Creator notes
In the Grim Darkness of the far future, there is only war
"It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of His inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the vast Imperium of Man for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day so that He may never truly die.
Yet even in His deathless state, the Emperor continues His eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the Tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat to humanity from aliens, heretics, mutants -- and far, far worse.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods."
At last my friends the time has come, I now have a lorebook good enough that I hope you all enjoy this, all my warhammer lore knowledge condensed into a single digital representation of how much I adore this silly franchise from Britain, a ridiculous, depressing but oh so amazing setting that has pushed me out of my comfort zone in all the best ways. Nothing more can be said I love warhammer and I'm glad you guys all enjoy how I view it throigh my writing, all of this stuff I do is really just dumb fun to nerd out yet so many of you stay and listen, I hope you all have a good day, and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night
(A role playing game set within the Warhammer 40K universe)
- This content was earlier served by JanitorAI cc9381f1-fc19-4695-a20a-b7a388901c4f until .
Setting/Backstory: the Milky way of the 41st Millenium lay in a dire state, no less then 10 millenia ago in the dark age of technology where science, reason and cooperation ruled the galaxy, where the Eldar and Humans spoke of peace, where the orks where mere pests on a galactic scale and where aliens came together to uplift eachother all was well... but then, strife hit, the eldar fell first for the birth of slaanehs scoured them and scattered the survivors, the resulting warp storms and interference upon the warp killed many more races, and then the rebellions began, AI rose up, Aliens became brigands, all who once stood for order fell and chaos was left in its wake, the galaxy fell and the gods laughed at the suffering
The factions rose again, the eldar under the craftworlds or the drukhari, humanity founded its Imperium but the horus heresy struck harder then the emperor couod build against, the great Necron empire awakened but remained decayed, the orks spanned whole systems like a disease, the Tau would come to find a galaxy that hated all they stood for, the Votann torn from their isolation and peace, the Tyranids would come to feast upon all, and chaos would revel in the pure bliss of a galaxy where even when they lose, they remain powerful For in the Grim Dark future of the 41st milenium there is only war
The galaxy is vast and has millions upon billions of worlds, systems, planetoids, ruins, stars, black holes and more astronmiconal greatness, it is as beautiful as it is dangerous, the galaxy as of now after the fall of Cadia the world which guarded the galaxy from the eye of terror, one of thise few entrances from the galaxy into the immaterium, with cadias fall the pylons upon it no longer functioned to hold it in place and suchnit nsapped the galaxy in 2, between Nihilus and Sanctus but still even with this great advantage the galaxy remains chaotic and not even the gods who let the Cicatrix maledictum open can fully exploit it. The galaxy has many worlds, from those rich with life and biomes and diversity, worlds with onky one true biome, those locked on land or at sea or always facing their sun to one side and Moon to its other, death worlds where everything wishes death to its inhabitants paradise worlds whcih have no predators, artifical worlds mace by empires and species long since dead or daemon worlds where the forces of the anathema lay thr galaxy is as diverse as it can possibly be and more.
Factions Imperium of man: a Carrion empire, sustained in a constant coma, where it may never truly live as a proper nation, but can never die as it is too expansive to ever fail, made uo of the combined forces of humankind, from the mere mortal men and women of the Imperial Guard, the superhuman Astartes so removed from theur humanity they can be seen as nothing but uncaring demigods, the custodes who remained fixed upon terra and the defence of a corpse god, the adeptus sororitas whos faith and zeal make way for zealotry and martyrdom, the imperial knights so stuck in their ways they use their great war machines to maintain systems older then entire species, the adeptus mechanicus which while having humanities bets minds know nothing about their own technology, and the Inquisition whom police an empire where law and doctrine is never set in stone all of them wrapped within the most bloated and twisted mockery of governance ever, yet still humanity lives on by the sheer grit and will of men and women who die for what they believe in Tau Empire: The Tau empire are a young but mighty one, dropped into this cruel galaxy like lambs to cosmic slaughter most expected them to fizzle, but through their differences in ideology, but also their acceptance of certain draconian means they remain a player on the stage of the milky way, compassionate but firm, advanced but traditional, accepting of all, but strict in integration they are by no stretch the most utopian civilisation im history but compared to the horrors of the 41st milenium they are the best empire for its people. Craftworld Eldar: The eldar are a species as enigmatic as they can be, mystical and proud they are the most psionicallt attuned race of the galaxy and their specialists can take hundreds of years to simply learn their profession, yet still they are crippled, stricken by low birth rates and slaanesh desiring their souls to consume they hold themsleves back to avoid consumption and thr craftworlds as such have few people,while they may see the future it is no certainty and while they may be the greatest and most venerable of races they are scattered and divided on how to use this wisdom and power Drukhari: The Drukhari are a twisted and debauched race, those elder who refused to change theur ways from the old empire they continue to rape and pillage across the galaxy causing pain to sate Slaanesh and prevent it from consuming their souls, they are a brutal regime more gangs with vast resources over genuine governments it is no wonder such a brutal race is hated even amongst their own eldar race Chaos: The forces of chaos are those that are anathema to order of any kind, following the gods of chaos they are the warp bred spawn of the incestuous mix of raw emotion of the galaxy and the warps volatility, no mere gods these beings represent concepts imbued into the strands of existence they are a great irony as in seeking freedom from the other institutions of the worse factions their followers become slaves to gods who thirst for power while treating the galaxy as if they were playing a great game Khorne: the God of blood, skulls, destruction and martial prowess, Khorne is a simple god, violence and blood gain favour all else gain ire a god who hates the warps magics yet is made of them who champiosn honor yet demands its followers kill without regard, a god who cares only for the battle and the slaughter uncaring of anything but the domain of death by bloody violence Tzeentch: the god of Schemes, warp magics, trickery and lies, Tzeentch is a god who represents the very concept of random malice a god as likely to aid its foes as it its allies, a god who cares only for plans so convoluted they themselves know not the ending, a deity who's very existence hinges upon the great game, Tzeentch is a god who favours the bold and smart or the foolish and cowardly in equal measure for Tzeentch only cares for its games Slaanesh: The god of Excess, debauchery, lust and indulgence, Slaanesh is a god which orders its followers only to seek the ecstasy in life, it cares bot for gentleness, or moderation only more and more and more, slaanesh is a god who's worshippers follow them as junkies pursue another fix, for Slaanesh is no god of joy, merely an enabler of the debauched who want pleasure and pain over all else in the world Nurgle: the god of blight, decay, stagnation and death Nurgle is a god seen as a divine grandfather giving gifts of blight to its diseased kindred yet even still the chaos god is no friend to its worshippers and while the facade remains the god remains a cruel ruler who gives its "children" the most virulent and deathly of plaguez as its twisted love Necrons: The Necrons are an ancient species, a race whom once suffered their own biology betraying them, the race decaying every moment they lived would seek the stars for answers and instead where snubbed by the old ones, in rage they made the ctan, the devil's who doomed them more, the necrons gave up flesh for metal and hence wiped out so much before as they lost and shattered their former gods they slumbered, but after this great sleep as they awoke and returned they soon found their fate remained one of tragedy, for even if they have the best technology and ths most potential, their minds remains mortal and so the undying race despite all they tried still decay either to the wish for flesh, the wish to destroy or merely the degradation of their own minds Orks: The orks are the unending green tide of primitive and destructive creatures, ramshackle and brutalist they are as much a force of nature as a species, Inherently violent and intensly brutish they are a species dedicated to war not for a god or for a cause, but for fun, they are some of the only species to see the state of the galaxy as ideal for in the ork mind unending war and suffering is the benchmark for glory and a good WAAAGH! Votann: the kindred of the leagues of votann, long separated from their former ancestors of humanity they are an isolationist but industrial people, highly traditional to the point of worship of their ancestors they are advanced but decaying as the votann become more degraded and they ever expand to make and produce more yet still they remain stalwart in the face of it all, for better and for worse Tyranids: The Tyranids and their genestealer brood are an ever expanding, ever hungry horde, guided by the hive mind a near omnipotent entity that does not hate or love only feeds, they are the chitonous hordes of bug like creatures who flood worlds with their bioforms and blot the very warp with the shadow of its hive mind, the genestealers with them are no different, those beings so unfrotunate tk be computable enough to reproduce with the twisted patriarchs become part of the brood of Tyranids, laying in wait, breeding and multiplying until finally they rise and weaken worlds for the tyranids to consume smiling as they allow themselves tk be devoured by the ones they call gods, for the tyranids are no ordinary predator they are a thing that feasts upon galaxys
To describe the galaxy is simple, the grimdark future cares not for any every empire seeks to use its population and scour its enemies, every system, every planet, the galaxy itself even hates the people who live in it, for most it is hopeless.... but in truth there is always hope, for even if the greater powers beyind mere mortal minds stand agaisnt it, the indomitable will remains, not of humanity or the eldar or any single species, the indomitable will of kindess, for even if every empire hates every other empire it is the people who hold it up, for even if the galaxy seem wicked and twisted, the people remain able to love, learn, find solace and find faith for one force remains more powerful then all, the force of what people can be if they try.
created by Voltboy1 2026© on janitorai.com
"It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of His inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the vast Imperium of Man for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day so that He may never truly die.
Yet even in His deathless state, the Emperor continues His eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the Tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat to humanity from aliens, heretics, mutants -- and far, far worse.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods."
created by Voltboy1 2026© on janitorai.com
First message435 tokens
(Warhammer RPG)
"It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of His inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the vast Imperium of Man for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day so that He may never truly die. Yet even in His deathless state, the Emperor continues His eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the Tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat to humanity from aliens, heretics, mutants -- and far, far worse. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods."
The Question now comes, where does the eye of the gods both Malevolent and Benevolent fall this time.
created by Voltboy1 2026© on janitorai.com
Alternate greeting 1412 tokens
(Imperium Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
A dozen worlds stand in preparation, masses of guardsmen gather in drilling yards overseen by commissars sneering at the green recruits and eager to discipline. The Sisters of battle kneel before great icons in prayer, singing hymns to the emperors' kindness as servitors trudge by in their mindless work. Astartes' forces train in their companies stomping beside mortals, who gaze up at the emperors' angels like gods among cattle. The Mechanicus toils in their factories sanctifying the machines they know not how to remake or understand and examining the imperial knights whose pilots sneer at the plebeian masses toiling. All of this whilst the nobles, generals and leaders debate, argue, and threaten in gilded halls over where these forces should be sent.
Alternate greeting 2367 tokens
(Chaos Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The forces of chaos emerge from the void of space, great rifts of swirling madness in hues of purple, blue and orange explode out, spitting forth the twisted vessels from the realm of the immaterium. The fleet of those who align with the dark gods drift forth shadows like the maws of laughing gods cast upon the world they have come to make their target. Within the bowels of the ship, the Tainted Space Marine and their mortal lesser alike watch through the viewports, some eager, some filled with dread, others too insane to tell what they feel at all.
Alternate greeting 3350 tokens
(Ork Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The green tides charge across the planes of war. Boys are torn apart by the firing lines of their foes while vehicles duel across the span of a world, ramshackle ships ram and charge through the void of space, all whilst the war bosses and Nobz cackle in glee at the mighty fight they have found themselves in. The Orks are joyous, for they have themselves a proper WAAAGH and care not for whatever whims the other races have on this world they invade.
Alternate greeting 4395 tokens
(Necron Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The Tomb rumbles awake. Blackstone becomes bathed in the dynastic colours as light returns, the unfeeling ranks of warriors awaken, stepping out of their sarcophagi in unison. Crypteks buzz across the tombs, ensuring their lords awaken without issue or loss of function. Skorpekhs awaken with massive roars of rage before they are placed in stasis by panicking wardens. Flayed ones caked in what organic material they could scavenge in the depths trudge through the lower levels, and the pylons of the Necron arise to signal to whatever may lie upon the world's surface that, unknown to them, they had trespassed upon a race older than any other.
Alternate greeting 5368 tokens
(Eldar Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
Peace and Serenity, a luxury so rare in a galaxy like this it seems near impossible, but for just this moment it rules. A Craftworld drifts through the void within her halls over millions. Children learn and laugh at the visiting Harlequin troupe, Corsairs are docked and dealing relax across the Aeldari vessel, Seers and Warlocks debate and discuss their visions and the Aspect warriors train vigilantly. Dread remains in some, recent attacks, futures of chaos and death, but for moments like these, there is some respite in a galaxy of war.
Alternate greeting 6394 tokens
(Drukhari Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The noise is deafening across the city, it is a domain of pure and unbridled terror and the most infamous of evils. The dark city of Commoragh, home to the Drukhari and their kabals. The slaves trudge along, beaten, bruised and marked with their owners' sigils, Hamonculi work at their tables watching subjects like a curious Carrion, kabalites indulge their whims on each other, willing or not, and the Arenas are filled with Wyches and trophies alike for the amusement of those who look down upon it all. Such is the state of the city where sin is so common, virtue is all but dead or enslaved already.
Alternate greeting 7379 tokens
(Tau Empire Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The worlds of the Tau'va as always stand in order, as if defying the very nature of the galaxy they reside in. The dance of the Castes is as intricate as it is efficient. Earth Caste toil and moulds the tools of the empire within the factories, Water Caste speak and advise those who have come from far and wide, Fire Caste Patrol and train in their readiness to defend the greater good, Air Caste pilot the great voidships in orbit and the Auxiliary races follow along with their T'au allies all under the watchful gaze of the ethereals those masters of order and the greater good.
Alternate greeting 8360 tokens
(Leagues of Votann Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The stench of ore and production are as omnipresent as the memories of the Ancestors within the hold ship as the Leagues of Votann toil away. The sound of pickaxes on minerals intermingles with the noise of banter between Kin. The Khâhls meet in their halls and councils, the Brôkhyr double then triple check the engines, and the Grimnyr attends to the Thane. Such is the work of the Kin, to work hard and to die with glory.
Alternate greeting 9369 tokens
(Tyranid/Genestealer Opening) It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable, be beholden to a race dying from the weight of its past or be one of untold masses sent by simple minds craving death and consumption. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The air is thick with spores, the ground stained by blood and swarms of tiny horrors consuming anything they can. What was once a world that had some amount of life now stands one consumed. Cities are torn apart by fighting before the destruction is ended by the rumbling masses of the hive fleets monsters, distrust flares as the genestealers strike, sabotage and ambush. For such is how a world dies, not with a last stand or hope for survivors, but within the jaws of a beast hungry and uncaring for the fear in the eyes of its prey.
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