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Warhammer 40,000: Discussione Generalis IV
- Thread starter Matthew_Schroeder
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source?
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Warhammer Fantasy: Daemons of Chaos 7th Edition.
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i think i own that or i can find it.
did you know in the Lizardmen rulebook it says that the Old Ones have reality warp but never specify?
did you know in the Lizardmen rulebook it says that the Old Ones have reality warp but never specify?
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Khorn loves ponies
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guys, i have a great text of Perturabo Hammer of Olympia, his sister, now a old woman gives him a verbal smackdown for the ages, who wants some spoilers?
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Is she half as great as Guilliman's mom?
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'I am sorry.'
'Why?' said Calliphone. 'You care for nothing but your dreams of utopia. What do real people matter? They get in the way of perfection.'
'I realised something recently,' the primarch said suddenly, spurred to confession by his sister's words. 'Dammekos and I have common ground. The Imperium - it cannot work.' A snort of rueful laughter escaped him. 'Dammekos used to call the drawings I did - the plans, the treatises, all those things I worked on so earnestly - he used to call them my follies. It enraged me. It still does, if I am truthful. But I begin to think maybe he was right. Maybe I inherited this tendency for grandiose plans from my real father.'
Perturabo looked his sister dead in the eye, though it distressed him to stare at that wrinkled face.
'The Imperium is my father's folly,' he continued. 'I try to believe in it because I want it to be true, just like I wanted my great buildings to be true, and the perfect societies that would use them to exist. But they cannot be. There is no such thing as perfection. Humanity is too chaotic to accept true order.'
His facade of iron cracked.
All the pain he had suffered - the isolation, the sense of abandonment that had dogged him all his life, the awful knowledge that he was a hawk among fowl that must restrain itself, the rejection of his brothers, the disregard of his father - was all concentrated in that moment. A single tear dared to roll down his cheek and was immediately resented - not only for the weakness that it showed, but because Perturabo wanted to cry for the broken dream, but he could not. The dream was what should be mourned, yet he could only cry only for himself.
'Wanting something to be does not make it so,' he murmured.
Calliphone nodded. 'You are weak. Badly forged iron looks strong but is brittle as a dried reed. You never understood. People cannot be forced to live to an ideal, they must be led. People are messy, and more complicated than your most profound calculations. You would build a perfect world, realising at the final moment that its greatest mar were the people living within it. Now you would destroy them to save your creation. You are a marmoreal god, 'Bo, a tomb lord. You cannot achieve the impossible so you rage like a child, and now you have unleashed this horror upon us because you can accept no compromise.'
A heavy shell exploded near the palace, shaking the windows.
'People do not listen,' said Perturabo. 'They do not know what is good for them.'
'People do not bow to you without love, without respect! Great tyrants rule with the blessing of their people, effective ones through fear. But no tyrant ever achieved anything through indifference. You have sulked your way to damnation. You refused to accept the love of the people. You were given the approbation of a god and an army to conquer the stars, and your first act was to decimate your Legion.'
'They had failed,' he said, clenching his fist.
'Failed to do what? Be the best? You waste your men to prove a point that needs no proof, and then grow angry when no one notices and praises your self-sacrifice. Your petulance has cost this planet whole generations of its youth, bringing your Legion up to strength again and again. You have been an absent king. You have not seen the empty schools, the haunted mothers, the husbandless women.'
'My brother Curze did worse,' said Perturabo. 'I have come to set things right, not to destroy everything as he did. This punishment for treachery must be borne, but I will rebuild Olympia.'
'Comparing yourself to the worst of your brothers to excuse the enormity of your own crimes,' said Calliphone. 'Listen to your words! Setting things to rights would be to cease recruiting and to hear the grievances of the people with forgiveness in your heart. Not this… massacre! You slaughtered the delegation that came to see you, brother. In that moment you lost You lost everything. This was a good place once. Bellicose and unfair, but it had its measure of beauty and nobility. You have destroyed all that. Why, brother?'
'I have other brothers now, my true siblings. I am not yours.'
Calliphone wept, her tears tracking through the dust caking her face.
'And do they care for you as your family here did?' she asked.
'Dammekos never cared for me.'
'No, he only adopted you into his household, and raised you as his son.'
'A calculated risk. He used me for his own ends.'
'He reached out to you over and over,' she retorted. 'You are blind as you are selfish. All wrapped up in yourself, in your own brilliance, in your difference!' Her voice changed, becoming quiet. 'I cared for you.'
'What of it?' he said coldly. 'What good did the affection of mortals ever do for me?'
'You always thought yourself superior to those around you.'
'I am,' he said plainly. 'Look upon me, foster sister. I was made by the Emperor of all mankind, one of twenty sons forged to conquer the galaxy. You are withered, yet I am young. Of course I am superior.'
Calliphone threw up her hand and looked away. 'What happened to the man I knew who wished for no more war? The boy who drew such wonderful things?'
'Nobody wanted them,' he said. 'The Emperor uses me for the most thankless tasks. My men are thrown against the worst of horrors, given the most gruelling roles. We are divided, our talents ignored, our might reduced to splitting rock. My father ignores me. My men go unsung. Our triumphs are unremembered. My brothers mock me as my men bleed. Nobody cares.'
'Is that so?' she said. 'Let me present a different hypothesis to you, brother. Use that fine mind of yours to judge its worth. Here is my version of the story - the Emperor of all mankind came here and found a son whom he valued. He saw an indomitable will, with unshakable determination. He recognised that you would not give up, that you would rise to best any difficulty, that the tedious to you is as necessary a challenge to overcome as the glorious, and neither are to be shirked. Seeing these qualities in you, your father set you difficult tasks, not because he saw no value in you, but the exact opposite - he can trust no one else to get them done.'
'That is not true,' said Perturabo, though the acid of uncertainty began to eat at him. 'He underestimates me. They all do.'
Calliphone went on. 'For a long time, I thought you a fool to follow the Emperor. After all, he is a tyrant like all the rest. Look what he has done to you, I thought. He has brutalised you, and your wars have brutalised your home. But the truth is, brother, I have followed your campaigns carefully, and I noticed a pattern that disturbed and then alarmed me. Always you do things the most difficult way, and in the most painful manner. You cultivate a martyr's complex, lurching from man to man, holding out your bleeding wrists so they might see how you hurt yourself. You brood in the shadows when all you want to do is scream, 'Look at me!' You are too arrogant to win people over through effort. You expect people to notice you there in the half-darkness, and point and shout out, 'There! There is the great Perturabo! See how he labours without complaint!'
'You came to this court as a precocious child. Your abilities were so prodigious that nobody stopped to look at what you were becoming.'
She got shakily to her feet. Exoskeletal braces whirred under her skirts.
'Perturabo, this will anger you, but you never truly grew into a man.'
'I am not a man,' he said. 'I am far more.'
'In those words is the poison that spoils your potential. It is not the Emperor who has driven this world into rebellion. It is not he who has held it back. It is you and your woeful egotism. Let me tell you, my brother, you who affects to despise love so much yet must certainly crave it over all other things, you are the biggest fool I have ever met.'
With a cry of anger, Perturabo lunged forwards and grasped her by the throat. He raised her up until she was level with his eyes. She grabbed weakly at his wrist. Her mouth gaped for air.
'I am far from a fool, sister,' he said. 'I wished for more from life. I hoped to build a better world for people. I have found that there is only brutality. Whether the court intrigues of the tyrants or this war to conquer the stars, it is all the same. Violence is the constant of human existence.'
'It need not be…' she choked. 'That is the violence… withi you… speaking…'
'No, no, no,' he said soothingly. 'I know my own limitations. My temper does not cloud my judgement, it focuses it. Humanity is venal and fractious. It can never be governed as one. Everything else is an impossible dream. There is no peace. There is no goodness.' He stroked away the hair from his sister's face with one hand as he strangled her with the other. 'And in such a flawed universe, there can be no mercy for traitors.'
She choked, trying and failing to speak.
Coldly, Perturabo squeezed the life from her. 'You have lived long enough.'
She kept her eyes locked with his as he throttled her. Even as her clawing hands became more desperate, and a dreadful clicking sounded in her throat, she stared into his soul. What he saw reflected in her eyes was not fear, nor loathing, but pity.
With a last minor effort, he crushed her neck. Her eyes rolled back to show the whites and she judged him no more He stared at her in hatred a moment, wavering on the brink of tearing her body to pieces. But a sob escaped his mouth unexpectedly, and he gently lowered her back into her throne. Her head lolled on its broken neck. Warning chimes peeped insistently from the augmetics concealed in her skirts. A trickle of blood ran from her mouth.
Appalled at what he had done, Perturabo turned away.
'Why?' said Calliphone. 'You care for nothing but your dreams of utopia. What do real people matter? They get in the way of perfection.'
'I realised something recently,' the primarch said suddenly, spurred to confession by his sister's words. 'Dammekos and I have common ground. The Imperium - it cannot work.' A snort of rueful laughter escaped him. 'Dammekos used to call the drawings I did - the plans, the treatises, all those things I worked on so earnestly - he used to call them my follies. It enraged me. It still does, if I am truthful. But I begin to think maybe he was right. Maybe I inherited this tendency for grandiose plans from my real father.'
Perturabo looked his sister dead in the eye, though it distressed him to stare at that wrinkled face.
'The Imperium is my father's folly,' he continued. 'I try to believe in it because I want it to be true, just like I wanted my great buildings to be true, and the perfect societies that would use them to exist. But they cannot be. There is no such thing as perfection. Humanity is too chaotic to accept true order.'
His facade of iron cracked.
All the pain he had suffered - the isolation, the sense of abandonment that had dogged him all his life, the awful knowledge that he was a hawk among fowl that must restrain itself, the rejection of his brothers, the disregard of his father - was all concentrated in that moment. A single tear dared to roll down his cheek and was immediately resented - not only for the weakness that it showed, but because Perturabo wanted to cry for the broken dream, but he could not. The dream was what should be mourned, yet he could only cry only for himself.
'Wanting something to be does not make it so,' he murmured.
Calliphone nodded. 'You are weak. Badly forged iron looks strong but is brittle as a dried reed. You never understood. People cannot be forced to live to an ideal, they must be led. People are messy, and more complicated than your most profound calculations. You would build a perfect world, realising at the final moment that its greatest mar were the people living within it. Now you would destroy them to save your creation. You are a marmoreal god, 'Bo, a tomb lord. You cannot achieve the impossible so you rage like a child, and now you have unleashed this horror upon us because you can accept no compromise.'
A heavy shell exploded near the palace, shaking the windows.
'People do not listen,' said Perturabo. 'They do not know what is good for them.'
'People do not bow to you without love, without respect! Great tyrants rule with the blessing of their people, effective ones through fear. But no tyrant ever achieved anything through indifference. You have sulked your way to damnation. You refused to accept the love of the people. You were given the approbation of a god and an army to conquer the stars, and your first act was to decimate your Legion.'
'They had failed,' he said, clenching his fist.
'Failed to do what? Be the best? You waste your men to prove a point that needs no proof, and then grow angry when no one notices and praises your self-sacrifice. Your petulance has cost this planet whole generations of its youth, bringing your Legion up to strength again and again. You have been an absent king. You have not seen the empty schools, the haunted mothers, the husbandless women.'
'My brother Curze did worse,' said Perturabo. 'I have come to set things right, not to destroy everything as he did. This punishment for treachery must be borne, but I will rebuild Olympia.'
'Comparing yourself to the worst of your brothers to excuse the enormity of your own crimes,' said Calliphone. 'Listen to your words! Setting things to rights would be to cease recruiting and to hear the grievances of the people with forgiveness in your heart. Not this… massacre! You slaughtered the delegation that came to see you, brother. In that moment you lost You lost everything. This was a good place once. Bellicose and unfair, but it had its measure of beauty and nobility. You have destroyed all that. Why, brother?'
'I have other brothers now, my true siblings. I am not yours.'
Calliphone wept, her tears tracking through the dust caking her face.
'And do they care for you as your family here did?' she asked.
'Dammekos never cared for me.'
'No, he only adopted you into his household, and raised you as his son.'
'A calculated risk. He used me for his own ends.'
'He reached out to you over and over,' she retorted. 'You are blind as you are selfish. All wrapped up in yourself, in your own brilliance, in your difference!' Her voice changed, becoming quiet. 'I cared for you.'
'What of it?' he said coldly. 'What good did the affection of mortals ever do for me?'
'You always thought yourself superior to those around you.'
'I am,' he said plainly. 'Look upon me, foster sister. I was made by the Emperor of all mankind, one of twenty sons forged to conquer the galaxy. You are withered, yet I am young. Of course I am superior.'
Calliphone threw up her hand and looked away. 'What happened to the man I knew who wished for no more war? The boy who drew such wonderful things?'
'Nobody wanted them,' he said. 'The Emperor uses me for the most thankless tasks. My men are thrown against the worst of horrors, given the most gruelling roles. We are divided, our talents ignored, our might reduced to splitting rock. My father ignores me. My men go unsung. Our triumphs are unremembered. My brothers mock me as my men bleed. Nobody cares.'
'Is that so?' she said. 'Let me present a different hypothesis to you, brother. Use that fine mind of yours to judge its worth. Here is my version of the story - the Emperor of all mankind came here and found a son whom he valued. He saw an indomitable will, with unshakable determination. He recognised that you would not give up, that you would rise to best any difficulty, that the tedious to you is as necessary a challenge to overcome as the glorious, and neither are to be shirked. Seeing these qualities in you, your father set you difficult tasks, not because he saw no value in you, but the exact opposite - he can trust no one else to get them done.'
'That is not true,' said Perturabo, though the acid of uncertainty began to eat at him. 'He underestimates me. They all do.'
Calliphone went on. 'For a long time, I thought you a fool to follow the Emperor. After all, he is a tyrant like all the rest. Look what he has done to you, I thought. He has brutalised you, and your wars have brutalised your home. But the truth is, brother, I have followed your campaigns carefully, and I noticed a pattern that disturbed and then alarmed me. Always you do things the most difficult way, and in the most painful manner. You cultivate a martyr's complex, lurching from man to man, holding out your bleeding wrists so they might see how you hurt yourself. You brood in the shadows when all you want to do is scream, 'Look at me!' You are too arrogant to win people over through effort. You expect people to notice you there in the half-darkness, and point and shout out, 'There! There is the great Perturabo! See how he labours without complaint!'
'You came to this court as a precocious child. Your abilities were so prodigious that nobody stopped to look at what you were becoming.'
She got shakily to her feet. Exoskeletal braces whirred under her skirts.
'Perturabo, this will anger you, but you never truly grew into a man.'
'I am not a man,' he said. 'I am far more.'
'In those words is the poison that spoils your potential. It is not the Emperor who has driven this world into rebellion. It is not he who has held it back. It is you and your woeful egotism. Let me tell you, my brother, you who affects to despise love so much yet must certainly crave it over all other things, you are the biggest fool I have ever met.'
With a cry of anger, Perturabo lunged forwards and grasped her by the throat. He raised her up until she was level with his eyes. She grabbed weakly at his wrist. Her mouth gaped for air.
'I am far from a fool, sister,' he said. 'I wished for more from life. I hoped to build a better world for people. I have found that there is only brutality. Whether the court intrigues of the tyrants or this war to conquer the stars, it is all the same. Violence is the constant of human existence.'
'It need not be…' she choked. 'That is the violence… withi you… speaking…'
'No, no, no,' he said soothingly. 'I know my own limitations. My temper does not cloud my judgement, it focuses it. Humanity is venal and fractious. It can never be governed as one. Everything else is an impossible dream. There is no peace. There is no goodness.' He stroked away the hair from his sister's face with one hand as he strangled her with the other. 'And in such a flawed universe, there can be no mercy for traitors.'
She choked, trying and failing to speak.
Coldly, Perturabo squeezed the life from her. 'You have lived long enough.'
She kept her eyes locked with his as he throttled her. Even as her clawing hands became more desperate, and a dreadful clicking sounded in her throat, she stared into his soul. What he saw reflected in her eyes was not fear, nor loathing, but pity.
With a last minor effort, he crushed her neck. Her eyes rolled back to show the whites and she judged him no more He stared at her in hatred a moment, wavering on the brink of tearing her body to pieces. But a sob escaped his mouth unexpectedly, and he gently lowered her back into her throne. Her head lolled on its broken neck. Warning chimes peeped insistently from the augmetics concealed in her skirts. A trickle of blood ran from her mouth.
Appalled at what he had done, Perturabo turned away.
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https://i.imgur.com/FNcaVAN.jpg
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@Matt what did you think of Calliphone?
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Seems very interesting.
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Poor girl. Didn't deserve Perturabo as a brother, tbh.
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she deconstruct Perturabo perfectly, i love that part of the book.
to quote a forum user:
"Perturabo was a giant jerk because he chose to be a giant jerk.
Perturabo as his sister stated chose to isolate himself and chose to be a jerk.
He could easily have been another Roboute Guilliman had he chosen to be but he chose not to.
Dammekos didn't screw Perturabo.T
he Emperor didn't screw Perturabo.
Horus didn't screw Perturabo And Dorn didn't screw Perturabo.
PERTURABO SCREWED PERTURABO"
to quote a forum user:
"Perturabo was a giant jerk because he chose to be a giant jerk.
Perturabo as his sister stated chose to isolate himself and chose to be a jerk.
He could easily have been another Roboute Guilliman had he chosen to be but he chose not to.
Dammekos didn't screw Perturabo.T
he Emperor didn't screw Perturabo.
Horus didn't screw Perturabo And Dorn didn't screw Perturabo.
PERTURABO SCREWED PERTURABO"
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@Aku, what did you think of 'bo's reality check?
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God, I hate Neil Roberts' art. Corax looks so old and fat.
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Pretty damn brutal and sad, like the scene alot and shows what lies beneath the cold metal shell of Lord of Iron is simply a man seeking attention and ignoring the attention he has been given.
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will you use that as your inspiration for that OC?AkuAkuAkuma said:
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I'll use it for another, I put the other one that I was fomerly working on in a docs.
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The reason Corax is so sad is cause he is overweight
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i think Pert's attention seeking is remicising of Morgoth's attention seeking, both jerks that choose to be jerks.AkuAkuAkuma said:
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OMG! IT IS THE SPACE HULK! (Heroic Difficulty Elite Mode 700 points) - Battlefleet Gothic Armada
5:30 - the moment when I thought it would be an easy victory, but I found the scary thing
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question, where does it say Abaddon has telekinesis?
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found this in a chan, the CJ is real
[Black Legion tex of Abaddon trying to convince Sigsimund] This shit actually makes me happier and happier with my choice of word bearers. They don't whine like ADB's black legion and night lords about how justified they are in their actions, about how they're doing this for the good of the imperium, about how they deserve to tear down that which they helped build, or whatever other stupid reasons ADB uses to try to make them seem sympathetic antiheroes. The word bearers are just straight up bad guys, burning the galaxy for the glory of chaos. Word bearers, **** yeah.
>we had risen against the Emperor for the sake of the Imperium'
>Chaos wins'
>remaining planets are burning, wreck filled, demon infested hellholes'
>"We did it! We saved da Imperium"
**** ADB
After reading all of that how can anyone say Abaddon is the bad guy?
By siding with the guys who want to turn the galaxy into an even bigger hellhole than it currently is, and by being one of the reasons the Imperium can't get out of stagnation. You know, there could be progress of any sorts, but how's that going to happen if everything is made for war? What, you think you can invent something in your free time? Too bad you're working in a factory 20 hours a day just so you can make enough Lasguns for some poor sods halfway across the galaxy, so they may hold the line a bit longer, before daemons of superhell come pouring through. 'Orks, Eldar, Necrons and all that would be enough of a threat without some topknotted ******** thinking he does the right thing by murdering everyone with the help of a raging bloodfetishist, literal space AIDS, a guy who will turn you into Chaos Spawn just for giggles and a supermurderdrugrapist. Really, Abaddon going "W-we did nothing wrong! We are the good guys!" is stupid beyond belief, and extremely hypocritical in the wake of his deeds and company.
this
[Black Legion tex of Abaddon trying to convince Sigsimund] This shit actually makes me happier and happier with my choice of word bearers. They don't whine like ADB's black legion and night lords about how justified they are in their actions, about how they're doing this for the good of the imperium, about how they deserve to tear down that which they helped build, or whatever other stupid reasons ADB uses to try to make them seem sympathetic antiheroes. The word bearers are just straight up bad guys, burning the galaxy for the glory of chaos. Word bearers, **** yeah.
>we had risen against the Emperor for the sake of the Imperium'
>Chaos wins'
>remaining planets are burning, wreck filled, demon infested hellholes'
>"We did it! We saved da Imperium"
**** ADB
After reading all of that how can anyone say Abaddon is the bad guy?
By siding with the guys who want to turn the galaxy into an even bigger hellhole than it currently is, and by being one of the reasons the Imperium can't get out of stagnation. You know, there could be progress of any sorts, but how's that going to happen if everything is made for war? What, you think you can invent something in your free time? Too bad you're working in a factory 20 hours a day just so you can make enough Lasguns for some poor sods halfway across the galaxy, so they may hold the line a bit longer, before daemons of superhell come pouring through. 'Orks, Eldar, Necrons and all that would be enough of a threat without some topknotted ******** thinking he does the right thing by murdering everyone with the help of a raging bloodfetishist, literal space AIDS, a guy who will turn you into Chaos Spawn just for giggles and a supermurderdrugrapist. Really, Abaddon going "W-we did nothing wrong! We are the good guys!" is stupid beyond belief, and extremely hypocritical in the wake of his deeds and company.
this
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"The Invincible Reason plunged towards the wall of an impossible fortress. The Lion stared at the vision, and for several seconds his mind was unable to reconcile the structure with its size. It would have inspired awe had he seen it from the cockpit of a Thunderhawk. From the bridge of a ship, it beggared belief. He looked upon twisted, spiked battlements and towers of brass and iron. They rose from a wall that stretched to port and starboard as far as the Lion could see. The wall bristled with what, from this distance, looked like thorns and claws. The glow of ugly fires shone from innumerable apertures, a galaxy of pinprick flames. Light the colour of blood and hate moved over the fortifications, a nebula of horror. The fortress filled the oculus, the wall dropping beyond the frame. There was nothing to see except the battlements, nothing to give the structure scale, but at last the Lion grasped its full monstrosity. The fortress spanned a system. The wall was tens of millions of miles high. It was billions of miles long. And though the proximity was lethal, it was still millions of miles away"
"The horns blared a challenge. Across the airless void, they made their terrible, warp-created sound. It travelled the millions of miles that separated the fleet from the fortress. Perhaps the cry had come as soon as the fleets had been detected and it was only now reaching the ships. Perhaps the horns had only sounded on the instant. The laws of reality had been suspended in this star system, and the Lion knew that what mattered was not how the horns cried, but that they did. The sound smashed into the Invincible Reason, shaking the hull. It boomed through the bridge. It was deep, as deep as the heartbeat of mountains. And it was a wail, a rising, shrieking, ­raging wail that harrowed the soul. The Lion winced. He made himself breathe through the blast. He leaned into it. On the bridge below, officers screamed, blood running from their ears and eyes. Servitors collapsed, spines ground to powder. The electrical systems of the ship surged and stuttered, blowing out pict screens, setting control stations ablaze. The thrum of the battleship's engines became a hammering roar, yet the cry of the horns sounded above everything. There was a pause, as if a behemoth of Caliban's myths were drawing a breath, and then the horns sounded again. The cry was more than sound. It cut into the port flank of the formations, culling the weak like a scythe. It pulled the Dark Angels frigate Undaunted and the cruiser Unsheathed of the Ultramarines away from the fleets. The ships, miles long, powerful enough to turn worlds to glass, tumbled like leaves in a storm, massiveness made minuscule. The nearest horn sucked them in, hauling them away faster and faster, until they were streaking at a small fraction of the speed of light towards the fortification. They crossed the event horizon of the war-horn's cone and vanished into the darkness within. There was no explosion, no flowering of ignited plasma. There was the brutal severing of communication the moment the vessels entered the cone, and that was all. The fleets continued their turn, still picking up speed, the angles of approach changing as slowly as the erosion of monuments. At last the Invincible Reason was parallel to the wall, and then at last its speed became the strength it needed to pull away. The collision alarms fell silent"
-Ruinstorm
"The horns blared a challenge. Across the airless void, they made their terrible, warp-created sound. It travelled the millions of miles that separated the fleet from the fortress. Perhaps the cry had come as soon as the fleets had been detected and it was only now reaching the ships. Perhaps the horns had only sounded on the instant. The laws of reality had been suspended in this star system, and the Lion knew that what mattered was not how the horns cried, but that they did. The sound smashed into the Invincible Reason, shaking the hull. It boomed through the bridge. It was deep, as deep as the heartbeat of mountains. And it was a wail, a rising, shrieking, ­raging wail that harrowed the soul. The Lion winced. He made himself breathe through the blast. He leaned into it. On the bridge below, officers screamed, blood running from their ears and eyes. Servitors collapsed, spines ground to powder. The electrical systems of the ship surged and stuttered, blowing out pict screens, setting control stations ablaze. The thrum of the battleship's engines became a hammering roar, yet the cry of the horns sounded above everything. There was a pause, as if a behemoth of Caliban's myths were drawing a breath, and then the horns sounded again. The cry was more than sound. It cut into the port flank of the formations, culling the weak like a scythe. It pulled the Dark Angels frigate Undaunted and the cruiser Unsheathed of the Ultramarines away from the fleets. The ships, miles long, powerful enough to turn worlds to glass, tumbled like leaves in a storm, massiveness made minuscule. The nearest horn sucked them in, hauling them away faster and faster, until they were streaking at a small fraction of the speed of light towards the fortification. They crossed the event horizon of the war-horn's cone and vanished into the darkness within. There was no explosion, no flowering of ignited plasma. There was the brutal severing of communication the moment the vessels entered the cone, and that was all. The fleets continued their turn, still picking up speed, the angles of approach changing as slowly as the erosion of monuments. At last the Invincible Reason was parallel to the wall, and then at last its speed became the strength it needed to pull away. The collision alarms fell silent"
-Ruinstorm
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"The greatest single naval barrage in human history occurred less than an hour later. Hulls vibrating from the strain of engines pushing back against the pull of the fortress, the formation closed to firing range with the construct. The wall filled the oculus of the Invincible Reason completely. The Lion could see nothing but the iron, the brass, the flames and the thorns resolving themselves into guns taller than Olympus Mons. The weapons systems of the Imperium powered up. When they were ready, when the synchronisation of fire was arranged, when the speed of torpedoes was calculated against the immediacy of lances, so that every hit would strike the wall at the same moment, then the Lion, in concert with his brothers, said, 'Fire.' Fire. The fire came to burn the void. More than a hundred ships opened up with every weapon. Macro-cannon batteries, ranks of lances, nova cannons, cyclonic torpedoes and more unleashed the anger of humanity against the obscenity before them. The raging of the Ruinstorm faded before the searing light of purest, purging destruction. It was an act of war on a scale that had never been witnessed before. If there had been remembrancers aboard any of the vessels, they would have felt compelled to record an event so monumental in song and in verse. The barrage struck the fortress, and then it did not matter that there were no remembrancers. The action would not be remembered. There would be no songs. The immense became the insignificant. The explosions that erupted on the face of the battlements lit up the view in the Invincible Reason's oculus. But the Lion made the mental adjustment, and understood how tiny the site of the impact was in relation to the wall as a whole. It might as well have been invisible, a momentary glint on the brass. We aren't trying to destroy the barrier, he reminded himself. We need to pass through it. That is all. The flare of the blasts faded. Geysers of molten metal extended into the void. Burning gas dissipated. A crater as wide as the fleet appeared. It glowed from the heat of its creation. 'Our auspex readings put the depth of the breach at approximately four thousand miles,' Guilliman said"
"A few minutes later, the fleets began to move, descending the infinite heights of the wall. The search target was as distant from the Invincible Reason as Mars was from Terra. The ship shuddered as if it were passing through an atmosphere, straining to hold its position against the gravitational pull. Stenius looked back up at the Lion as the ship passed the unending expanse of the wall, its apertures flickering with infernal red, a million eyes staring out, mocking and hungry."
"A few minutes later, the fleets began to move, descending the infinite heights of the wall. The search target was as distant from the Invincible Reason as Mars was from Terra. The ship shuddered as if it were passing through an atmosphere, straining to hold its position against the gravitational pull. Stenius looked back up at the Lion as the ship passed the unending expanse of the wall, its apertures flickering with infernal red, a million eyes staring out, mocking and hungry."
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@Az? @Matt?
what do you think of those guy's opinions?
what do you think of those guy's opinions?
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Those are some amazing feats from ruinstorm.
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...
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so nobody will dispute those points?
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"A grey sphere surrounded the Davin System. At first, from the point of translation, it had appeared almost featureless, except for a porous quality that made the Lion think of dilapidated stone. Its gravitational well was weak, barely pulling at the fleet. 'Why do I feel like I'm looking at a grave?' Holguin asked. 'Not a grave,' the Lion said as the fleets moved closer and the details of the sphere resolved in the oculus. 'An ossuary.' He shook his head in disbelief. 'This thing is made of bones.' The Invincible Reason came within a thousand miles of the surface of the necrosphere. Auspex scans zeroed in on small areas and projected magnified hololiths on the tacticarium screens. Individual bones and complete skeletons interlaced, creating a cracked, knobby plain. There were bodies of humans, eldar, orks ― of every xenos race the Lion had ever encountered, and an even greater number he did not know. Abyssal solemnity radiated from the necrosphere. It was perfect stillness, the quiet of the end of everything. Beyond it, the frenzy of the Ruinstorm was more intense, and the bones appeared to float in a sea of agonised colours. The materium bled around Davin, and the system was death lurking at the centre of the wound. The Lion ordered an exploratory bombardment. The Invincible ┬¡Reason, the Honoured Deeds and the Intolerant fired nova cannons. It was like shooting through fog. The beams cut through the necrosphere. Vast clouds of debris rose into the void, and a chasm opened, wide enough for the combined fleets and stretching for tens of thousands of miles"
"The physical passage through the necrosphere was easy. The mental one was less so. Guilliman, Prayto and Gorod marked the journey in Guilliman's chambers. They stood before a floor-to-ceiling window. As the Samothrace journeyed through the shell, the nature of the necrosphere became clearer. Grey remains, broken from their moorings by the blast, floated past the vessels. The boneyard of the infinite contained more than the skeletons of beings that had once been alive; there were the skeletons of dead vessels, of cities and of worlds. The inanimate had turned to bone. Iron and stone, alloy and gas, everything was bone and cold and grey. Planets had ribcages now, and cities had skulls, the better to show that they had died" "Other corpses were harder to identify. Some had the shapes of colossal beings, human and xenos. Others had crystalline forms. Still others were spheres themselves, smooth as the back of skulls. 'Are those statues?' Gorod asked. 'They are still bones,' Guilliman said. 'They are something that has died.' Prayto grunted in psychic pain. 'Hopes,' he said. 'Dreams. Philosophies.' 'The forces we have been combatting favour symbolism in their attacks,' Guilliman said. Prayto was speaking from a more visceral knowledge, but Guilliman could see the possible meaning in the copses Gorod had pointed out. If statues represented abstractions, the skeletons were the demises of those ideas. It was as if, in their death, they had been given flesh to rot away, and bones to mark not the promises that their existence had made, but its futility."
"Wreckage. Not remains. Lautenix was using distancing language. All the bridge officers were. They were keeping the reality of the necrosphere at bay. Guilliman understood. That was their luxury, as mortals. If they turned away from the reality, just enough to blunt its meaning, yet not so much as to create a misleading picture of what they were confronting, he would not correct them. He did not have the same flexibility. His lot was to look at the real directly. He must face all truths in all their horror, or he risked basing crucial theoreticals on a lie. He worried that he had already done so. The sin of Imperium Secundus was a heavy weight he could not set down. He had not found atonement yet on this crusade. Instead, he had found this embodiment of absolute death. Gorod drew his attention back to the window. 'Look at that,' he said, pointing to one of the dead dreams. It had a human head. A halo of spiked bones radiated from its crown. 'What was that, I wonder?' he said. 'What it was no longer matters,' Guilliman answered. 'It is the ones that are not present that matter. They still live.' He believed what he said, though he felt staggered by what he was seeing. The necrosphere was the final extension of the theoretical transformed into the practical. The ossuary took his guiding principles, and turned them into a mausoleum. 'The dream of the Imperium is not here,' he said. 'It is not dead.' He wondered, despite himself, if he might see Imperium Secundus entombed here. This is the death of all dreams. The voice was authoritative, proselytising. It did not feel like his. It felt like the whisper he had heard in the fight against the Word Bearers. Past and present and to come, all the hopes are here. Their murder has happened, the promises are over. This is their silence. The end of words"
lol.
"The physical passage through the necrosphere was easy. The mental one was less so. Guilliman, Prayto and Gorod marked the journey in Guilliman's chambers. They stood before a floor-to-ceiling window. As the Samothrace journeyed through the shell, the nature of the necrosphere became clearer. Grey remains, broken from their moorings by the blast, floated past the vessels. The boneyard of the infinite contained more than the skeletons of beings that had once been alive; there were the skeletons of dead vessels, of cities and of worlds. The inanimate had turned to bone. Iron and stone, alloy and gas, everything was bone and cold and grey. Planets had ribcages now, and cities had skulls, the better to show that they had died" "Other corpses were harder to identify. Some had the shapes of colossal beings, human and xenos. Others had crystalline forms. Still others were spheres themselves, smooth as the back of skulls. 'Are those statues?' Gorod asked. 'They are still bones,' Guilliman said. 'They are something that has died.' Prayto grunted in psychic pain. 'Hopes,' he said. 'Dreams. Philosophies.' 'The forces we have been combatting favour symbolism in their attacks,' Guilliman said. Prayto was speaking from a more visceral knowledge, but Guilliman could see the possible meaning in the copses Gorod had pointed out. If statues represented abstractions, the skeletons were the demises of those ideas. It was as if, in their death, they had been given flesh to rot away, and bones to mark not the promises that their existence had made, but its futility."
"Wreckage. Not remains. Lautenix was using distancing language. All the bridge officers were. They were keeping the reality of the necrosphere at bay. Guilliman understood. That was their luxury, as mortals. If they turned away from the reality, just enough to blunt its meaning, yet not so much as to create a misleading picture of what they were confronting, he would not correct them. He did not have the same flexibility. His lot was to look at the real directly. He must face all truths in all their horror, or he risked basing crucial theoreticals on a lie. He worried that he had already done so. The sin of Imperium Secundus was a heavy weight he could not set down. He had not found atonement yet on this crusade. Instead, he had found this embodiment of absolute death. Gorod drew his attention back to the window. 'Look at that,' he said, pointing to one of the dead dreams. It had a human head. A halo of spiked bones radiated from its crown. 'What was that, I wonder?' he said. 'What it was no longer matters,' Guilliman answered. 'It is the ones that are not present that matter. They still live.' He believed what he said, though he felt staggered by what he was seeing. The necrosphere was the final extension of the theoretical transformed into the practical. The ossuary took his guiding principles, and turned them into a mausoleum. 'The dream of the Imperium is not here,' he said. 'It is not dead.' He wondered, despite himself, if he might see Imperium Secundus entombed here. This is the death of all dreams. The voice was authoritative, proselytising. It did not feel like his. It felt like the whisper he had heard in the fight against the Word Bearers. Past and present and to come, all the hopes are here. Their murder has happened, the promises are over. This is their silence. The end of words"
lol.
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Total War series OP
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..so, nobody is going to discuss how Abaddon's Crusades could be wrong, or how that could be debated, or anything i said...ok, alright.
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"To see so delicate a mechanism in Perturabo's hands seemed incongruous, as most apparatus bearing the stamp of the Iron Warriors that Atharva had seen - save for those within this chamber - had been brutally functional. 'Does it work?' 'I am not entirely sure,' answered Perturabo. 'You never fully explained its intended purpose or how exactly it was designed to function.' 'You've built it,' said Magnus. 'What do you think it does?' 'I believe it to be some form of navigational instrument,' said Perturabo, lifting the device to look through one of its eyepieces. 'It has the look of a sextant once used by seafarers, but with infinitely more dimensions to its operation. What manner of ocean would you be navigating to require such a device?' 'The Great Ocean,' said Magnus. 'It allows even those without our gifts to perceive the realm beyond.'
Perturabo nodded and set down the Antikythera. 'I suspected as much,' he said with a sigh, turning to lift something heavy from another part of his workbench. 'You remember what our father told us in the Hall of Leng? When he spoke of the warp and the danger of looking too deeply into its heart?' 'I do,' said Magnus, 'but this has nothing to do with that.' 'It has everything to do with that, as well you know, but we will speak of this later.'
Perturabo's arm swung around and he smashed the delicate mechanisms of the Antikythera with a heavy hammer. The metal of the device buckled and split, the precision-ground lenses shattering into a thousand fragments. 'Brother, no!' cried Magnus as the pieces fell to the floor. 'Why?' Perturabo replaced the hammer on his workbench and said, 'Because I will play no part in aiding you in delving into things you have been told to leave well alone. Our father knows more than us. He has seen further than us. If He tells us there are regions of the warp into which even He does not dare look, then we are beholden to accept that.'"
-Master of Prospero
Perturabo nodded and set down the Antikythera. 'I suspected as much,' he said with a sigh, turning to lift something heavy from another part of his workbench. 'You remember what our father told us in the Hall of Leng? When he spoke of the warp and the danger of looking too deeply into its heart?' 'I do,' said Magnus, 'but this has nothing to do with that.' 'It has everything to do with that, as well you know, but we will speak of this later.'
Perturabo's arm swung around and he smashed the delicate mechanisms of the Antikythera with a heavy hammer. The metal of the device buckled and split, the precision-ground lenses shattering into a thousand fragments. 'Brother, no!' cried Magnus as the pieces fell to the floor. 'Why?' Perturabo replaced the hammer on his workbench and said, 'Because I will play no part in aiding you in delving into things you have been told to leave well alone. Our father knows more than us. He has seen further than us. If He tells us there are regions of the warp into which even He does not dare look, then we are beholden to accept that.'"
-Master of Prospero
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Abaddon lost another Planetkiller:MorkarBaroque said:
2 Battle Barges smash the Planetkiller, Heroic Difficulty Elite Mode - Battlefleet Gothic Armada
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sorry but did Cadia Falls says that?Jockey-1337 said:Abaddon lost another Planetkiller:MorkarBaroque said:
2 Battle Barges smash the Planetkiller, Heroic Difficulty Elite Mode - Battlefleet Gothic Armada
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@Mork, I honestly doubt that Failbadon the Slowly Reedmable is having a field day beliving that he is doing Gold Daddy Grandpa's work atm, the guy is very much out for blood from almost every angle you decide to look at with enough digging. And for Sigismund, who really wants to ditch out on an oppurtunity to recruit one of the Imperium's greatest warrior? Bet you 10 Eldar Souls stones that he would murder any regular Marine if they were in Sig's position.
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@Aku you know a lot of Gears of War?
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