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Warhammer 40,000: Discussione Generalis V

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I don't know if there's ever been a warp storm below multi-planetary in size, and even those were supposed to be "small".

I could be misremembering however, since these are things that have been around for pretty much as long as the lore has, so I may not be taking everything into account.

>also now realizes he wrote "4" instead of "5", which is more appropriate
 
doggo attac thru tiem n spehss

"This restless guardianship is oft interrupted, for Khorne's ire is eternal, and when he is particularly offended by a mortal, he will seal their doom by loosing Karanak upon them. The beast can sense his master's rage, and lopes to his side. Then,with a roar, the Blood God unleashes Karanak, and the great hound lifts his heads, nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of his prey. Each of his heads tracks his quarry in a different fashion: the first head follows the trail through space; the second tracks the scent through time; the third head, the most dangerous, senses the quarry through his thoughts and feelings, tracking them through dreamscapes and delusions. This guarantees that no prey eludes Karanak; those with wit, skill and technology can avoid spatial and temporal detection, but only the insane can outrun their own minds."

Karanak is Kharn but if he was a dog.

"As befits Karanak's favoured status, he has been gifted with a superior version of the Brass Collar worn by other Flesh Hounds. Possessed of Khorne's hatred for sorcery, but the Blood God's wrathful vengeance, the thick metal band withstands psychic powers as easily as its wearer's scaled skin repels rainwater. Karanak always remembers those psykers who dare cast their despised magics at him in battle; though it may take years, the hound will inevitably have his vengeance, and once his prey has been killed, will take great satisfaction in chewing upon its sorcerous bones."
 
Azathoth the Abyssal Idiot said:
Interesting note from the new Daemons codex, it's confirmed that had the Chaos Gods not been busy fighting each other after the Great Rift opened, they would have quickly and utterly destroyed realspace, which indicates a growth in influence over the material universe.
"Had the Chaos Gods worked in unison in the wake of that terrible event, it is doubtless that realspace would have been utterly consumed by the sprawling madness of the warp. Yet true to their nature, the dark brothers saw the anarchy as an opportunity to fulfil their own agendas: to kill, to change, to pollute, to bathe in excess." - Codex: Chaos Daemons (8th ed.), pg. 9
Click to expand...
Gork and Mork! Save us from Chaos!
 
Pink Horrors OP.

"The principal weapon of this Lesser Daemon of Tzeentch is not its scrabbling claws or the gaping, fang-lined maw that sits amidst its rubbery torso ― though one bitten or scratched by a Horror will be forever changed by the experience. Instead it is the raw warp energy that flows in the creature's veins. With a cackled word or gibbered phrase, the Horror throws balls of multicoloured flame at the enemy. Where these strike home they do not merely burn, but also wreak the most disturbing and peculiar changes, turning enemies to statues of screaming glass, to clouds of butterflies with anguished human faces, to strains of maddening music, mewling infants or horrific mounds of tentacled flesh. Only Tzeentch can know what strange fate awaits those kissed by warpfire; even the Horrors themselves are oblivious, and take great joy in each sanity-shattering change as it is wrought."
 
Yeesh.

Energy blasts with transmutation effects. Nasty.

Though if they turn into music, at least their deaths would sound nice.
 
The fact that the entirety of Nurgle's realm had a "let us never speak of this, again" moment amuses me far more than I think it should.

"Not all of the plagues created by Nurgle turn out as planned, many of them being just a minor inconvenience rather than a worldsweeping contagion. Some attempts prove even more disastrous, such as the pox that was meant to gnaw flesh but instead proved to be something of a disinfectant. That catastrophe was never spoken of again, not even by the boldest of Great Unclean Ones."
 
The Perillian Catastrophes
The Perillian gas belt, described in Gungsten the Heretic's Approximations as 'the blasted remains of some vast star predator', swirls across several systems, infesting each with daemonic incursions. As the pattern of destruction continues, a radical sect of the Inquisition resorts to sorcery to disperse the malignant gas belt
Sentient Chaos gas-belt which spreads corruption throughout the Galaxy.
 
Greed Inherent
The Rogue Trader Apollyon MaestrichNova founds a mining operation that produces fantastic wealth. Glaciers of glowing fire-diamonds are carved from the rocks and precious elements are sold to the nearby Reubic System. Apollyon becomes insanely wealthy, but is corrupted and turns to Slaanesh's embrace. Only when his tainted coin has circulated throughout every planet of the Reubic System does his grand design become clear. As Apollyon's moon eclipses Reubia's sun, all those who have shared in his greed are suddenly filled with an insatiable, cannibalistic hunger, leaving those who succumb to it open to daemonic possession. An astropathic cry for aid reaches the Imperium, and Grey Knights arrive in strength to save Reubia itself from armies of once-human invaders. The rest of the system falls to anarchy, however, as Slaanesh claims his due.
Slaaneshi Solar-eclipse which turns the population of an entire solar system into insane cannibal maniacs.
 
Well there's something you don't see, every day.

I also love how Beasts of Nurgle are just like...really gross dogs that don't understand anything but want to be part of whatever everyone is excited about.

"Admittedly, the antics of the Bilepipers wholeheartedly fail to impress the gloomridden Plaguebearers, but Great Unclean Ones and Nurglings find the steady stream of jokes and nonsense-songs hilarious. The Greater Daemons unleash booming belly laughs that send rotted innards splashing out in waves, while Nurglings shriek with laughter. Even Beasts of Nurgle flop about with extra enthusiasm, not understanding but eager to join the fun."
 
UNINVITED GUESTS
Very few mortal eyes have beheld the Garden of Nurgle. Its swamplands constantly wheeze a fog of supernatural diseases, and living beings cannot endure so much as a single breath of its repugnant air. Only Nurgle himself can spare visitors from his garden's toxic affections; when he is expecting company, he will open a path through the gurgling fungus-fronds with a single magnanimous gesture.
Trespassers are viewed poorly in Nurgle's domain, as the seers of Lugganath found to their cost. The Aeldari of that far-flung craftworld have long told the story of the Caged Maiden, wherein Isha, the goddess of fertility and healing, is imprisoned in Nurgle's mansion; there she is forced to imbibe Nurgle's most pleasing concoctions as her grotesque admirer observes their results with building excitement, and Isha's restorative powers ensure the process can be eternally repeated.
The Aeldari believe their myths to be founded in truth, and so it was that when Lugganath was ravaged by the Brittle Coma, a council of its most gifted psykers cast their minds into the domain of Nurgle, in pursuit of Isha, hoping to find their lost goddess and put a halt to their craftworld's deadly malaise. They knew that they would almost certainly die in the attempt, but believed that their souls would ultimately be drawn back into the glittering spirit stones of their comatose bodies. Once safe in their crystal afterlife, they could impart Isha's cure to the Spiritseers and lift Nurgle's curse.
At first, their astrally projected forms appeared to be able to pass through the grasping foliage of Nurgle's garden with ease. Their ghosthelms kept them as insubstantial as spirits and their rune- shielded minds cut through the dismal vegetation, for they were sharper than any corporeal blade. The rot-flies of that realm buzzed loud in alarm, however, and whispered of the intruders into Nurgle's ear. Just as the seers of Lugganath sighted Grandfather Nurgle's manse in the distance, a great host of Plaguebearers rose up from the mud and began to chant in a droning monotone as they came forward.
The seers channelled their psychic energy into great blasts of cleansing blue fire, boiling away huge chunks of Nurgle's army and darting out of the clumsy reach of their foes, but ever more Plaguebearers emerged from the slurry to block their path. The battle raged for days, and swathes of Nurgle's garden were blasted to ruin in the process. However, in the material dimension, the physical forms of the trespassing seers began to convulse and shake, succumbing to the very plague they hoped to overcome. Slowly, as their bodies shrivelled and their spirit stones turned to rotting mulch, the souls of the seers that were trapped in Nurgle's realm began to pass fully into the immaterium. The soupy atmosphere of the garden seeped into their lungs, worm-riddled mud spattered up their legs, and white-bodied daemonflies clambered into their mouths. Claimed at last, the seers' feet took root as their faces hardened into bark. Their arms split and twisted into gnarled branches, each finger hung with ripening Nurgling-fruit.
The seers of Lugganath remain there still, a copse of wailing trees that brighten Nurgle's leisurely walks and strike a note of despair into the heart of Isha, his immortal captive. Such is the fate of all those who enter uninvited into the heartlands of Nurgle, for even the generosity of Grandfather Plague has its limits.
"Hey guys, let's invade the realm of a Chaos God to rescue our captive goddess!"

"I just don't know what went wrong..."
 
For a brief moment, the galaxy is freed of the baleful gaze of the Chaos Gods, for their attention is drawn elsewhere. Each of the brothers selects their mightiest champions alongside a few favoured legions. A portion of each of the gods' realms is reformed into the Amalgrimm ― a swirling hell-field upon which the gladiatorial battles will take place. Slaanesh's champions use their speed to quickly establish dominance, but stagger before the resilience of Nurgle's chosen. Tzeentch's champions unleash sorcerous bolts of such magnitude that time itself collapses around them, but none can match the martial prowess and endless fury of Khorne's warriors. The advantage continues to change hands, until Tzeentch's foremost champion, Kairos Fateweaver, emerges victorious through trickery. So loud is Khorne's bellow of fury, however, that all of Kairos' illusions are broken and the battlefield itself blasted apart in fire, and even realspace shakes at its foundation.
Khorne gets so mad that he lost a tournament that his roar of anger shakes realspace to its foundations.
 
The Plotter Plots
Tzeentch looks upon the Scourge Stars with jealousy, and desires new territory of his own. Far in the galactic north, behind the darkest shroud of warp storms, Tzeentch sends forth his Scintillating Legions to create a new realm of madness in the Stygius Sector. Many wars follow as prismatic Daemon worlds take shape.
Daemonic Legions of Tzeentch take over an entire sector.
 
Even immortal daemons can't resist the Masque of Slaanesh.

"As she enacts the tales of Slaanesh's glorious history, his bespoke destiny and his most unholy conquests, her golden mask flickers and changes, matching the roles of the characters she plays. So powerful is the lure of the Masque's display that all who see it feel compelled to join in the performance. Immortal Daemons and crude mortals alike feel this calling in their hearts and are powerless to resist, joining the show as if they had rehearsed their parts for an eternity."
 
Also apparently Custodians aren't immortal. None of the Custodes from the Great Crusade are alive today, and the oldest are "just" around 5,000+ years or so.
 
Interesting. It would seem to only apply to Primarchs, then.

Though is it stated they got old and died, or was like...everybody a Webway war casualty?
 

Only Horus shared Fulgrim's understanding. Only Horus saw the galaxy for what it was, and understood what the Great Crusade really meant. The struggle towards perfection was the only task worth contemplating. The form that perfection took was debatable, obviously, but it must be achieved. The galaxy was akin to one of the great mechanisms he'd repaired as a child. It had been badly used, and now needed a sure hand to return it to its former precision.

But was it his hand that was destined to do so? The Wolf-King thought not. The others seemed to share his disdain. Fulgrim bowed his head, suddenly weary. Seven voices, raised in doubt. Seven brothers, arrayed against the eighth. Even the normally contemplative master of the Second had broken his silence to accuse Fulgrim of hubris.

He snorted. There was an old Terran saying, about pots and kettles. He'd refrained from sharing it at the time. His quiet brother had no sense of humour that he was aware of. Perhaps that was why he spoke so little.
~ Fulgrim, the Palatine Phoenix​
Actual honest to God concrete information on one of the lost Primarchs.
 
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