on the planet, the Stealer goes into hiding, and the crewman under his control begins to form a cult.
  +++HIVE FLEET BEHEMOTH+++
  The first contact the Imperium of mankind had with the alien menace of the Tyranids took place 
  on a little-known Imperial outpost in the Tyran system located on the south-eastern fringes of the 
  galaxy. The planet Tyran was an Adeptus Mechanicus way-station for Explorator expeditions 
  studying the virtually unknown sectors at the edge of the galaxy. Because of its isolation the base 
  was well protected despite its small size and boasted an Astropath for communication with the 
  Earth, over 60,000 light years away.
  The first disquieting reports from Tyran told of a number of ravaged worlds which lay at the very 
  edge of intergalactic space. In ancient surveys these particular planets had been logged as 
  supporting life but more recent expeditions reported them to be bare, airless rocks. At first 
  nothing untoward was apparent: the earlier surveys were hundreds, sometimes thousands, of 
  years old and inaccuracies were not uncommon.
  As time passed the Technomagi found that worlds which were known to have thriving ecosystems 
  had been transformed into barren planetoids. Investigation teams could find no discernible cause 
  for the phenomena and the reports filed with the Explorator General received little attention. The 
  planets in question had supported no sentient life forms and lay thousands of light years from the 
  nearest human-colonised systems. In a galaxy of a billion worlds such mysteries abounded, so for 
  a time the information languished in the hundreds of miles of databanks that form the archives of 
  the Administratum on Earth.
  As the Tyran outpost dutifully continued to file reports of dead worlds the growing body of 
  evidence attracted the attention of an organisation that abhors mysteries and unexplained 
  phenomena: the Inquisition. Inquisitor Kryptman, well-respected for his far-sighted condemnation 
  of the Macharlan Heresies, began to ask probing questions about events in the distant south-east. 
  The Adepts of the Explorator's office could offer little additional information but as soon as 
  Inquisitor Kryptman compiled and analysed the reports on the extinct worlds it became apparent 
  that the phenomenon exhibited a distinct pattern, and was encroaching ever deeper into the 
  galactic rim.
  The Inquisitor presented his findings to the council of the Inquisition and received dispensation to 
  commandeer a ship to travel to the eastern fringe and uncover more data. But even as the 
  Inquisitor's ship was churning through the warp Tyran came under attack.
  ASSAULT ON TYRAN
  The Tyran Primus base lay in the midst of Tyran's great world-spanning oceans, dug into an 
  island that was the very tip of a chain of ancient volcanoes. The oceans of Tyran covered over 
  80% of the world's surface and were home to a dizzying array of marine life ranging from the 
  small and innocuous scuttlefish to the highly dangerous 200 metre long kraken. The base itself 
  was fortified to resist violent storms and the attentions of the voracious oceanic life forms. Tyran 
  Primus also had four giant defence lasers in armoured silos for defence against marauding alien 
  space craft and any unknown monstrosities lurking in the deep oceanic abyss.
  Over four hundred personnel manned the base Administratum scribes, Explorators, Adeptus 
  Mechanicus Genetors, Engineers, Lexmechanics, their entourage Servitors and a single 
  Astropath. They were under the command of Magos Varnak. a member of the ruling caste the 
  Cult Mechanicus. Explorator ships passed through the Tyran system to collect supplies and 
  deliver reports every three to six months. The last ship to depart was the Investigation, destined 
  to survey worlds on the Eastern Fring though Varnak feared all he would receive were further 
  reports of extinct planets.
  Over a month after the departure of the Investigation Tyran Primus detected a cloud of close to a 
  thousand unidentified objects entering the Tyran star system. After initial studies revealed the 
  cloud was made up of neither spacecraft n debris Magos Varnak piloted one of the station's small 
  system ships towards the cloud to investigate further. When approached, the ship came under 
  attack by unknown object almost immediately. Magos Varnak was injured, several oft crew were 
  killed and the ship itself was so badly crippled barely survived the journey back to Tyran. As he 
  
  recovered from his injuries Varnak grimly ordered the base to alert status and armed the 
  Servitors who would act as the first line defence if there were an invasion.
  A week later the first attacks began on the base. The stom-wracked skies of Tyran were split 
  again and again by the blinding flash of the defence lasers as they strove to drive t] attackers 
  away. Bolts of laser energy capable of melting through whole city blocks lanced into space as 
  projectiles launched by the enemy above smashed down on the base. Silo 2 was shaken and 
  cracked by several hits but the chants a ceremonies of the Tech Priests kept it firing.
  The uneven battle raged on for an hour or more as the bra laser crews blasted at the hundreds of 
  invaders around Tyran before, amazingly, the enemy simply withdrew. Varnak sent his three 
  remaining system ships in pursuit of the foe. They added to the destruction already wrought by 
  the ground-bas lasers and confirmed Varnak's earlier observations of the attackers. The objects 
  appeared to be creatures of alien origin vast armoured organisms with thick carapaces that were 
  apparently fully adapted for life in space.
  The system ships were quickly crippled or destroyed by the bio-ships and Magos Varnak was 
  informed that the defences of Tyran had damaged or destroyed only a dozen creatures out of a 
  swarm of close to a thousand. He was forced to conclusion that should the invaders attack again 
  and with greater vigc the base on Tyran was doomed. Escape was impossible. All that remained 
  was to try and warn the Imperium before selling themselves as dearly as possible.
  But the Astropath could broadcast no messages. The disruptions caused in the warp by the 
  creatures' arrival made it impossible to use astrotelepathy. In a few hours or days the warp might 
  clear but for the moment Tyran was completely cut off. To preserve what knowledge they had 
  Varnak ordered a data codex to be formed of all the information gathered about the invaders. 
  The data codex would be set to record the fate of the base until it was sealed at a signal from 
  Varnak's control pulpit and dropped into a 3,000 metre deep bore shaft beneath the base. Even 
  as the codex was being prepared the aliens moved in to attack positions once more.
  As they came within laser range the invaders released thousands of pods above the planet. The 
  pods fell toward Tyran in tight clusters and did not break up as they hit the atmosphere. Though 
  the laser defences destroyed any pods which would have impacted on the base many more fell 
  into the sea around it. To enter the sea was death for a human yet the aliens could be seen 
  approaching the base on sonar scan. The seas thrashed and boiled as more aliens emerged from 
  their pods and hacked their way through the voracious native beasts that swarmed around them.
  Defence laser fire ripped into the bio-ships as they began an intense bombardment of the base. 
  Several of the creatures fell burning into the atmosphere but the bombardment continued. 
  Hissing acids ate through the armoured laser silos and one by one they were silenced. Magos 
  Varnak watched the advance of the aliens on the crystal screens of the sacristy. The creatures 
  were upright and six-limbed, clawed and fanged like fiends. The scattered defensive fire 
  ricocheted off their thick hides and heavy carapaces like hailstones.
  The aliens attacked the south dock and smashed their way through the electro field and 
  armourplas shutters as if they were paper and glass. Servitors guarding the dock fought back 
  with flamers and the first invaders through the breach were slain or driven back hissing their 
  defiance. But other creatures, screaming giants with arms like great scythes, waded forward and 
  Magos Varnak watched in horror as they shrugged off the napalm fires and hacked their way 
  through the Servitors as if they were made of straw.
  In an instant the enemy were through the dock and spreading through the base, destroying 
  everything they found. Magos Varnak's finger hovered over the switch that would send the data 
  codex plummeting into the depths. Every moment might give some additional insight into the 
  enemy, but every moment brought the fighting closer to the sacristy. Smaller, scuttling creatures 
  appeared in the enemy ranks and began to cast constricting webs over the Servitors and Tech-
  Priests as they fought in the corridors.
  Varnak looked to the station Astropath and both understood that they could not allow themselves 
  to be captured by this new and terrible alien race. Varnak released the codex and descended into 
  the reactor chamber to set the station destruct sequence. Even as he completed his prayer the 
  doors of the sacristy were buckling and tearing before the fury of the assault from outside, and 
  with only seconds remaining Magos Varnak struck the sacred rune of ending upon the power 
  altar.
  Earth received one final, garbled message from Tyran. On the wings of death came a dire 
  prophesy of doom and a mental image of the skies over Tyran turned black with swarming 
  
  monsters. From the world of Tyran the invaders acquired a name at last - Tyranids.
  THANDROS TO MACRAGGE
  Inquisitor Kryptman received word of the last message from Tyran months after the attack. By the 
  time his ship reached the Tyran system almost a year had passed and at first he could not equate 
  the dead, dry planet he found to ocean-bound Tyran at all. After a long search Inquisitor 
  Kryptman unearthed Varnak's data codex and learned the full horror of the alien threat menacing 
  the Imperium.
  As the Inquisitor's ship left the Tyran system it encountered the acid-eaten hulk of the 
  investigation, declared missing months before. The vessel appeared to have been crippled and 
  then boarded: all of the crew were missing and the ship was little more than an icy shell. Clearly 
  the same foe that attacked Tyran had destroyed the Investigation and perhaps even followed its 
  trail through the warp back to the Tyran Primus base.
  Kryptman ordered his Astropath to send a priority warning to the Imperium but the Astropath 
  could not penetrate the warp turmoil left by the passing of the alien fleet. Even the nearby 
  Thandros telepathica booster matrix was obscured. In desperation Kryptman set course for 
  Thandros in the hopes of re-establishing communications there.
  But the Tyranids had attacked Thandros and moved on long before the arrival of Inquisitor 
  Kryptman. Thandros was not as well protected as Tyran. The miners living in tunnels on Thandros 
  II and III could not hide from the Tyranids or escape into space. The telepathica matrix orbiting 
  Thandros I was later found to have emptied all of its turret magazines and burned out its defence 
  laser crystal before it was overrun. Nonetheless the Telepathica adepts manning the base were 
  unable to send word of their plight to the Imperium because of the Tyranids' psychic blockade. 
  The Thandros system fought and died alone.
  Kryptman salvaged the telepathica matrix and sent his message to warn the unsuspecting 
  Imperium of the magnitude of the Tyranid threat. The Astropath, red-eyed with weariness after 
  days of concentration broadcasting Varnak' s codex and Kryptman's report, gave the Inquisitor 
  instructions to travel to the planet Macragge in Ultramar, the empire of the Ultramarines Chapter 
  of the Adeptus Astartes. There he would assist the Master of the Chapter in locating and 
  eliminating the Tyranid fleet. As dictated by Imperial tradition the alien hive fleet of the Tyranids 
  had been codified with an ancient and forbidding name from legend: Behemoth.
  The Navigator of Kryptman's ship strained to follow the guiding light of the Astronomican through 
  the swirling energies of warp space as the ship pushed through the shoals and reefs of that most 
  capricious medium. At times the undertow left by Hive Fleet Behemoth threatened to lose the 
  ship in the warp forever but the Navigator avoided every whirlpool and riptide with consummate 
  skill, the elongated teardrop formed by the warp drives of the Inquisition ship slipping through 
  the Immaterium like oil through water.
  In the Macragge system a dozen other ships already hung in orbit and each day more arrived 
  from the warp. Lumbering Space Marine battle barges hung over Macragge like gigantic azure 
  monoliths etched with the gaping maws of weapon bays, launch tubes and heavy bombardment 
  turrets. These leviathans dwarfed even the sleek strike cruisers arriving from the Ultramarines' 
  furthest outposts. Orbital fortresses and ponderous systems defence monitors surrounded 
  Macragge with a ring of firepower.
  Inquisitor Kryptman met with Marneus Calgar, Master of the Ultramarines, beneath the portico of 
  his palace of brilliant white marble perched high in rugged mountains above the glittering seas of 
  Hera. Calgar stood as a giant even among the genetically altered Space Marines. Nothing 
  escaped his piercing blue eyes and even Kryptman' s terrible discoveries did not disturb his noble 
  demeanour.
  The Ultramarines were readying themselves for all-out war with the Tyranids. The Emperor had 
  despatched a Segmentum Tempestus battlefleet from the orbital docks at Bakka. Calgar felt that 
  Macragge was the system most immediately threatened by hive fleet Behemoth. Macragge itself, 
  already well-protected, was being even more heavily fortified and would be held tenaciously by 
  Ultramarines and planetary defence auxilia until the combined Ultramar and Imperial fleet arrived 
  to take on the hive fleet.
  A month later the Tyranids attacked Macragge, their fleet of over a thousand vessels sweeping 
  aside attacks by Ultramarines strike cruisers as they pushed insystem. With no sign of the 
  Imperial fleet from Bakka, Calgar was forced to use the Ultramar fleet in a risky ploy. By leaving 
  Macragge and retreating outsystem Calgar drew the Tyranids onto the defences of Macragge as 
  
  they sought to encircle it and invade. The Ultramar fleet struck the aliens while they were spread 
  out and vulnerable, successfully carving a bloody swathe through their fleet as Calgar tried to 
  fight his way back through to the protection of the big guns of Macragge.
  At the height of the battle Ultramar fighters from Macragge crippled one of the largest Tyranid 
  hive ships and this seemed to fatally disrupt the cohesion of the hive fleet. The Tyranids' attacks 
  became increasingly uncoordinated and Calgar's fleet reaped a great tally of fallen bio-ships. As 
  the battle raged the Tyranids unleashed thousands of spores above the vital northern and 
  southern polar fortresses which were the keystones of Macragge's defences. Each spore that fell 
  to earth cracked open to reveal a Tyranid creature and soon thousands of Tyranids were 
  marching across the ice fields towards the fortresses.
  In space the battered hive ships retreated and, desperate to prevent their escape, Calgar' s tiny 
  fleet gave chase. Though Calgar feared for the polar fortresses he knew they were well guarded 
  by Ultramarines of the 1st Company supported by defence auxilia and Titans of the Legio Praetor. 
  Most of the 1st Company were formed into Terminator squads equipped with tactical 
  dreadnought armour and the best personal weaponry in the Imperium. Entrnsting the fate of 
  Macragge to these veteran warriors, Calgar chose to pursue the Tyranid hive fleet.
  The Tyranid swarms on Macragge surged on towards the polar fortresses. Sickle-clawed beasts 
  bounded forward across snowy plains scored by lasers, their numbers blurring individuals into a 
  shifting mass of slicing hooks and piercing talons, others wheeled through the bleak, grey skies 
  on leathery wings and drooled their liquid fire on the defenders below. The ear splitting rattle of 
  bolters and the thump of artillery drowned out the bestial, hate-filled screams of the swarming 
  Tyranids but they swept on with implacable ferocity.
  The veteran Space Marines of the 1st Company led the lightly armed defence auxilia in a 
  tenacious defence of the fortresses, holding every wall and trench until the last possible moment 
  before it was overrun by the swarm. Slowly the troops withdrew ever deeper into the fortress 
  while making the Tyranids pay in blood for every yard of ground. The Titans of Legio Praetor 
  stalked the ice fields and drove smoking furrows through the onrushing Tyranid hordes with 
  shells and plasma. Crippled Ultramarine ships which Calgar had left in orbit above hurled down 
  bolts of ruby flame and megatons of explosive death at the Tyranids, but still they came on.
  The ferocity of the swarms was unbelievable. At the northern fortress they overran the walls by 
  using the steaming piles of their own dead for cover. Titans were dragged down and ripped apart 
  by sheer weight of numbers, like lions being swarmed over by soldier ants. Weapon barrels 
  glowed red hot and jammed in spite of the arctic cold, ammunition began to run low though the 
  fortress contained stockpiles for months of siege. The snows around the fortresses were stained 
  arterial purple with Tyranid ichor.
  As the fighting became close and deadly lumbering scythe-armed giants tore into the defenders' 
  ranks like living battering rams, smashing their way through metal and rockcrete walls with equal 
  fury. Even the Terminators could not stand against Tyranids in hand-to-hand fighting. Six-limbed, 
  armed and armoured in shining chitin, the creatures sprang forward with blinding swiftness, their 
  claws lashing out to rip through ceramite and adamantium with impossible ease. The 
  Ultramarines had to rely on the heavy short-range firepower of their storm bolters, heavy flamers 
  and Assault cannon to bring down the foe.
  At the southern fortress stalking creatures penetrated deep into the labyrinthine corridors 
  beneath the citadel through a supposedly inaccessible disposal culvert. The mantis-clawed 
  horrors slew dozens of auxilia troopers from ambush in the maze of dark corridors and rooms 
  before they were finally hunted down and eliminated by Terminator squads. Some men were 
  driven mad with fear or paralysed with terror as the Tyranids broke through the perimeter again 
  and again. With each perimeter breach the Ultramar garrisons had to withdraw to a new defence 
  line. The Ultramarines were forced back, step by step, by the alien tide of organic killing 
  machines.
  In space Calgar pursued the Tyranid fleet toward the ringed world of Circe at the edge of the 
  Macragge system. The timely arrival of the Tempestus fleet from Bakka finally sealed th Tyranids' 
  fate by catching them in a vice between the tw fleets. In a desperate fight the combined human 
  fleet destroyed the remaining hive ships at a great cost in men and ships.
  The Tempestus fleet of over two hundred warships including the huge Emperor class battleship 
  Dominus Astra was almost completely wiped out in a titanic battle around Circe. The battle was 
  only won by the heroic sacrifice of the Dominus Astra charging into the heart of the hive fleet and 
  
  triggering it's warp drives. The Tyranids were destroyed in an uncontrolled warp vortex which 
  also dragged the Dominus Astra tc oblivion. Calgar's surviving ships came about and roared back 
  to Macragge to try and save the beleaguered polar garrisons.
  The remnants of the Ultramar garrisons had been forced deep underground by wave after wave 
  of Tyranids. The survivors of the Ultramarines 1st Company were still fighting amongst the 
  coolant stores and capacitors of the giant defence laser silos of the northern citadel but all 
  contact with them was lost after the Tyranids completely overran the surface outposts. At the 
  southern fortress the remaining 1st Company detachments had been destroyed when they 
  attempted a counter-attack against a vital bastion captured by the Tyranids. Small pockets of 
  Ultramar resistance still held out in bunkers above ground. Calgar, feeling that the situation was 
  becoming critical, sent the 3rd and 7th Ultramarines Companies ahead in their fast strike cruisers 
  while his remaining damaged ships limped back to Macragge.
  As the sleek strike cruisers swooped over Macragge the Space Marines of the 3rd and 7th 
  Companies were deployed by drop pod onto the poles with their supporting units following up in 
  gunships. Scenes of unbelievable carnage awaited them below. Piles of mangled Tyranid corpses 
  and shattered wargear lay strewn across the ice. Vast steaming craters pocked the snows where 
  Titan plasma reactors had melted down and the stench of death lay everywhere.
  The 7th Company, dropping on the southern fortress, landed unopposed and quickly linked up 
  with the survivors of the garrison above ground. Together they pushed on to clear the 
  subterranean passages which had been overrun. Only a handful of Tyranids remained to oppose 
  them but they fought back with maniacal ferocity. Initial progress was bloody, with several 
  advance squads being attacked by lone Tyranids or small groups which took their toll. But the 
  Tyranids' attacks lacked strategy or coordination and most of the creatures were riddled with 
  bolter fire as they emerged from cover.
  In the north the 3rd Company came under attack as soon as it landed. Hundreds of creatures 
  emerged from dark tunnel mouths and shattered bunkers to assail the Space Marines, 
  threatening to overrun their dropzone by sheer force of numbers. Only staunch defensive fire laid 
  down by the company s Devastator squads kept the alien swarm at bay until Thunderhawk 
  gunships arrived to blast the Tyranids back below ground. Captain Fabian of the 3rd Company 
  prudently awaited the arrival of the company's three Dreadnoughts before proceeding into the 
  fortress itself to search for survivors.
  The dark, dank corridors beneath the northern fortress were already subtly altered by the aliens' 
  presence. Mucous dripped from the walls and ceilings and a pervasive musky stench filled the air. 
  Alien screams and roars echoed and re-echoed weirdly along the tunnels. Warily, the Space 
  Marines pushed forward, the darkness moving back reluctantly before their suit lights. The 
  corridors were littered with Tyranid and Ultramar dead and even bio-scanners failed to identify 
  the creatures that lay in ambush amongst the corpses. Such lone attackers wreaked havoc at 
  close quarters, slashing into the advance squads in an orgy of destruction before they were 
  killed.
  Eventually the forward squads started to use flamers to burn their way along the passages and 
  flush out their enemy. Even as the creatures burned they still leapt forward with claws 
  outstretched to rip and slay. 
  Two full squads of Space Marines were killed in a lightning fast flank attack by a dozen Tyranids 
  at an intersection. Only the presence of a Dreadnought blocked their rampage through the 
  company's perimeter, and the Dreadnought itself had one arm ripped off by the creatures before 
  it cut through them with its assault cannon. As the company entered a great chamber below Silo 
  8 they were assailed from all sides as a nightmarish horde of creatures sprang from the shadows.
  A hail of obscene projectiles struck at the Space Marines, burning through their armour and 
  spraying them with vile corrosive mucous. Chain swords clashed against curving blades of bone 
  and bolters chanted their catechism of death as the Ultramarines desperately fought back. A 
  mighty Tyranid lord, huge as a Dreadnought, thundered into the Space Marines' line. Three Space 
  Marines fell to a single sweep of its curving blade before a Dreadnought charged into the 
  monster.
  A titanic struggle ensued as monster and machine battled to the death. The Dreadnought reeled 
  back as the Tyranid struck it a mighty blow, sparks flew as the Dreadnought's power fist crashed 
  into beast's carapace. Pouring ichor from its wounds the creature raised its blade and chopped 
  through the machine's leg to send it crashing to the ground. 
  
  The beast howled in triumph and raised its blade to deliver the killing blow as Captain Fabian 
  leapt forward into the fray. Power sword and alien blade clashed together with a cracking energy 
  discharge. The beast swung a mighty overhead blow at Fabian as he staggered back from the 
  discharge but the captain leaped aside and the blade buried itself in the rockcrete floor with a 
  flash of power. In the fraction of a second before the creature freed its blade Fabian levelled his 
  plasma pistol at the creature and fired, the incandescent blast catching it full in the head as 
  Fabian pumped shot after shot into the creature. The beast reared up with a final ululating howl 
  of agony and fell back dead.
  All around, the Ultramarines were on the verge of being overwhelmed, only the psychic blasts of 
  the Librarian were stopping the Tyranids completing the slaughter. But as the Tyranid lord fell 
  many of its minions turned tail and were cut down by bolters as they fled. Those that fought on 
  were blasted apart as the Ultramarines resorted to firing amongst their own troops to finally 
  prevail. At the end of the fight barely a quarter of the company had survived and all three 
  Dreadnoughts were damaged. Captain Fabian grimly ordered his remaining men to continue the 
  hunt for survivors.
  Once more the greatly reduced company cleared its way forward with flamers and finally reached 
  the lower penitorium where the 1st Company had made their last stand. Tyranid bodies were 
  piled six deep around the doors and within the room a circle of Terminators lay where they had 
  fought hack to back. They were still and lifeless, every one having given his life against the 
  Tyranid hordes. The Ultramarines' 1st Company had been wiped out to the last man, a grievous 
  blow from which the Chapter has still to fully recover.
  Hive Fleet Behemoth had been stopped, but only at a grievous cost to the Imperium of Mankind. 
  In the aftermath of the first Tyrannic war there was little the Imperium could do to strike back at 
  its foe. Behemoth had arrived from a virtually unexplored quarter and had disappeared 
  completely after the Battle of Macragge. The trail of the hive fleet led back to the empty void of 
  intergalactic space.
  The Techno Magi of Mars spent many years classifying the Tyranid artefacts and bodies left on 
  Macragge but could divine little from the evidence. The obvious facts were that, like the Eldar, 
  the Tyranids used a form of bio-technology to organically form weaponry (though Tyranid 
  weapons were limited to short-ranged projectiles and close combat weaponry) and that the 
  Tyranids themselves formed an incredibly diverse race, more so than even the Orks. Gretchin and 
  Snotlings which infest the galaxy.
  The only discovery of great note was that the Tyranids had employed Genestealers as shock 
  troops. These creatures had previously been thought to be autochthonous denizens of the moons 
  of Ymgarl that had spread through space onboard cargo barges. Their presence amongst the 
  Tyranid hordes was testament that this theory was in error. Genetic samples indicated they were 
  Tyranid creatures, so why were they already established far to the galactic north-west? The 
  Salamanders Chapter of Space Marines conducted a xenocide campaign to purge the moons of 
  Ymgarl and Inquisitors intensified their scrutiny for Genestealer infestations but nothing more 
  could be done.
  +++HIVE FLEET KRAKEN+++
  Two and a half centuries passed with neither sight nor sound of further Tyranid incursions. Some 
  members of Earth's Adeptus Administratum began to question the necessity of maintaining so 
  many armed forces in the galactic south-east to resist a non-existent Tyranid threat. They argued 
  that the hive fleet had represented the sum total of the Tyranid race and that it had been 
  destroyed at Macragge. When inhabited worlds along the south-eastern fringe began to suffer an 
  epidemic of riots, terrorism, sabotage and, in some cases, outright rebellion the same Adeptus 
  claimed the people had become dissatisfied with living in the midst of an armed camp and 
  chosen to violently illustrate their displeasure.
  The Inquisition suspected a plot and moved quickly to 'investigate" the dissenters for signs of 
  treasonous thoughts or heretical influence. It was soon established that all of the dissenting 
  Administratum officials either originated from the south-eastern fringes or had travelled there at 
  some point in their career. No other unifying factors could be found, and many of the suspected 
  traitors had never even met each other.
  
  Inquisitors were dispatched from the Inquisition fortress at Talasa Prime to fully investigate the 
  Ultima rebellions. Meanwhile, the Inquisition instigated a terrifying purge throughout the 
  Imperium and particularly on Earth, incarcerating anyone in high office who had had contact with 
  the Eastern Fringe. Tens of thousands were dragged away by the Arbites to languish in prison 
  colonies while the investigation continued.
  ICHAR IV
  The Imperium's first concern was the rebellion on the industrial world of Ichar IV. The Ichar 
  system is vital to the Imperium. Its gigantic factories and sprawling refineries form the lynch pin 
  of one of the few densely populated sectors in the Ultima Segmentum. Thousands of ships 
  carrying ore and myco-protein pass through Ichar's huge orbital docks each year.
  The rebellion had been swift and bloody. Years before, a religious fundamentalist group called 
  the Brotherhood had caught the hearts and minds of the impoverished city workers. Their 
  preaching of the return of the Emperor had promised better times to come and a place in heaven 
  at his side, the kind of spiritual comfort most sought after by those without power or privilege in 
  life.
  The Brotherhood's mercy missions and chapels had soon become a common sight in the poorest 
  districts and their good works were legendary. The Ecclesiarchy had carefully monitored the 
  Brotherhood for any taint of iconoclasm or heresy but had found nothing, if the reports were to be 
  believed, but the most laudable of faith in the Emperor. Eventually permission was sought and 
  granted for the Brotherhood to build a cathedral in Lomas, Ichar IV's largest city.
  Shortly after the completion of the cathedral the trouble began. The Brotherhood refused to pay 
  its tithes to the Planetary Governor and refused to allow its members to be inducted into the 
  Planetary Defence Force. Brotherhood preachers began whipping the populace into a frenzy with 
  predictions of the imminent return of the Emperor. Vigilante Brotherhood militias started to patrol 
  in many areas, brutalising far more "unbelievers" than non-existent criminals.
  REBELLION AND WAR
  Matters came to a head when rioting broke out at a Brotherhood mass rally held before the great 
  cathedral. Arbitrators moved in to break up the crowds with power mauls and suppression shields 
  but were fired on from the cathedral itself. The Arbites returned fire, killing several Brotherhood 
  militia and enraging the great mass of people. After beating off several charges by the mob the 
  Arbitrators were forced to withdraw by the arrival of another, larger mob from the poor district.
  Rioting spread throughout the city and the Arhites were unable to suppress it. When PDF troops 
  were called from their barracks to assist the Arbitrators most of them rebelled and came out in 
  favour of the Brotherhood. Vicious fighting broke out all over the city and, when it came to light 
  that the Planetary Governor had been assassinated, the fighting spread to every city on Ichar IV. 
  Within hours tanks daubed with Brotherhood symbols and flying crude revolutionary banners 
  held most of the intersections and utilities in Lomas and the Imperial forces were being pushed 
  back in other cities.
  Dawn brought full news of the assassination of the planetary governor and most of his ministers. 
  Some were killed by bombs, others by snipers, others were murdered with their households in 
  horrific massacres which looked like the attacks of wild beasts or mob violence. Shortly 
  afterwards the Brotherhood seized all broadcast stations and announced their new theocratic 
  government.
  Loyal forces still controlled much of the countryside outside the cities and the judges of the 
  Adeptus Arbites still held their precinct fortress against the rebellious populace inside Lomas. 
  Nonetheless, most of the world's cities had been captured in a full scale rebellion against the 
  Emperor of Mankind. Inquisitor Agmar arrived on Ichar twenty seven days after the outbreak of 
  rebellion, on the same day that the Arbites precinct fortress was finally overrun by Brotherhood 
  forces. The judges were not to be so easily defeated, however. Most of their number escaped 
  along a secret tunnel and captured the city's four main power generators.
  To Inquisitor Agmar's eyes the situation on Ichar IV had the appearance of a well-orchestrated 
  plot rather than the upsurge of popular opinion being depicted by the Brotherhood. Agmar 
  requested the assistance of the Ultramarmnes Chapter of Space Marines to help the Imperial 
  forces regain full control of Ichar IV. While they awaited the arrival of the Ultramarines the 
  Imperial Guard regiments on Ichar bombarded the cities and held off ferocious counter-attacks 
  made by Brotherhood militia battalions.
  Repeated attempts to reach the trapped Arbites met with failure in the dense rubble surrounding 
  
  the generator plant. Amidst piles of crumbled rockerete and twisted girders Imperial Guard units 
  were consistently driven back by the savage zeal of the Brotherhood troops in deadly close 
  combats. The brave Arhites finally fell six days after Agmar s arrival, though in their last act of 
  loyalty to the Emperor they destroyed the power generators they had held so diligently. The lurid 
  fires lit by their melta bombs burned for days afterwards, casting a black pall of smoke across 
  Lomas like a chilling shroud.
  The war had reached a stalemate and ground down into an extended city-fight. Casualties 
  spiralled upwards daily in dozens of skirmishes and ambushes fought through ruined apartment 
  blocks, burned-out factories and mangled refineries. Predatory snipers lurked, ready to kill the 
  unwary. Every doorway could conceal a booby trap or a hidden enemy. Entire Imperial Guard 
  patrols disappeared without trace in the maelstrom of combat.
  At the other cities the story was the same. The Brotherhood had the Planetary Defence armouries 
  and the teeming populace to draw on for their soldiery, and they controlled the bulk of the 
  planet's laser and missile silos. Siege and starvation would be necessary to drive them out.
  Inquisitor Agmar led several small battle forces into Lomas to uncover more information about 
  the Brotherhood. Piece by piece the picture of what had happened on Ichar IV became clear. He 
  learned from prisoners about the ruling hierophants, heard their fanatical claims to be part of the 
  magnificent "New Order" which would sweep through the galaxy. In a surprise raid he slew a 
  Neophyte of the Brotherhood and saw what manner of creatures were leading this New Order. 
  The divinations of the Imperial Tarot and Adeptus Telepathica psykers confirmed Inquisitor 
  Agmar's worst fears. In utmost secrecy Inquisitor Agmar sent a report to the conclave of the 
  Inquisition and awaited the arrival of the Space Marines.
  ULTRAMARINES INVASION
  Thirty nine days after the outbreak of rebellion the Ultramarines battle barge Octavius entered 
  Ichar's orbit and prepared to deploy its drop pods. Ichar IV's defences were still largely ineffective 
  because of the damage inflicted on Lomas' s generatorium by the Arbites and drop casualties 
  were light. Companies of Space Marines seized the main defence armouries and the governor's 
  palace where the Brotherhood militia headquarters had been established. At first the Brotherhood 
  was taken by complete surprise and the primary objectives were quickly secured. The 
  Brotherhood militia launched a series of desperate counter attacks to dislodge the Space Marines 
  but their forces were critically disorganised by the destruction of their HQ and they were beaten 
  off with heavy losses.
  Outside the city the Imperial Guard launched a major assault to link up with the Ultramarines. Fire 
  and smoke leapt into the sky as artillery shells burst upon the city. Laser fire slashed back and 
  forth as crouched figures scrambled from cover to cover. Heavy bolters flared through the murk, 
  their shells kicking up erupting lines of dirt and rubble. The Imperial Guard doggedly advanced 
  using their Leman Russ tanks as moving strongpoints and the Brotherhood's lines bent back 
  before them.
  At the height of the attack Inquisitor Agmar's specially-placed spy satellite picked up militia 
  forces leaving the Brotherhood cathedral and moving up to contain the Imperial assault. The 
  Inquisitor knew the time had now come when one hold stroke would end the rebellion. He sent a 
  prearranged signal to the Octavius orbiting high above.
  In the echoing nave of the cathedral a crackling blue haze appeared, brightened and then in a 
  flash of azure light solidified into a number of hulking figures. The Brotherhood guards at the 
  doors wheeled round in time to be ripped apart by a thunderous hail of explosive shells. More 
  than twenty Space Marines in Terminator armour stood towering over their torn corpses in the 
  sudden silence that followed. More guards, Neophytes and Acolytes suddenly poured into the 
  cathedral through side doors as the Ultramarines Terminators spread out from their teleport 
  point. A storm of lasbeams and autoshells rattled off the Terminators' thick armour plates to no 
  avail: storm bolters were raised in gauntleted fists and the walls were painted with Brotherhood 
  blood.
  A handful of survivors hurled themselves into close combat with the giant warriors. Voluminous 
  robes fell hack to reveal bone-ridged heads and glaring eyes when the Neophytes lashed out with 
  their inhuman claws. Some of the Terminators were overwhelmed and dragged down by the 
  supernatural ferocity of the mob but the roaring jet of a heavy flamer cut across the survivors 
  before they could exploit their victory. Smoke and the stink of burned flesh billowed up to the 
  high-arched roof from the funeral pyre.
  
  The Terminators spread out with machine-like precision, some froze into overwatch positions 
  while the others searched the cathedral for the hidden passages they knew it must contain. Their 
  Librarian pointed to the altar and more explosive shells blasted it apart, revealing steps down 
  into darkness.
  Flipping on their suit lights the Terminators filed down the steps to find the black heart of the 
  Brotherhood. A dismal crypt lay below, with many twisting passages spreading out from it in all 
  directions hut the Librarian could sense the way through the labyrinth. The Terminators' scanners 
  came to life as they left the crypt, showing multiple foes closing quickly on their location, 
  creatures that moved too quickly to be human. The Terminators moved to the positions they 
  would cover from overwatch and waited, ready to deal death at the slightest movement.
  First came the distant clicking of claws on stone, then the thunder of the creatures' armoured 
  bodies striking the walls and each other as they rushed forth to bring swift death to the intruders. 
  The first of them sprang into the glare of the lights, its four deadly arms held high over its 
  crouched body and bestial head. Genestealers! No doubt was left now, the Inquisitor was right: a 
  viper's nest of aliens lay at the heart of the rebellion. Fangs and claws glittered as the 
  Genestealers ran forward with insect-quickness to slay their hated foes. Storm bolters roared, 
  sounding impossibly loud in the confined tunnels, explosive tipped bolts caromed from chitinous 
  bodies or pierced them and blasted alien flesh to bloody pulp. The cleansing fires of flamers 
  incinerated whole tunnels at a time but the creatures charged forward without fear or hesitation.
  Each strobing flash of the storm bolters showed the foe getting closer. They swept over the 
  bodies piled in front of the Ultramarines and tore into the Terminators. Three of the armoured 
  giants were ripped apart in as many seconds before the rest fell back to the crypt. The 
  Genestealers leapt after them without pause, easily catching the rearguards as they backed away 
  still blasting. Who can say how many more of the aliens were blown apart or crushed by the 
  Terminators' power fists before they were overrun? Not enough to stop the onrushing brood but 
  enough to slow them while their brethren prepared to fight again. In the crypt flamers held side 
  passages against flanking Genestealers and forced them to pour forth from one end of the room. 
  The combined fire of a half-dozen storm bolters burst through the horde and, as the survivors 
  leapt into cover behind great stone sarcophagi, the Librarian summoned a purifying column of 
  warp fire. Unnatural flames filled the end of the crypt, hissing fires that ate through alien flesh as 
  though it were fat and gristle instead of iron hard chitin and steely cartilage. Most of the brood 
  burned in an instant, the rest fell to the explosive bolts which raged through their ranks like a 
  miniature artillery barrage.
  The Terminators moved on, cautiously now because they were few. No more of the nightmarish 
  Genestealers barred their way or leapt from ambush as the Ultramarines pushed ever deeper into 
  the heart of darkness. Deep beneath the city they found what they were seeking in a high-
  groined chamber with carved walls like the ribs of some great beast. There the Genestealer 
  Patriarch crouched on a great dais, huge and bloated with the power of its sprawling brood. It 
  squatted with arms outstretched, head turned upward as if listening for some distant call as the 
  Ultramarines marched into the hall. They raised their weapons to destroy the abomination and it 
  lowered its eyes to gaze on them with a threatening hiss.
  Without warning a horde of monstrosities poured into the chamber from between the calcified 
  ribs-walls. Three-armed hybrids, tainted humans and purestrain Genestealers leapt forward to 
  protect their all-father. A wall of explosive bolts marched along the mob and the chamber 
  dissolved into a scene of chaos and bloodshed as the howling fanatics hurled themselves on the 
  Terminators. The Ultramarines Librarian cut his way forward through the creatures, the glowing 
  white blade of his force axe leaving a trail of shorn limbs and lopped heads behind him. Each step 
  became harder, as if he were wading through deeper and deeper water. He could feel the 
  palpable psychic waves of alien thoughts beating against his mind as the Patriarch exerted its 
  ancient, implacable will upon him. Deep pits opened in his subconscious, ready to swallow his 
  psyche whole.
  A shocking surge from the Librarian's psychic hood broke the spell. Focusing his own indomitable 
  will, the Librarian forced his body out of the physical world for an instant, and in an instant he 
  was gone. A bright flash marked his departure, another flared at his point of arrival as he 
  teleported onto the dais with the Patriarch. The creature span round and lashed out its claws with 
  incredible speed. Blood and sparks flew from the Librarian's armour as the claws ripped into it. 
  The Patriarch easily ducked away from his clumsy backswing. The beast pounced again and 
  
  rained a flurry of blows on the armoured figure which were almost too swift to follow.
  In desperation the Librarian called to his battle brothers and the dais was swept by storm bolters. 
  Indiscriminate fire ricocheted off the Librarian's armour but some shots struck and wounded the 
  Patriarch. In its moment of distraction the Librarian swung his force axe in an irresistible arc 
  which carved through the Patriarch's armoured hide with a flash of power. The force axe rose and 
  fell, hacking the Patriarch into a bloody pulp and spraying purple ichor across the chamber.
  With the death of its Patriarch the brood was thrown into confusion. In the chamber the handful of 
  remaining Terminators slaughtered the mass of creatures assailing them. Nothing escaped the 
  blasts of their storm bolters and the cleansing fires of their flamers as the Terminators exacted 
  some small measure of revenge for the death of their forebears over two centuries before. In the 
  city above the Brotherhood units resisting the Imperial Guard offensive collapsed. Small knots of 
  fanatical Acolytes and Neophytes held out in towers and bunkers but triumphant Imperial Guard 
  tanks swept through the rubble-strewn streets crushing all opposition.
  Ichar IV was back under the iron heel of the Imperium within three weeks. All signs of the 
  Genestealer infestation were thoroughly rooted out by the energetic Inquisitor Agmar with the 
  assistance of the Ultramarines. Yet at the end of the campaign several mysteries remained 
  unanswered. The first was what had become of the Magus, the human-seeming leader of the 
  Brotherhood who had disappeared at the start of the rebellion. His body was never found and no 
  prisoners were able to shed light on his whereabouts, even under Agmar's most persuasive 
  questioning.
  The second mystery was the reports of Astropaths and the Ultramarmnes Librarian who had slain 
  the Patriarch. They told of sensing a faint psychic disturbance like a long, keening call or a signal 
  radiating from the planet, a signal which had been cut off when the Patriarch was killed. The 
  oldest and most powerful of the Astropaths had told the Inquisitor that he toc had sensed the 
  Patriarch's call and that he had felt a distant shift in the warp. It was a sense of something vast 
  and seething, a shadow of a monstrously powerful entity which had turned its attention to Ichar.
  When Agmar submitted his report to the conclave of the Inquisition he was warned of a growing 
  number of reports from survivors fleeing from the outer fringes. The information was garbled and 
  contradictory but one fact stood out, the Tyranids had returned with a new hive fleet, Hive Fleet 
  Kraken
  TENDRILS OF THE KRAKEN
  This new Tyranid invasion had come without warning and no one could be sure how many planets 
  had fallen to the Tyranid horde already. Hive Fleet Krakcn appeared to made up of many sub-
  fleets which moved to attack worlds across an entire sector simultaneously. The alarming 
  disruption in the warp brought about by the hive fleet's passage had blocked out astropathic 
  communication beyond the besieged systems and warp travel in their vicinity had become 
  dangerously unpredictable. Whole sub-sectors of the Imperium had been swallowed up with 
  almost no clues as to what had happened to them. The handfuls of survivors had fled aboard 
  ships and been flung hundreds of light years off course by the turbulence in the warp. Their 
  chilling accounts of the nightmare advance of the hive fleet formed the bulk of information 
  available to the Imperium.
  Tales came of skies turned black over whole continents by clouds of wind blown poison spores. Of 
  hulking monsters that stalked the land, ripping and slashing with murderous claws. Stories of 
  billions of creatures swarming across the face of a world, devouring everything in their path and 
  leaving the planet a wasteland. Whole population centres had been subdued or wiped out in a 
  single night, and those taken alive had envied the dead.
  In the Miral system Imperial Guard regiments and Space Marines of the Scythes Chapter still held 
  out against Tyranids which had overrun the lush jungles and plantations of Miral Prime. The 
  Imperial Forces had retreated to a huge rock mesa known locally as the Giant's Coffin where they 
  fought almost daily against raging hordes from the dense jungles below. The jungles themselves 
  had become extraordinarily active since the invasion and only constant defoliation prevented 
  vines and creepers engulfing the defenders' narrow island of rock overnight.
  A free captain brought rumours of Lamarno, a feral planet which had come completely under the 
  sway of Genestealers. When a Tyranid hive fleet arrived the fierce tribesmen had calmly boarded 
  the bio-ships to be consumed by their new 'living gods'. He also brought a tale from the giant 
  asteroid-monastery of Salem, telling of how the monks had chosen to poison themselves and 
  their carefully built ecosystem rather than allow their sanctified flesh and bones to be consumed 
  
  by the advancing Tyranids. Now Salem was nothing more than a gigantic tomb.
  Another dedicated merchant captain helped evacuate millions from the mining worlds of Devlan 
  before it was consumed. The extensive system of Sentinel space stations around Devlan delayed 
  the hive fleet long enough for a fleet of giant freighters to escape into space. A company of the 
  Lamenters Chapter of Space Marines held off frenzied attacks by the Tyranids until the last ship 
  was loaded. Left surrounded and cut off, the Lamenters commended their souls to the Emperor 
  and took a heavy toll of the invaders before they were finally overrun.
  Yet there seemed to be no refuge even in flight. One giant ore ship fleeing from Devlan with its 
  cargo of refugees arrived at its destination ominously dark and silent. No communication was 
  forthcoming from the vessel and it made an automated landing far from habitation. Those 
  investigating the ship found it to be a slaughterhouse of terror and death when they unsealed it. 
  Men, women and children had been mercilessly butchered in their hundreds, perhaps thousands, 
  it was impossible to tell. The Inquisition suspected a breach of quarantine protocol had allowed 
  some Tyranid organism to get aboard, but nothing could be found, so what it it was and what 
  became of it remained a mystery.
  Orbital defences on Graia had held the hive fleet back for a time but the invaders had overrun 
  Graia's single moon. Now every orbit brought a rain of mycetic spores on the planet below, each 
  spore bearing its payload of doom and destruction. Explorators reported discovering a world deep 
  in the Eastern Fringe which had been seeded with Hormagaunts during a Tyranid terror raid 
  decades before. Swarms of the sickle-armed beasts had killed every living thing on the planet 
  and now battled with each other in their unrelenting bloodlust. The Squats had reported attacks 
  by a swarm of hive ships on isolated Homeworlds close to the galactic core, tens of thousands of 
  light years away from the main hive fleet on the south-eastern rim of the galaxy.
  Inquisitor Czevak reported that the Eldar craftworld of Iyanden had been subjected to a series of 
  massive Tyranid attacks. The once mighty craftworld had fought off swarm after swarm of 
  attacking hive ships but in doing so its space fleet had been virtually destroyed. Several swarms 
  of Tyranids had reached the craftworld itself and fighting had raged throughout its slender 
  Wraithhone towers and magnificent crystal domes. Now most of the craftworld lay in ruins and 
  four fifths of its people were left dead or dying, a terrible blow to the dwindling Eldar race.
  TOTAL WAR 
  The Adeptus Terra was sufficiently shaken by the news from the Ultima Segmentum to convene 
  the High Lords of Terra. Their conclusion was rapid and succinct: the vast inroads of the Tyranids 
  into the Imperium must be stopped at all costs, the Tyranid race must be investigated and, if 
  possible, utterly extenninated. The Imperial Tarot predicted a time of coming darkness 
  unmatched since the darkest hours of the Horus Heresy: the Devourer of Worlds grappled with 
  the human galaxy and thus far it had shown only the first hints of its true strength. At the 
  command of the High Lords the huge military juggernaut of the Imperium's armed forces turned 
  its face to the Ultima Segmentum and readied itself for total war.
  The forge worlds of the Adeptus Mechanicus produce tanks, weapons and war machines by tens 
  of thousands. The ship yards at Bakka and Terra work night and day to build battlecruisers and 
  warcraft to stem the tide of the Tyranid hive fleets. Millions of Imperial Guardsmen prepare to 
  embark on a war for humanity's very survival. To the Imperium war is a religion, a crusade 
  against the forces of darkness which wait in the shadows to enslave mankind. The Tyranids are 
  the ultimate blasphemy, a race of creatures that brings not mere enslavement but utter 
  extinction.
  New and deadly Tyranid weapons and creatures are being reported all the time: long-ranged 
  acidic projectiles which melt through steel like wax, creatures which attack with bolts of psychic 
  energy or electro-static blasts, gigantic beasts as tall as Titans. The regularity of Tyranid attacks 
  is increasing and no adequate defence has yet been discovered.
  Several hundred large inhabited worlds have fallen to the Tyranids. Two entire Space Marine 
  Chapters based on the Eastern Fringe, the Scythes of the Emperor and the Lamenters, have been 
  all but destroyed with little more than a company of Space Marines surviving the Tyranid 
  onslaught.
  The fight has not been entirely in vain. In a number of systems Space Marines have boarded 
  Tyranid ships while they were still dormant after exiting the warp. These boarding parties entered 
  the pulsing vitals of the immense alien craft, gathering information about the Tyranids and 
  destroying thousands of creatures while they lay frozen in hibernation. The information gathered 
  
  by these brave Space Marines has proved vital to the Imperium' s search for a way to defeat the 
  Tyranid menace.
  The Techno Magi have concluded that the Tyranids originate outside the galaxy. Their voracious 
  genetic structure and biological existence are different from even the most alien creatures of our 
  own galaxy. Whereas human and other galactic organisms naturally diversify into distinct species 
  over the course of millions of years, Tyranids evolve rapidly and constantly to meet the conscious 
  needs of the entire race. The Tyranids are not one creature but a bewildering array of 
  monstrosities created to perform specific functions. Hence Tyranids vary in size from the huge 
  organic spacecraft of the hive fleets to tiny functionary creatures such as the beetle-sized 
  scataphagoids which cleanse and recycle organic waste in the respiratory vents of the bin-ships.
  The conscious mutability of the Tyranids means they have never needed to develop more 
  conventional technologies like those used by Man. For example, much of the Tyranids' weaponry 
  is created from symbiote creatures which have been adapted and combined to fire voracious 
  living shells or generate deadly energies. These artefacts have probably not even been 
  consciously designed by the Tyranids, rather they design themselves in response to the 
  requirements of the hive mind, genetically adapting to their tasks from the moment of inception. 
  As time passes generations of the weapon symbiotes constantly change and evolve to become 
  lighter, more efficient and deadlier against the Tyranid's foes.
  The hive mind appears to require a constant influx of fresh genetic material and new DNA to 
  create new creatures and adapt to different environments. The Adeptus Mechanicus postulate 
  that the Tyranids exhausted their own galaxy and, perhaps, others of all life before crossing the 
  interstellar void to seek fresh feeding grounds. With its billions of humans and countless other 
  creatures the Imperium offers the Tyranids an inexhaustible stock of organic matter and genetic 
  codes to invigorate the hive mind and enable it to manifest new forms. The Tyranids represent 
  the nightmare pinnacle of evolution gone mad, a ravening super-predator of stellar dimensions 
  which will make all other life forms extinct if it cannot be stopped.
  +++THE SQUATS+++
  In the earliest days of space colonization, the worlds toward the galactic core were settled. At that 
  time the mineral resources of the galactic core worlds were a rich prize and thousands of huge 
  specially adapted mining spacecraft and colony ships set off to harvest the vast wealth of these 
  inner planets. The manufacturing corporations, making heavy machinery, vehicles, and weapons, 
  also established thousands of plants on these worlds to be near the source of raw materials.
  The galactic core is characterised by ancient suns which are dim in comparison with the stars of 
  the spiral arms. Around these ancient stars orbit huge rock worlds rich in minerals, but in most 
  other respects, barren and lifeless. With low levels of daylight sand extremely high gravity, these 
  worlds are inhospitable to most life forms.
  The original settlers were miners, engineers, and technicians, and they built their homes deep 
  underground or carved out of the rocky cliffs and hillsides of the world, creating self-contained 
  communities out of exhausted mines. To feed themselves, they constructed huge hydroponic 
  tanks to grow nutrious algae which could then be processed and eaten by the settlers and the 
  communities quickly became self-sufficient.
  The high gravity and harsh environment gradually changed the humansd that lived there. They 
  grew tougher, more resilient, and they became shorter and squatter. This process took thousands 
  of years, and during that time the new race began to develop its own cultural identity, based 
  upon fuedal and guild ideals. When the galactic core was temporarily cut off from the rest of 
  human society by warp storms, the inhabitants banded together into an independent 
  confederation which they called the Homeworlds.
  It was during this time that the race became generally known as Squats, though they are also 
  called Dwarfs, and many of them prefer this term. During this period of isolation, the Homeworlds 
  withstood many trials from Ork invasions to rampages of Chaos, environmental disasters, and 
  even internal war between the Squats themselves. The early settlements have been enlarged 
  many times and fortified to turn them into impregnable, self-sufficient strongholds.
  With Earth and other sources of technology denied to them, the Squats had to develop their own 
  alternative technologies, using local materials and the vast sources of energy and resources they 
  
  found their worlds to contain. As they invented and reinvented machines to keep them alive, the 
  Squats acquired considerable expertise. This gatherin of knowledge led to the creation of the 
  Engineers Guild, a body of individuals whose technical expertise would provide future Squat 
  armies with many powerful and high tech weapons of war that were unique to the Squats alone.
  The Squat Homeworlds have remained independent, and have their own wars against Orks and 
  Chaos, and on occasions, Squats have also fought the Imperium and the Eldar, but by the large, 
  the Squats have allied with humans, and they have no particular source of discord with the Eldar.
  The Squats need to trade in order to acquire items not readily available on their own worlds, and 
  so they prefer to remain as neutral as possible. Sometimes Squat strongholds will fight each 
  other over points of honour, or valuable mining rights, but such wars are usually short-lived, 
  being brought to a halt by ancient laws or the intercession of the Council of Strongholds. The 
  Homeworlds rely on the Imperium for most of their trade, but they also trade with the Eldar and 
  even with Orks on occasion.
  Generally, the Squats have hated Orks with a passion ever since the ravages of Ork Warlord 
  Grunhag the Flayer, whose surprise invasion cost many Squat lives and wiped out several ancient 
  strongholds. Even today, thousands of years after the invasion, the Squats send out expeditions 
  to try and uncover lost remnants of strongholds believed destroyed by Grunhag's horde. An epic 
  ballad called The Fall of Imbach reminds younger generations of Squat warriors of the heroism of 
  the Squats in those dark times and of the foul treachery of the Ork invaders. The deeds of 
  treachery by the Orks have been recorded in the Book of Grudges for all generations of Squats to 
  read.
  The Squats are a hard working and tenascious race, with a strong strubborn streak. They are 
  honourable, and take great pride in paying their debts and in keeping their word. This means 
  they are reliable allies but extremely dangerous foes. If a Squat gives its word to do something, 
  he will do it, even if it takes his life in the attempt. Squats have two characteristics which are hard 
  for humans to understand.
  First, they are very materialistic. Squats work hard to acquire money and possessions, and the 
  more important a Squat is, the greater his treasure horde will be. When he dies, his possessions 
  are divided amongst his closest relatives and so pass from generation to generation. A family's 
  treasure is held very dear, it is both a source of wealth and a direct link to its honoured ancestors.
  The second quality that humans find hard to understand is the Squats' overriding obsession with 
  vengeance and honour. Should a Squat be slain, his whole family is honour-bound to avenge his 
  death, while any harm done to one family member by an unrelated Squat will bring the whole 
  family together to exact vengeance. A harm done by a none-Squat will bring down the vengeance 
  of the whole stronghold. Squats stick together and never forget a slight, no matter how trivial or 
  unintentional. Each Squat maintains his own personal Book of Grudges. Legends abound with 
  examples of lone warriors battling to the death against overwhelming odds for their family's 
  honour, and of individuals returning from apparent death or dishonour to exact lasting and 
  bloody revenge on their foes.
  The stronghold is the basis of Squat civilization. A planet may have several strongholds, but 
  rarely more than half a dozen. The warriors from a stronghold are its Brotherhoods, so called 
  because of their close blood relationship and ties of vengeance rights. Strongholds sometimes 
  band together into leagues.
  The leader of the stronghold is called the Lord. The leaders of the stronghold's Brotherhoods are 
  called Warlords, and they are usually close relations of the Lord. In battle each Warlord leads a 
  Brotherhood as well as his own personal Hearthguard.
  When several strongholds from a league fight together, a Grand Warlord is chosen to lead the 
  combined forces for the duration of the campaign. Election as a Grand Warlord is one of the 
  ultimate accolades for a Squat warrior, and is normally bestowed on the most honoured and 
  revered of Warlords. The Grand Warlord leads a disciplined and well armed force made up of 
  Brotherhood warriors and fearsome weapons of war developed by the Engineer's Guild.
  The Engineer's Guild is a powerful part of Squat society. Its knowledge and expertise is legendary 
  and its leaders hold many engineering secrets. Many of the techno-magi of the Adeptus 
  Mechanicus believe that the Squats have already learned the secrets of stable Warp fission, by 
  which the energy of Warp space is siphoned off to produce limitless supplies of energy.
  The Guild has already developed and produced the most advanced form of propulsion for 
  spacecraft: a neo-plasma reactor powered by a Warp core held in thrall by a containment field of 
  
  zero energy. No other race has ever duplicated this drive mechanism, the Adeptus Mechanicus 
  have given up their experiments with Warp core technology ever since the infamous Contagion of 
  Ganymede.
  The Squats produce many more conventional machines also, including airships, gyrocopters, and 
  gigantic armoured crawlers. All of these machines reflect the landscape of the Squat 
  Homeworlds, where isolated strongholds are separated by hundreds of miles of hostile territory. 
  Shale deserts and chromium drifts, soaring rocky penacles, and sheer glass sided crevasses are 
  typical topography on the Homeworlds. To cross this tortured landscape, the Squats have huge 
  Land Trains.
  All of these Land Trains are armoured to survive meteor showers, and violent electrical storms. 
  They carry powerful weapons and are used by the Squats as armoured battlestations, mobile 
  versions of their strongholds, able to survive in isolation on a hostile world. The largest of these 
  vast machines is the Collossus, which is also made for the Imperium in a version called the 
  Leviathan. These are huge war machines with extrememly thick armour, carrying a large number 
  of powerful weapons and hundreds of troops, and protected by layers of void shields.
  The Squats use many armoured vehicles, fast Guild Bikes, and flying machines on the battlefield. 
  They use fast, heavily armed Gyrocopters for scouting and making flanking and hit and run 
  attacks. The sight of a Guild Bike squadron roaring down on the enemy has been known to break 
  the enemy's resolve and create panic among the enemy troops, such is their reputation.
  +++The Ancient Slann+++
  History
  Of all the races in the galaxy the Slann claim to be, and may actually be the oldest. The days of 
  their bright empire are waning, but still they remain amongst the most enigmatic creatures of 
  known space. The Slann evolved, matured and spread throughout the galaxy many hundreds of 
  thousands of years ago. During the heyday of their empire they discovered and nurtured many 
  primitive creatures, encouraging the evolutionary process on coutless worlds, eradictaing or 
  moving dangerous species, and seeding many planets with promising stock. For millennia they 
  experimented and played with the galaxy, possibly creating many of the races of modern times in 
  the process. But their empire dwindled, the pace of their civilisation slowed, and their genetic 
  experiments were largely abandoned. The Slann retired from an active role in galactic affairs, 
  falling into a long dream of indolence and introspection. They do not seem to have suffered from 
  any physical conflict, there are no records of destructive wars or disasters. Instead their racial 
  motivations appear to have undergone a sudden and drastic change, so that have lost interest in 
  material conquest and power. Perhaps the Slann discovered something yet unknown to other 
  races, some secret of the universe, a spiritual truth or supreme mystical insight. In therealms of 
  psychic-philosophy and mystic-technology the Slann certainly have no equals, fulfilling 
  themselves by study of spiritual life-forces and secret powers of other realities.
  The Slann originally evolved from amphibian stock, and even today traces of their ancestry are 
  not hard to distinguish. Their hands and feet are long and webbed, their skins cool and moist, 
  their heads large with protruding eyes. They are quite at home in the water, and are capable of 
  breathing oxygen from water (or other poorly oxygenated atmospheres) directly through their 
  skin.
  Slann vary in colour a great deal - green and blue are common, yellow is fairly well represented, 
  and there is a scattering of other, rarer colour morphs as well as albino and melanistic forms. 
  Brightly pigmented Slann are often extrovert, talented or especially noteworthy in some way. 
  Skins are sometimes mottled, striped or otherwise marked. On some Slann worlds, and especially 
  among primitive Slann, these markings represent tribal divisions. Height is fairly constant, with 
  adult Slann reaching 2 metres, females are slightly larger and bulkier.
  The Slann inhabit an area to the north of the galactic pole, living upon a number of proximate, 
  prosperous worlds. The society remains closed to other races, but appears to be homogenous 
  throughout, with a similar technical base, language and culture on each planet. Exceptionally, 
  groups of Slann live as primitive savages on a number of worlds beyond Slann space, including 
  planets of the Imperium. Strangely enough, these primitve Slann are scattered throughout the 
  galaxy, and probably comprise the remnants of what was once a much larger pattern of Slann 
  
  settlement. These primitives have little or no contact with their technologically advanced kin. The 
  Slann are a curious people, rarely trading with other races and unpredictable when dealing with 
  territorial disputes or any form of rivalry. There is little that the Slann want or need, and traders 
  often get the feeling that they are being watched and studied, and that the exchange of goods is 
  of no importance to the Slann.
  Organisation
  Slann warriors are called braves, and a number of braves plus a leader makes up a warband. The 
  number of warriors in a band varies, but is usually between 6 and 8, although it can vary between 
  2 and 12. A senior officer called a warleader commands a group of warbands. Where armies are 
  large large it will have many warleaders, all of whom will meet before a battle to make plans and 
  exchange ideas with experienced warleaders, chiefs and mages. The warleader in overall charge 
  is the warchief - selected from and by the other warleaders. The greatest and most respected 
  individuals in Slann society are the Great Mages. Their aid would be sought in battle, for their 
  knowledge of magic, philosophy and the arcane sciences are formidable. The Great Mages 
  remain aloof from society, although their advice is constantly sought by the social leaders. Slann 
  society is tribal, and the leader of each tribe is known as the Mage Chief. Except among primitive 
  Slann, tribes never fight each other and tribal relations are peaceful. A schematic diagram of 
  Slann society is reproduced below.
  1. Great Mages
  2. Mage Chiefs and other social leaders
  3. Warchiefs
  4. Warleaders
  5. Warband--|
  |
  Leader-------Braves
  The concept of the the warband is important to the Slann attitude to life. Every Slann is expected 
  to live its life according to a strange, mystic and largely unfathomable ritual, as part of which the 
  individual passes through life-stages. The calling to a life-stage would seem a real and almost 
  unstoppable thing to a Slann, and can happen at any time, so that a peaceful technician may 
  become a wanderer, a warrior, a hermit, etc. Once a Slann feels the call to become a warrior it 
  joins one of its tribe's warbands, or forms a warband of its own. Because of this unpredictable 
  recruiting method, warbands change all the time.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Warhammer/40k/Game books/Homebrew megafolder/Warhammer-40k-Bible.pdf