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Warhammer 40,000: Discussione Generalis VI - Robotic Priests Edition

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Matthew_Schroeder

Matthew_Schroeder

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As per the sacred traditions, in accordance to the rites of our ancestor, the previous thread has been closed as it reached 352 replies.

Thus, I initiate a new thread in which all of our Warhammer discussions, debates, theorizing and memes shall be had.

Behave well on this thread, children, for rage and disorder are the mark of the spiritually impure, and impurity leads to Chaos. No heretic shall be spared.

...

In today's news, we have the leak of a new Warhammer 40,000 Special Game Boxset: Forgebane, a Adeptus Mechanicus vs Necrons game, with new models for both factions.

Warhammer 40,000 FORGEBANE - New 40k Model boxset! Necrons vs Mechanicus!
Warhammer 40,000 FORGEBANE - New 40k Model boxset! Necrons vs Mechanicus!

Which side are you on, Vsbattles?

Previous Thread
 
I'm conflicted.

But I think I'll go with the ancient space egyptian robot skeletons with hyper tech over the younger magitek cyborgs with less than hypertech

That's my side
 
Quick question, what is the stats for a Space Marine Bolter gun? I heard it was something like Building level.
 
Okay, because I was having this discussion with this other guy from the Warhammer 40k wikia about my invitation to my new crossover battle wikia site and he is calling bs on that level of scaling
 
Matthew Schroeder said:
It can like vaporize / fully explode a human. There's gotta be other reasons for it.
Click to expand...
I'm fairly certain Bolters are 8-C via actually being capable of damaging ceramite and hurting/killing PA Astartes. I think the turning an entire human to bloody mist thing is along the lines of 9-A, iirc. Might be something else I'm forgetting.

Ditto on the Daughters of Khaine thing, by the way. Which is weird because Khaine is super dead.
 
Morathi lies about Khaine to get worship power for herself.

She also tried to seduce Sigmar but didn't get the memo that he likes Dryads more than Lamias.
 
So I just noticed that Holy Terra alone is defended by an armada of millions of ships, and has Macrocannons that can "Kill a world".
 
From The Carrion Throne, which is probably one of the most Grimdark works in all of 40K Fiction:

"Terra.
Holy Terra, marvel of the galaxy, heart of wonder. No jewel shone more brightly, no canker was more foul. At its nexus met the fears and glories of a species, rammed tight within the spires and the vaults, the pits and the hab-warrens. Spoil-grey, scored and crusted with the contamination and majesty of ten long millennia, a shrine world that glowed with a billion fires, a tomb that clutched its buried souls close. All the planet's natural beauty had long since been scrubbed from its face, replaced by the layers upon layers of a single, creeping hyper-city. The sprawl blotted out the oncegreat oceans and the long-hewn forests under suffocating mountains of rockcrete and plasteel, tangled and decaying and renewed and rebuilt until the accretions stretched unbroken from the deepest chasms to the exalted heights.
No part of that world was free of the hand of ma. Viewed from space, the planet's night-shrouded hemisphere glittered with constellations of neon and sulphur, while its sunlit hemisphere gasped in a hot haze of pale grey. Its skies were clogged with voidcraft and lifters, packed with the manufactures and commodities that kept the teeming world from starving itself. With those commodities came living bodies ― pilgrims by the million, products of a migration that never ended, bringing souls from across the vastness of space whose only wish was to live long enough to reach the sacred precincts of the Palace itself; to somehow endure the crowds and the hardship and the myriad predators that circled them for just one glimpse, even the smallest, of the golden towers portrayed in the Ecclesiarchy vidpicts, before they died in rapture.
So few made it. Most died on the warp journey, either of old age or through the loss of their ships in the void. Those who reached the solar system waited for years in the processing pens on Luna, then the vast orbital stations within sight of the planet below. It was said that a man could be born, live and die within those cavernous holding centres, all while his documentation worked its way tortuously through the offices of scribes and under-scribes. Often it would be lost, sometimes stolen, a mere speck amid the avalanche of parchment folios that fuelled the administrative machinery of the Imperium's sclerotic heart.
And yet, those few who by luck or the will of the Emperor made it to the sacred soils of humanity's birthworld still numbered in the millions, such was the fecundity of the eternal pilgrimage. Like the forgotten tides of Old Earth, the flow waxed and waned, governed by the great festivals of the Ministorum, the feasts of the saints and the Lords of Terra. And of all the sacred days ordained for the masses to partake in, by far the most sacred was the remembrance of the Angel ― Sanguinala, the Red Feast, the Festival of the Blessed Sacrifice. On that day, once every solar year, the numbers swelled beyond reason, and the pilgrims crammed like cattle into the feeder stations, clawing at the gates and screaming at the guards to let them in. The most exalted of all, so they said, would be permitted to approach the Eternity Gate itself, to witness the rites of remembrance performed on the site of the Angel's legendary stand as the feast reached its frenetic climax."


"Spinoza looked out of the nearside portal. The airspace around them was thick with boiling toxspirals, twisting up from the cityscape below. The shuttle pushed up into regulated airspace ― the preserve of Adeptus Arbites, the Inquisition and other exempted Imperial agents ― and the craft's macro-turbines opened up.
Below them, a thousand lesser aircraft plied filth-trailed passages from spire to spire, feeding the gritty haze that shrouded the depths below. Marker-lumens, red and filmy, blinked by the million, faint beacons amid a sea of perpetual murk.
Above them, just visible against the bone-grey of the sky, were the shadows of the sentinel watchstations, hanging in low orbit, each crammed with listening devices and augur batteries, forever scanning. Above them in turn were the behemoths of the defence grid, some as old as the Imperium itself, and above them, out into the icy vacuum, were the voidships ― millions of them, embarking, arriving or engaged in ceaseless patrols.
Spinoza had served with Tur on major hive worlds, but the multitudes here were still numbing. She looked down, watching the airborne fleets mingle and congest, and knowing that below, far below, groundcars and grav-transits were crawling through stacked-deep tunnels and catacombs, ferrying far more souls than could ever hope to afford privileged above-ground passage. She also knew that what she witnessed was the same on every single square kilometre of the world's surface ― there were no forests, no seas, just an unbroken press of spires, hab towers, temples, gaols, crypts and garrisons, grasping and throttling the entire globe in a vice of iron and rockcrete."


"Making the leap from solid earth and into the void beyond had once been beyond the dreams of the insane. Generations of soil-dwellers, scratching about amid the dirt of aeons, prisoners of gravity, had looked up at the stars and called them gods, knowing that they would forever be far out of reach.
No longer. Though so much else had been forgotten, the means to break the bonds of the planetary was still commonplace within the Imperium, so much so that even a modestly endowed mercantile combine would have a dozen system-runners in its orbital sheds, plying the short hop between terrestrial landing stages and local orbit, ready to rendezvous with the true giants of the deep. The atmosphere of the Throneworld was nigh as congested as its urban surfaces, scored and re-scored by the crossover trails of a million near-space vessels. There had ceased to be much significant difference between the atmospheric and the true-vacuum zones ― they were just steadily rarefied sections of the same world-city, extending up from the darkest chasms, out beyond the turrets and into the high-air stations, and then further out, back into darkness, up to where the mighty orbital plates slowly gyrated in the harsh light of an unfiltered su.
A vessel blasted off from a sanctioned landing site on Terra every millisecond, so they said. Another landed to take its place not long after. They arrived full, they left empty. The Throneworld did not trade with the rest of the Imperium ― it consumed it. Goods were sucked in from every corner of every segmentum, dragged out from the holds of the leviathans that carried them, seized by the ravenous populace and devoured, and it was never enough. A million cargo-lifters might touch down in a single hour, and still thousands would starve. Any delay in the endless circular passage, and tens of thousands would die. Like a hopeless opiate addict, the populace could never be satisfied, never given enough. The birthplace of humanity now squatted like some obscene, famished infant at the heart of its web of stellar kingdoms, ingesting the last dregs of energy out of the straggling fringes and gulping them down into greedy oblivion."


"With the toxic rad-zone behind them, the stars at last came out ― a dazzling belt of rawlight strewn across the velvet darkness. After so long down in the grime, seeing that purity nearly made Spinoza cry out loud. This was the element she loved, where war could be conducted in the open, in the vaults of the heavens where the fires wheeled.
Except this was not empty space. Over to their left, the vast curve of an orbital plate gently turned, its withered grey armour stretching off into darkness. Defence stations loomed further up, each the size of cities, studded with gape-mawed novacannons and graviton world-enders. A colossal grand cruiser bearing the livery of Battlefleet Solar crawled off into the middle distance, escorted by wings of frigates. Between those giants swam shoals of lesser craft ― fleet tenders, guide-tugs, the hundreds of orbital lifters, all of them fat and clumsy, riding on dull red cushions of plasma-glow."


"They climbed higher, and the horizon fell away, curving at the edges. The sun, for so long weak, became a yellow-white hole in the void, brilliant and dazzling. More defence stations swam into view, antique monsters, floating like castles in the void, their walls still blackened from munitions fired ten thousand years ago. Truly massive voidships lurked on the edge of sensor range, far too huge to enter the patrolled orbital zone and attended to by flocks of scurrying lifters. They were virtually invisible, those giants, hulking out in the frigid wastes, their scale only given away by flickering marker lights in the deep.
'Coming into augur-margins, now,' reported Aneela, steering the Spiderwidow under the shadow of a defence cluster and out past the gravity distortion of a second orbital plate. 'Do you wish me to run silent?'"
 
I genuinely hope that when Abaddon gets to Terra and we get the final battle, Terra has like 99% of its constructions and population destroyed. Because then it can be rebuilt into something halfway decent.
 
I feel like the best ending for most of 40K is to have the Imperium destroyed and most of their world series are razed, but there's just enough left for the planets to individually rebuild.
 
Also. The cities not only go tens of miles high, but they go downwards into near the core:

"The further they went, the more the weak sunlight faded away. Spinoza glimpsed vast arches passing overhead, twinkling with watery light-points, and equally vast chasms below, yawning into blackness. Perhaps, she thought idly, there was no ground level here at all, just an endless procession of deeper foundations, spiralling down to the world's core."
"They had not yet crossed the threshold. The Shade ghosted low, skirting the border, watching as the mountainous edifices steadily fell into greater states of disrepair. More than half of Skhallax seemed to be moribund, on the surface at least. Perhaps there were intact workings further down, deeper into the world's core, where descending a hundred metres could mean going back in time by a thousand years. You never knew, not with the Priesthood of Mars."
And the total population is quadrillions. So much people that their breathing has atmospheric results:

"Spinoza shivered. The air was as caustic as ever, but so high up it had lost its punishing heat. The humidity was still present, though ― the massed respiratory results of the quadrillions down in their warrens, those narrow worlds of damp and desperation. She had left her helm locked to her armour, and the clammy gale ruffled through her short hair. Every so often a buffet would catch her, a swell of pressure that threatened to shove her over the edge."
 
Matthew Schroeder said:
I genuinely hope that when Abaddon gets to Terra and we get the final battle, Terra has like 99% of its constructions and population destroyed. Because then it can be rebuilt into something halfway decent.
Click to expand...
I genuinely hope ADB would get to write this, so Abaddon wouldn't spend most of the book jobbing, impale himself on a mechanical pencil, and accidentally blow up most of Terra by falling on the Exterminatus button.
 
@Azathoth

A Final Alliance of Humans and Space Elves vs Guys who've held a grudge for 11,000 years. Who would win?
 
DMUA said:
Man.
40K lore gets deep.
Click to expand...
Vaults of Terra: The Carrion Throne and its sudosequel, Watchers of the Throne: The Emperor's Legio are some of the best books in all of Warhammer fiction. Specially the second which is genuinely my favorite alongside False Gods and Dante.

The former is a grim, oppressive, sickening and mind-numbing exploration of Terra, the most nightmarishly horrible world imaginable, and constantly hammers down how the Imperium is decayed, dying and there is no hope in the galaxy.

The second is also set on Terra, and it is entirely about characters who see the grim darkness and utter hopelessness of the 41st Millennium, and rage against it, fighting to break free and carve a bright future for mankind. And it ends with a character whose first line in the book's first page was about considering suicide, talking about how he is happy and sees hope in the future for the first time.
 
@Azzy

Seriously if you ever have time and interest, listen to the Audiobooks of Carrion Throne and The Emperor's Legion. I did and it was one of the best 40K Experiences I had.

I teared up a little in The Emperor's Legio
 
@Azzy

I read a theory on Reddit which I can't help but love and wish will become canon.

It said that it wouldn't be Horus Lupercal who would turn the Vengeful Spirit's Void Shields off, but rather Horus Aximand in a final act of defiance and redemption.
 
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