Warhammer 40,000: The Coming of Hive Fleet Chimera

[GreyKnight151]

A preface:

"In the distant past, humanity held immeasurable power and glory, but no longer. In the waning years of the 41st millennium, the Imperium of Man is a paranoid, fascist theocratic state which spans the galaxy but is struggling mightily to maintain its grip on its territory. Its messiah was laid low by his most beloved son and has been locked up on life support for more than ten millennia, physically dead yet psychically conscious. The incomprehensibly vast Ecclesiarchy commits horrible atrocities in his name (but against his philosophy) on an almost-daily basis. The Space Marines, capricious, fanatical, genetically engineered knight templar super soldiers and the Sisters of Battle, equally fanatical, pyromaniacal battle nuns serve as the Imperium's special forces, while the Imperial Guard, its trillions-strong regular army, takes disregard for human life to new and interesting extremes. A futuristic Inquisition ruthlessly hunts down anyone with even the slightest taint of the heretic, the mutant, or the alien, even going as far as destroying entire planets, just to be sure. Science and technology have scarcely progressed for ten thousand years, partly because they are treated with fear, ignorance and magical superstition, and partly because the Adeptus Mechanicus, the secretive, deranged machine cult that maintains the Imperium's technological base, by and large sees innovation as blasphemy against the wisdom of the ancients. The Warp, the Imperium's only means of faster-than-light travel, carries with it a good chance of being ripped apart by daemons in more ways than one, and the souls of psychic humans are consumed in the thousands per day to not only power the Astronomican, the psychic navigation aid used to negotiate Warpspace, but to fuel the Emperor's life support mechanism.

 

The problem is, as bad as the Imperium is, all the other major factions are just as bad, and in many cases far worse. The Eldar, an ancient, mysterious and manipulative race hovering near extinction, contrive wars that see billions from other species dead so that mere thousands of their own may survive, while their depraved cousins, the Dark Eldar, happily perpetuate mass slaughter and cold-blooded torture to stave off the eternal punishment looming over their entire species. The Tyranids, a mysterious, ever-hungering extra-galactic race guided by a malevolent Hive Mind, are rampaging across the galaxy, consuming planets' biospheres to evolve and become stronger. The Necrons, the remnant of an ancient alien civilization transformed into vast legions of incredibly advanced, undying, living metal warriors, are awakening after millions of years of slumber to reclaim a galaxy they see as rightfully theirs and scour away the taint of organic life. The Orks, a genetically-engineered warrior species who infest every corner of the galaxy, cheerfully kill anything and anyone they come across — including each other, if nothing better presents itself — because it's literally hard-wired into their genetic code to do so... and because it's fun. The Tau, a comparatively small and young race with an insurgent cross-species empire on the galaxy's fringe, readily seek new allies through diplomacy, but are reputed to absorb those who refuse through orbital bombardment, concentration camps and possibly mindcontrol, all to further their philosophy of the "Greater Good". The common foe of all is the forces of Chaos, which lives and thrives in the Warp, corrupts all it touches, is the root cause of much of the galaxy's darkness and is known for light years-wide holes in reality through which countless daemons and corrupted daemon-powered Super Soldiers periodically emerge to attempt to bring the universe to further ruin."

In this dark future, there is only war. For every hero honored, a thousand die unknown and forgotten. These stories will chronicle some of the countless battles that occur across the galaxy. For there is no peace; only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods...

Edited February 26, 2017 by GreyKnight151
Removing links.

[Rebel the Wolfgirl]

Can't wait for the first episode, man.

[GreyKnight151]

I'm working on the first episode, but I've got a title: The Coming of Hive Fleet Chimera.

[GreyKnight151]

I'm going to get this out of the way right now: Warhammer 40,000 is dark. If you're going into this expecting good vs evil, you're in for a helluva shock. 

There are no "good" guys in Warhammer. Every faction is evil. I'm not joking. There are good people, but the factions themselves are morally ambiguous at best. They range from doing what is necessary to survive given the setting, to being perfectly happy to rape and kill you and your entire family simply because they can. I'm going to list them before we dive into the story, so that anyone who is unfamiliar with 40K can have a decent grasp on the universe.

Imperium of Man: Since everyone here is human (I hope), I thought it best to start with the human faction. 

The Imperium of Man, ruled from Holy Terra, is the empire of Warhammer 40,000, and a particularly brutal and dystopian one at that. After the collapse of galactic civilization, a being known only as The Emperor of Mankind led his Great Crusade to reunify humanity in an enlightened new order. But just when a new golden age seemed imminent, the newly-forged Imperium was wracked by civil war as half of the Emperor's sons turned against him. The Horus Heresy was ultimately quashed, but at a terrible price: countless worlds were left in cinders, untold trillions were dead, and the Emperor himself was mortally wounded and forced to "ascend" to the Golden Throne, an arcane life-support machine.

 

Ten thousand years later the Emperor is venerated as a God, the Imperium's technology has barely progressed, Witch Hunts are commonplace since every rogue psyker is a potential gateway for the forces of Chaos, thousands of souls are sacrificed each day to power the Golden Throne and the psychic navigational aid known as the Astronomican, planets deemed tainted beyond salvation are subject to Exterminatus, and the sheer size of the Terran bureaucracy means that entire planetary populations can be forgotten due to filing errors.

 

Though it is by far the largest and most powerful faction in the galaxy, the Imperium is nonetheless an empire under constant siege from the rival powers of the galaxy. However, its greatest threats come from within, in the form of heretics undermining the authority of the High Lords of Terra or Ecclesiarchy, recidivists who understandably want to get the hell out from under the heel of such an oppressive government, or mutants and rogue psykers who threaten the purity of the human race itself. This siege mentality makes the Imperium a paranoid and superstitious place, but also keeps much of the populace in line — though it is a far cry from the Emperor's original vision, it is the only thing standing between mankind and extinction. At least, that's what the various higher ups like to believe....

Also, the Imperium is racist. Totally, unapologetically racist. If you are human, then you're skin color or appearance does not matter, as long as you are not a heretic or Xeno sympathizer. If you are not human, well...there a good reason why the Imperium is at war with so many races. Still, alliances are often necessary, and the Imperial grit their teeth and go along with it when it happens.

Still, the Imperium does what it does simply because it is necessary. If they were any less paranoid, any less violent, humanity would have been wiped out long ago.

Space Marines: The Adeptus Astartes, or Space Marines, are the iconic faction of Warhammer 40,000, power-armored, genetically-engineered super soldiers created to be humanity's ultimate warriors.

 

Recruited from the Imperium's most warlike cultures, Space Marines are subjected to a brutal crucible of physical training, biological enhancement, and psychological indoctrination. Those who survive the process know no fear or doubt, will never surrender, and will never tire in their endless battle against the Imperium's numerous foes. Their armament is the finest mankind can provide, and their tactics can defeat any foe. They are the Adeptus Astartes, the vanguard of the Imperium's invasion forces and its most resolute defenders. They are the Angels of Death, figures of religious awe to the rest of mankind, and objects of terror for its foes. Though there are fewer Space Marines than there are worlds in the Imperium, they number enough for the task at hand.

 

The Space Marines were created by the Emperor ten thousand years ago as he led his Great Crusade to reunite the galaxy. Each of these original twenty legions was led by a Primarch, one of the Emperor's clone-sons, and every legionnaire shared his Primarch's genetic template; thus, each Legion inherited their commander's strengths, tactics, culture, and in some cases flaws. Following the disaster of the Horus Heresy, the loyalist Astartes legions were broken down into chapters of roughly a thousand warriors, so that no single man could ever command such an awesome force. Most Space Marine chapters claim a single world as their fief, ruling and recruiting from it, while others are fleet-bound forces that replenish their numbers when and where they can. Recognizing no authority other than the Emperor himself, Space Marines either lead their own crusades to fight the enemies of mankind, or answer petitions for assistance. They stand apart from the Imperium despite serving it, just as they protect humanity despite transcending it.

List of Space Marine Chapters:

Blood Angels

White Scars

Space Wolves

Ultramarines

Iron Hands

Imperial Fists

Salamanders

Raven Guard

Dark Angels 

Black Templar

Crimson Fists

Flesh Tearer

Grey Knights

Deathwatch

 

The Inquisition: the Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition (referred to as simply the Inquisition) are the men and women whose task is to police all aspects of Imperial culture, rooting out threats that are not necessarily military in nature but which threaten the very structure of the Imperium.

 

Inquisitors are some of the most powerful individuals in the Imperium, working behind the scenes to keep everything from going (further) to Hell. They can command civil authorities, the Imperial Guard, the Navy, agents of the Officio Assassinorum, even the Astartes (though they are wise enough to tread carefully in the last case, usually requesting their help instead of just ordering them around). They have the power of Judge, Jury, and Executioner over individuals or whole worlds. They are fully competent in interrogation and extracting information, using any method possible to root out the Imperium's enemies, though their readiness to use the "Nine Actions" varies greatly. Though presented as a unified if extremely intimidating front to the Imperium at large, in reality the Inquisition is a hotbed of backstabbing and intrigue, as patient detectives rub shoulders with frothing religious zealots, Puritans hunt Radicals foolish enough to try and turn the weapons of the enemy against them, and a variety of philosophical outlooks struggle amongst themselves for dominance.

Imperial Guard: In Warhammer 40,000, the superhuman Space Marines may be the Imperium's most exalted warriors, but the overwhelming majority of its battles are fought by the untold billions in the Astra Militarum, more commonly known as the Imperial Guard, ordinary men and women who hold the line in defense of humanity.

 

The worlds of the Imperium are required to pay a regular tithe in support of its endless conflicts, and part is paid in regiments for the Imperial Guard. Each Guardsman is equipped with a lasgun that while capable of blowing off limbs is among the weakest weapons in the setting, as well as flak armor that most other armies' standard weaponry can punch right through. His training is filled with propaganda and misinformation, his commanders are willing to expend millions of men and machines in a conflict like he himself will expend ammunition, and if he harbors any doubts there are commissars ready to summarily execute cowards and deserters. A Guardsman's individual odds aren't good, but if the Imperium has any resource in abundance, it's manpower.

 

The Imperial Guard is descended from the Imperial Army that supported the Space Marine Legions during the Great Crusade, though after the Horus Heresy it was divided into a separate army and Imperial Navy so that a renegade general couldn't command both troops and the means to deploy them. The Astra Militarum encourages both standardization of equipment and specialization of regiments, allowing worlds or cultures to contribute troops that play to their strengths. Thus, the regiments from the death world of Catachan are renowned jungle fighters, the Armageddon Steel Legions are famous for their mechanized infantry, the Elysian Drop Troops are the Guard's premier airborne infantry, and so forth. This gives Imperial commanders a variety of tactics with which to smite the Emperor's enemies, from aerial assaults to artillery bombardments to armored blitzkriegs, though many generals are satisfied with throwing Guardsmen into a conflict until it is won.

Sisters of Battle: In Warhammer 40,000, the Adepta Sororitas are an organization of zealous nuns within the Ecclesiarchy. While many of their Orders provide services such as administrative support, education, and health care, their most famous Orders are the militant ones, known as the Sisters of Battle, power armor-wearing warrior nuns whose fanatical faith in the Emperor pulls them through impossible odds.

 

Their origins go back to the Age of Apostasy, where they were a minor but devout order of warrior women called the Daughters of the Emperor. High Lord Goge Vandire deceived them into believing that he was favored by the Emperor, and turned them into his own personal army, renaming them to the Brides of the Emperor. As Vandire's Reign of Blood intensified, the rebellion known as the Coalition of Light rose and fought its way to Holy Terra itself, with the mad High Lord holed up in the Imperial Palace. Thinking that Vandire's army consisted only of fanatical but untrained mobs, the Coalition stormed the palace expecting it to fall easily. To the surprise of many, the well-entrenched Sisters proved more than a match to the Coalition, which included the Imperial Fists chapter and its successors, the premier siege-specialist force of the Imperium. Seeing this stalemate, the Emperor's Praetorian Guard, the Adeptus Custodes, arranged for Alicia Dominica, the leader of the Brides, to meet the God-Emperor. What happened during the meeting is unknown, but Alicia, now full of righteous fury after emerging from the Emperor's chambers, wasted no time in executing Vandire, ending the Age of Apostasy. After that, they were reorganized as the Adepta Sororitas, and continue to serve as the Ecclesiarchy's militant arm through a loophole in the Decree Passive (no "men" under arms).

 Adeptus Mechanicus: In Warhammer 40,000, Mankind's golden age is long past, and many of its technological secrets have been lost. When the Emperor was reuniting humanity, he found on Mars a strange priesthood devoted to the preservation of what knowledge remained. This Mechanicum, later renamed the Adeptus Mechanicus, became a vital part of the Imperium, providing technical expertise, planet-wide factories known as Forge Worlds that produce everything from lasguns to civilian goods, and incredible weapons such as the Titan Legions. They are theoretically subordinate to the Imperium, and their highest-ranking member is one of the twelve High Lords of Terra, but the Machine Cult has its own specialized army, the Skitarii, and run the aforementioned Titan Legions, standing slightly apart from the Imperium of Man despite propping it up. Mars itself is not only the Mechanicus' capital, it's one of the most important Forge Worlds in the Imperium, and houses several Titan legions.

 

The Adeptus Mechanicus are not just humanity's last source of technological knowledge; they actively worship machinery, and venerate the Emperor as an aspect of an entity they call the Omnissiah. They believe that all devices have a "machine spirit" that must be placated in order for it to function properly, and therefore the Machine Cult's maintenance rituals involve a lot of incense, sacred oils, and chanting. This is a bunch of ignorant superstition that should have no effect on how devices function... but nonetheless, it seems to help. They also hold that for humans to perfect themselves they must take on more aspects of the machine, and therefore undergo voluntary augmetic "upgrades," be they mechadendrites or other artificial limbs, or replacing the illogical half of their brain with a computer. Calling a Techpriest "more machine than man" is a compliment, and most Imperial citizens find the Priesthood of Mars hard to relate to, yet necessary.

 

While gifted mechanics and craftsmen, Adeptus Mechanicus orthodoxy holds that all technological advances have already been discovered, and they therefore place more emphasis on reverse-engineering or recovering old knowledge than they do on experimentation or upgrades. Thus, the Mechanicus has kept mankind's technology working for ten thousand years, but has made little to no technological progress in that time. In fact, they have actually regressed, making some starships, weapons, and other devices irreplaceable because the Tech-Priests don't know how to build them any more. They are a parallel to medieval craftsman's guilds in the way they preserve skill but quash innovation with a monopoly on technology.

Eldar: Though superficially similar to humans, Eldar have pointed ears, are lanky and long-limbed, and move with a speed and grace that others find unnerving. Over their million-year history the Eldar mastered anti-grav engines, devastating energy weapons, and even more wondrous technologies. Their race is inherently psychic, moreso than any other race in the setting. As a result, many Eldar devices are based on psychotropic engineering, while their psykers are among the most potent beings in the galaxy. However, with this mental power comes a mind capable of far greater extremes, passions and obsessions than other species, and this is what doomed the Eldar.

 

The history of the Eldar is ancient, poorly understood, and didn't survive the downfall of their galactic empire. What little remains is passed down through oral tradition, allegory and song, mutating their history and making it more fanciful with each retelling. All the Eldar know is that they were long, long ago created by an ancient race to combat the Necrons and their C'tan masters, but both their creators and their enemies fell, and the Eldar were left as the dominant force in the galaxy, before mankind had even mastered fire. With no real challenges facing them, the Eldar grew decadent, and began amusing themselves through increasingly extreme acts as they searched for new sensations to savor. Some far-sighted individuals warned of disaster, and many, disgusted by the depravities they had witnessed, fled for the hinterlands of their domain, but it was no use. The psychic energy produced from this millennia-long orgy of debauchery coalesced into a new Chaos God of Excess, Slaanesh, whose birth devoured the souls of much of their race, killed most of their pantheon, and left the Eye of Terror as a permanent blight upon the galaxy. In the blink of an eye their empire was completely gutted, and the Eldar found themselves on the brink of extinction, struggling to survive at any cost. 

When I say any cost, I do mean any cost. The Eldar will do anything in order to survive a little longer, as a very nasty fate awaits them when they die. If saving the lives of thirty Eldar requires sacrificing thirty million human lives, the Eldar will do it without hesitation.

Now, there are two main factions of Eldar: Dark and Craftworld.

The Craftworld Eldar are the principal faction of the Eldar race, star-faring nomads who strive to avoid falling to the temptations that doomed their race.

 

During the dark days leading up to the Fall, many Eldar heeded their seers' warnings and fled the debaucheries of their homeworlds to start new lives on vast, self-sufficient, starfaring cities known as Craftworlds. To avoid falling prey to the dark desires that ended their empire, they live a strictly regimented and disciplined existence, focusing their attentions on one "Path" of life at a time, such as scholar or artisan, or as an Aspect Warrior dedicated to one facet of warfare. Many Craftworlds are concerned solely with survival as their race enters its final twilight, but others hope to overcome their decline, defeat Slaanesh and rebuild the lost Eldar empire, or die trying. There are even whispers of a nascent god of death forming from their souls that will bring doom to Slaanesh and allow the Eldar to be reborn into new and better forms, but as is typical for the Eldar, this rumour is little understood, even by their own kind.

 

The Craftworld Eldar are guided by prescient Farseers, who read the skein of fate and manipulate galactic events to the Eldar's advantage. The Craftworlds also hold and sustain the majority of the Eldar population, as well as the remnants of their original culture and industry. As such, these Eldar are among those most commonly encountered by other races. On many occasions Craftworld Eldar have unexpectedly fought alongside the Imperium of Man against common enemies such as Orks, the Necrons, or Chaos. However, these alliances of convenience should not be interpreted as benevolence—the Eldar consider themselves far above the lowly "mon'keigh", and have just as often waged war against humans, or used them as expendable pawns in schemes that trade billions of human lives to save a handful of Eldar.

Next, the Dark Eldar. In Warhammer 40,000, the Dark Eldar are one of the galaxy's greatest menaces, shadowy pirates that strike without warning and subject their victims to uncounted horrors.

 

As the former Eldar empire's ever-increasing debauchery and hedonism descended into complete madness, many of the cults of excess that were taking over society moved their bases of operation into the inter-dimensional Webway to create private realms of depravity. This shielded them from the psychic backlash of Slaanesh's birth, allowing them to gleefully continue the lifestyle that led to the Fall and flourish in their twisted capital of Commorragh while their Craftworld cousins drifted in the void. Yet as more time passed, these Eldar discovered that they hadn't escaped Slaanesh's touch after all, as their souls were being slowly drained away. However, they discovered that if they caused others to suffer in their stead, they could stave off this soul-death for a while longer. Thus were born the Dark Eldar, a race of sadistic murderers who feed upon the agony of their victims.

 

The entirety of Dark Eldar "civilization" is focused on generating pain and suffering, leading them to undertake frequent raids to acquire captives for bloodsports, scientific experiments, or simple torture. They are pirates and raiders beyond compare, appearing out of nowhere, striking, and departing as swiftly as they came. The Dark Eldar revel in violence and bloodshed, savoring the terror and pain they create in their victims as it makes them "whole" once more. This bloodlust also extends to their own kind; their own pain will suffice when others are unavailable, and many aspects of their lives are brutally masochistic. However, despite the Dark Eldar's immense pride and power, they are slaves to their addiction who exchanged a quick death for something far worse, and the gnawing hunger in their souls forever reminds them that they are but inches from annihilation.

 

Necrons: In the galaxy's distant past, before humanity, before the Eldar, there was a race known as the Necrontyr that clung to life on a bleak world under a hostile sun. Their bodies wracked with sickness, their lifespans shortened by radiation and plasma storms, they developed advanced technology to try and compensate, but to no avail. The Necrontyr eventually encountered the Old Ones, an enlightened and long-lived species, and pleaded with them to share the technology to increase their lifespans - but, again, to no avail. In a fit of jealousy, the Necrontyr declared war. They soon realized they had no hope of success, until they discovered powerful energy beings lurking within their star. A bargain was struck: the Necrontyr would provide these C'tan with bodies made of the living metal the Necrontyr used for their spacecraft, and in return, the C'tan would grant the Necrontyr immortality. Unfortunately, the C'tan used the same living metal to seal the Necrontyr's minds inside skeletal constructs, turning the race into undying slaves that would help the C'tan harvest all life from the galaxy.

 

Thus the Necrons were born and the C'tan and Necrons had their terrible revenge on the Old Ones. The moment victory was theirs however, the Necrons turned on their C'tan masters in retribution for their soulless imprisonment, shattering the Star Gods into mere fragments of their former power. However, with everything that was spent fighting the Old Ones and the C'tan, the Necrons had no choice but to enter a deep sleep until such a time where they could rebuild their forces and the dynasties of the Necrontyr could rule the galaxy one more. For millions of years the Necrons have slumbered, waiting out their old enemies... and now they are waking up into a galaxy teeming with new life forms. They do not like what they see.

 

The Necrons strike from tomb worlds scattered across the galaxy, each containing complexes of countless inert Necron warriors. Once they awaken, or are disturbed by foolish trespassers, they set about harvesting and cleansing their surroundings of all life, down to the bacteria if necessary. Their grasp of technology surpasses even the Eldar, and the Necrons are able to teleport seemingly at will. Their weapons are hideously effective, using Gauss technology that strips a target's molecules apart one layer at a time and lightning-like Tesla energy which leaps from target to target as if it were alive, while the living metal that forms their bodies can regenerate from just about any injury.

 

Orks: Da Orks are Warhammer 40,000's race of greenskinned barbarians, a brutish species that exists only to wage war on everything else in the galaxy - or failing that, themselves.

 

Inhumanly tough and naturally inclined toward violence, Orks are exceptional warriors, if unruly soldiers. Their technology tends to be crude but effective, their vehicles ramshackle, smoke-belching contraptions that can be built from whatever scrap metal is available. All of Orkish "kultur" is geared towards battle, and the only ruling principle is "might makes right." This makes the Orks naturally fractious, but once in a while a particularly strong or charismatic Warboss is able to unite a large force of Orks into a Waaagh!, a combined migration, holy war, and barroom brawl that can shake the foundations of the galaxy. Such events are thankfully uncommon, as while the Orks are so widespread that they manage to outnumber humanity, the only reason they haven't conquered the galaxy yet is that they spend so much time fighting each other.

 

If the Orks have a parallel in any historical army, it is of a vast barbarian horde scouring the land in a tide of howling violence, mixed with cheerfully psychotic football hooligans and the odd mad scientist for good measure, making them the closest thing the setting has to "comic relief." 

 

Part of the Orks' success comes from their unique biology. In ancient times, a long-forgotten precursor race engineered them to be the ultimate warriors, splicing fungal/algal DNA into their blood. As a result, Orks are tough enough to survive decapitation in time for a "body transplant," and strong enough to tear apart a Space Marine in close combat. Each Ork possesses an instinctive grasp of tactics and weapon maintenance, while their "Meks" and "Doks" are born with an innate understanding of mechanics and medicine, respectively. More than that, the Orkish race is latently, if unconsciously, psychic, which explains how some of their stranger devices are able to function—the Orks think they should, so they do. Finally, Orks reproduce by shedding spores, especially upon death, thus ensuring that any world they visit is doomed to do battle with recurring greenskin hordes.

Tau: In Warhammer 40,000, the Tau are a race of blue-skinned, hoofed humanoid aliens controlling a small empire located at the eastern edge of Imperial space.

 

A young, dynamic, and somewhat naive race, the Tau have come a long way very quickly. A few thousand years ago they were a bunch of primitives who had just discovered fire, and were targeted for extermination by the Imperium, but a miraculous warp storm destroyed the fleet sent to their homeworld, and the Imperium lost interest. Within scant centuries, they had discovered firearms, evolved into distinct subraces, and were proceeding to destroy each other, until a cadre of mysterious strangers convinced the various factions to work together for the benefit of all. Now the warriors of the Fire Caste, pilots of the Air Caste, artisans of the Earth Caste, and diplomats of the Water Caste serve the philosophy of the Greater Good, under the wise and watchful eyes of the Ethereal Caste.

 

The Tau are known for two things: their advanced technology, and their Greater Good. The Tau have embraced technology in a way the Adeptus Mechanicus deems blasphemous, and even their basic infantry are armed with energy weapons the envy of Imperial soldiers, while their elite warriors wear flying battlesuits that can lay waste to entire squads. However, it is the philosophy of the Greater Good that is the Tau's most dangerous creation, as they actively try to recruit other races into their empire. The barbaric Kroot, a species of bird-like aliens that seek evolutionary upgrades by feeding on their enemies, were an early success, and the insectoid Vespid have been brought into the fold as well, along with several other races. Many humans also fall prey to the promises of Tau technology and a society less transparently brutal than the Imperium. This leads many to label the Tau the "good guys" of 40K, which is true to some extent—the Tau will at least offer you a chance to surrender before dragging you into the fold by force, and will only put you into concentration camps if it's for the Greater Good. Throw in the fact that the Ethereals are suspected of Mind Control as well as the notion of a race rigidly divided into castes, and you have a classic dictatorship. Compared to the rest of 40K though, this is normal, or even better than the rest of the factions.

Tyranids: In Warhammer 40,000, the Tyranids are an extragalactic swarm of aliens that doesn't just overrun worlds, but consumes everything on them right down to the bedrock, including the oceans and air. Tyranids are more of a virus than a species, as they instinctively scan the DNA of what they eat and apply useful evolutionary upgrades to their swarms, ensuring that they only grow more deadly with each victory. Everything they use, from ranged weapons to spaceships, are symbiotic organisms, to the extent that it can be hard to tell where a Tyranid "gun" ends and the creature carrying it begins.

 

 Though the individual creatures in the Hive Fleets are little more than beasts, Tyranids are controlled via synapse creatures by the race's Hive Mind, which is extremely intelligent. While the classic Tyranid strategy is to overwhelm their foes with weight of numbers, the swarms have also been seen to ambush armored columns in narrow passages that turned tanks into helpless sitting targets, employ burrowing organisms to launch surprise attacks behind enemy lines, or use winged creatures to sow discord and confusion. Of particular note are the specialized Tyranids known as Genestealers. They implant their DNA in victims, turning their children into Genestealer/human hybrids who will eventually form a cult on their homeworld that undermines the planet's defenses while psychically summoning the swarm. Three Hive Fleets have been encountered thus far: Hive Fleet Behemoth nearly overran the Ultramarines' homeworld of Macragge and killed their entire 1st Company; Hive Fleet Kraken all but wiped out the Eldar of craftworld Iyanden; and Hive Fleet Leviathan is currently rampaging through an Ork empire, as well as threatening the Blood Angels' homeworld of Baal... and these are likely just the vanguard of more Tyranid swarms still en route to the galaxy. The optimistic take on the Tyranids is that they are moving on our galaxy after cleansing one or more other galaxies of life. The pessimistic take is that they are running from something worse.

Chaos: In Warhammer 40,000, the Immaterium, or Warp, is a parallel dimension where the thoughts, desires, and emotions of sentient creatures are made manifest in the form of psychic entities labeled Daemons. There was a time in the distant past when the Warp was a calm and even benign place, but the galaxy's millennia-long decay into its current state of constant warfare has corrupted it into a twisted mirror that accentuates the negative - the gods of Bravery, Hope, Acceptance, and Love are also the gods of Rage, Mutation, Decay, and Hedonism. The Warp is a realm of primordial Chaos, where the laws of nature and causality do not apply, where dark thoughts congeal and evolve into diabolical gods. It is a nightmare realm that occasionally spills forth into the Materium, leaving behind madness and desolation.

 

Humanity has an intimate relationship with Chaos - after all, their minds feed it. Chaos is the source of the mutation that wracks the Imperium, from inhuman monstrosities to the psychically-gifted Navigators. Chaos is the key to interstellar travel, as ships traveling through the Warp move much faster than they would in a rational universe, assuming they are not lost to the storms and eddies of the Empyrean or devoured by daemons. And among humans, there are always those who turn to Chaos for various reasons: bored nobles looking for a new thrill by dabbling in the occult, radical daemonhunters hoping to turn the weapons of the enemy against him, ambitious individuals making dark pacts in exchange for power, cults and cabals plotting to turn their homeworlds over to the dark gods, bitter souls and traitors seeking revenge, or ignorant fools who don't even know the names of the gods they worship. Regardless of their motivations, very few of them end up as anything more than unwitting pawns to the dark gods' plans, and horrific death is an all too common fate. Even those who manage to draw the attention of one or more of the Chaos gods may be turned into monstrous abominations called Chaos Spawn, twisted and mutated by their "blessings" and driven insane. Those that don't suffer these fates, however... they can go far, becoming immortal and inhumanly powerful Daemon Princes.

Chaos Gods: The greatest threat of Warhammer 40,000 is Chaos, and the four greatest Chaos Gods (there are more, but they aren't nearly as powerful or well known) — Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle and Slaanesh — are the faces of that evil, the incarnations of humanity's vices and perversions of its virtues that would see the material universe torn down and replaced with seething madness.

 

 

The Chaos Gods are the personifications of the thoughts and emotions generated by living creatures, given sentience by the psychic energies of the Warp. Though incalculably powerful and gods by every measure of the word, they are by their nature monomaniacal and single-minded in perpetuating the concepts they embody. The Ruinous Powers are often labeled as unfathomably evil, but the truth is more complex — though the Chaos Gods do embody Rage, Scheming, Despair, and Lust, it is just as appropriate to label them the gods of Bravery, Hope, Perseverance, and Love. The interplay and incompatibility of these concepts leads to a great rivalry between the Chaos Gods, the "Great Game," an eternal conflict that consumes the Warp and spills over into the material universe.

 

The Dark Gods' armies in this war are their legions of daemons, fragments of their own power given form and freedom to murder: reflections of primal emotions, machines that do not obey physical laws, childhood nightmares, all have a place in a daemonic horde. Most of the time these forces are content to crash against each other within the Warp, but daemons also exult in the chance to bring their corrupting influence into the Materium, and will answer summoners' calls for aid, exploit an unskilled sorcerer's lapse in concentration, or charge en masse out of a Warp rift to bring the madness of Chaos to another world. On rare occasions, the Chaos Gods will direct their forces to work together to meet a mutually beneficial goal or defeat a common enemy, but such events are only temporary respites from the eternal competition that defines them.

Khorne: Khorne, also called the Blood God and the Lord of Skulls, is the Chaos God of Blood, War and Murder. His domain covers the most basic and brutal of sentient emotions and actions, such as hate, anger, rage, war and killing. Every act of killing or murder in the material universe gives Khorne power; the more senseless and destructive, the better. However, though Khorne is the God of bloody slaughter, he is also the God of martial pride and honour, of those who set themselves against the most dangerous foes and earn victory against the odds. A devotee of Khorne is as likely to be an honourable champion in combat as a blood-crazed slaughterer. Khornates take no artful approach to killing, seeking only to slay rather than to inflict pain, because while the blood of their victims strengthens Khorne, their suffering actually empowers his nemesis Slaanesh. The name "Khorne" derives from his name in Chaos' daemonic Dark Tongue, Kharneth, meaning "Lord of Rage" or "Lord of Blood". He is the mightiest and the second oldest of the four major Chaos Gods, fully coming into existence in the Immaterium sometime during Terra's European Middle Ages in the 2nd Millennium.

Khorne is the Blood God, Lord of Rage, Taker of Skulls. He is wrath incarnate, the embodiment of a never-ending lust to dominate and destroy. It is his sole desire to drown the galaxy in a tide of slaughter, to conquer and kill every living thing until there is nothing left but spilt blood and shattered bone. The Blood God is commonly depicted as a broad and muscular humanoid who stands hundreds of feet tall. He has the face of a savage, snarling dog, though his twisted features are all but hidden by a baroque helm decorated with the skulls of conqueror kings. Khorne's exaggerated physique is further distorted by heavy, overlapping plates of armour fashioned from brass and blackened iron. His every word is a growl of endless fury, and his roars of bloodlust echo across his realm.

Khorne broods from a throne of carved brass, atop a mountain of skulls, The macabre trophies are the fleshless heads of his champions, stacked alongside those of their defeated opponents. A hundred thousand species are represented, from human heads beyond counting to Tyranid skulls the size of hive city hab-blocks. The ever-growing pile of bloodstained bone reflects the material victories of his followers, feeding Khorne's glory but never quenching his thirst for blood and death.

At Khorne's side rests a great two-handed sword, a legendary blade capable of laying waste to the substance of worlds with a single blow. This fell weapon is known by various names to the different intelligent races of the galaxy, including Woebringer, Warmaker, and the End of All Things. It is said that when Khorne takes up his sword, a single sweep can cut through reality itself, allowing Khorne's daemonic legions to spill forth into the Materium.

The code of Khorne is simple: blood and more blood. His only temple is the battlefield, his sole sacrament the spilled blood of nations. Consciously or not, all warrior cultures pay him homage with their acts of murder and destruction, from the headhunting tribes of backwater Feral Worlds to the planet-conquering warbands of the Chaos Space Marines of the World Eaters Traitor Legion.

Every single life taken in anger increases the Blood God's power. He looks well upon those warriors who slay their friends and allies, for they prove their understanding of a greater truth -- Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows, only that it flows. Friends or enemies, all the dead are equal in the eyes of the Lord of Battle. Those Khornate devotees who let a day pass without committing an act of bloody-handed slaughter inevitably incur the Blood God's displeasure.

Khorne is said to have inherited a martial nobility and honour, and considers the weak and helpless to be unworthy of his wrath. The battle-cry of the followers of Khorne reflects his desire for wanton violence: "Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Throne of Khorne!" Alternatively, they may cry, "Skulls for the Skull Throne!" In the throes of violence, Khorne's followers are also known to bellow, "KILL! MAIM! BURN!" repeatedly while hacking apart their enemies. Also, the Khornate Berserkers known as Khorne's Chosen often shout "Break their backs!" while in the thick of the brutal, bloody battle they so passionately seek out. Followers of the Chaos God Slaanesh, who Khornates see as degenerate scum who kill only for pleasure rather than to test one's self against mighty enemies, are favoured foes to face in battle, as are the servants of Tzeentch, who are seen as Sorcerers unwilling to engage in fair and honourable combat. Khorne's sacred number is eight, reflected in the organization of his armies, and in smaller matters such as the number of syllables in a Khornate daemon's name. Where possible, his warriors will form up into squads of this number. His primary colours are blood red, black and brass. Also note that the Mark of Khorne looks vaguely like a figure of eight or a stylized human skull.

 

Slaanesh: 

Slaanesh, also known as the Dark Prince, the Prince of Pleasure, the Lord of Excess, the Perfect Prince, and even the Prince of Chaos in the Imperium of Man, the Chaos God of Pleasure, Passion, and Decadence. Lust, pride and self-indulgence are the hallmarks of all who follow him. He is the youngest of the Chaos Gods, having come to full sentience within the Immaterium only during the 30th Millennium. While generally referred to as a "he" by humans and as a female by the Eldar, Slaanesh is actually neither gender, combining characteristics of both and perfecting them. Slaanesh typically appears in an androgynous form in which it is a woman on the right side and a man on the left with two sets of devilish horns growing from its head. Slaanesh can assume any form; male, female, hermaphrodite or no gender at all, but it prefers male bodies. Its sacred number is six and the colours associated with Slaanesh are purple, pink and black. The name Slaanesh is a corruption of the Eldar term Slaaneth (Slaa meaning "ecstasy" or "pleasure" and Neth meaning "lord" or "prince" in the Eldar Lexicon; hence, the Prince of Pleasure), though ironically, the Eldar refer to this foul entity only as "She Who Thirsts."

Slaanesh is the Lord of Pleasure, the Dark God dedicated to the pursuit of earthly gratification and the overthrow of all decent behaviour, as well as hedonism and pleasure for its own sake. He is the God of Obsession, the Master of Excess in All Things, from gluttony to lust to megalomania. Wherever mortals are ruled by their own unquenchable desires, the Dark Prince of Chaos is there in the shadows, whispering, tempting, and feasting on a banquet of souls. But this is true in all things, not just carnal pleasures. Those who desire to indulge in the finest culinary delights, the most beautiful artworks, even the most sensual clothing, could all be amongst Slaanesh’s disciples. Just as importantly, Slaanesh is also the god of perfection. The singer striving for the most beautiful song or the warrior who seeks the perfect fighting techniques, both could be devotees of Slaanesh.

Slaanesh was given life by the immorality and hubris of the ancient Eldar empire. As their empire reached its zenith, the Eldar became lost in their own decadence, for they experience sensation and emotion to a far greater degree than any other intelligent species of the galaxy. The capabilities of their highly advanced technology meant that the Eldar did not need to labour or wage war. Instead, they were able to dedicate their lives to whatever idle pursuits took their fancy. Over several generations, this indolence came to rule and pervert their spirits. In the Immaterium, the collective psychic reflections of their indolence and hedonism caused a new Chaos Power to stir, beginning in the 25th Millennium of the Terran calendar. Created by one species' pure dedication to indulgence, the first motes of what would become Slaanesh began to coalesce.

The dormant Slaanesh fed upon the unchecked collective psyche of the Eldar, drawing on their lusts and ambitions, their artistry and pursuit of excellence in all things. In turn, as Slaanesh grew, its nascent dreams trickled into the minds of the Eldar and fuelled their desires, pushing them ever onwards towards their eventual doom. Eventually, the Eldar civilisation devolved into little more than pleasure cults dedicated to every act of physical, mental and spiritual fulfillment. Blood stained the statuary of their plazas as crowds of drug-addled maniacs sated their violent desires in the streets of the Eldar homeworlds. On one particularly depraved night, the debauchery reached a terrible crescendo that tore out the heart of the Eldar empire and left it ravaged beyond recovery. The Fall of the Eldar in the early 30th Millennium was signalled by the birth-scream of Slaanesh, a tsunami of emotion that heralded the Prince of Pleasure arrival in the Realm of Chaos. The psychic implosion caused by Slaanesh's birth swallowed hundreds of worlds at the heart of the Eldar empire in what is now the Imperium of Man's Segmentum Obscurus, killing billions of Eldar in a single instant and devouring a great section of the galaxy in the process. Such was its ferocity that it overwhelmed the barrier between the material and the immaterial, forming the massive, permanent Warp rift later named by men as the Eye of Terror.

Rampant and hungry, Slaanesh devoured the minds and souls of the Eldar, and across the galaxy, that ancient race was almost wiped out. Slaanesh slew most of the Eldar and their Gods in the Immaterium, except for the Eldar God of War Kaela Mensha Khaine, whose energy was dispersed into many separate pieces scattered across the various Infinity Circuits of the Eldar Craftworlds, the Laughing God Cegorach, who fled into the Labyrinthine Dimension of the Webway, and while Isha was defeated, she was not destroyed outright and absorbed by Slaanesh like the rest of the Eldar Pantheon after his birth during the Fall of the Eldar. Slaanesh vanquished her as he had all of the other Eldar Gods within the Warp, but only took her prisoner rather than absorbing her energies outright. What fell purpose Slaanesh had in keeping Isha alive, none amongst the Eldar now know, but the Prince of Pleasure was ultimately denied his spoils: for some reason Nurgle, the Plague Lord, waged war against Slaanesh to "rescue" the Eldar Goddess. Why Grandfather Nurgle intervened is unclear, although some Eldar savants believe that the oldest of the major Chaos Gods wanted to give the youngest amongst them a good lesson about his proper place in the order of things. What is known is that Nurgle's daemonic forces proved victorious and he took the Eldar Goddess back to his domain in the Realm of Chaos. Only a relative few Eldar survived Slaanesh's birth-feast. Other Eldar survivors included the Harlequin, and those Craftworld Eldar who were very far away from the Eldar homeworlds when the Warp rift formed. Most of the survivors that remain have become sworn enemies of the Dark Prince, and yet a few of them have formed isolated cabals that still behave as their ancestors did, perversely following the downward spiral of excess.

That is how events are viewed from the chronology of the material universe. In the Warp, things are different, for the Immaterium is not bound by linear four-dimensional time, and events do not occur in a strict sequence of cause and effect. As his rival gods reckon it, Slaanesh has always existed in the Warp, and yet has never existed at all.

Some say that is it impossible for mortals to look upon the divine face of Slaanesh without losing their soul to him, for all who see it become willing slaves to the whims of the Dark Prince, embracing his ways with wild abandon. The mere knowledge of Slaanesh's existence can cause a world to topple into corruption and hidden depravity. Not even the agents of the Inquisition know for sure how far his influence spreads, for wherever the lust for power and temporal gain exists, the talons of Slaanesh dig deep. Despite their best efforts, it is almost certain that the Imperium is rotten to the core, just as the Eldar empire was before it. How long before it succumbs to a similar fate?

 

Tzeentch: Tzeentch, also known as the Changer of Ways, is the Chaos God of Change, Evolution, Intrigue and Sorcery, he who weaves the threads that connect every action, plot and subtle intrigue in a galaxy-wide game of manipulation and subterfuge. At the end of each of these threads lays the ensnared soul of a human puppet; those of his servants and agents who believe they serve the Lord of Sorcery in mutually beneficial pacts. The truth is that Tzeentch's every action is planned with its ultimate goal as his own establishment as the pre-eminent Chaos power in the Warp. Of course, the very nature of the Lord of Entropy is such that, were he to attain this triumph, he would still strive for turmoil and change. In many ways, Tzeentch is both the best and least understood of the Dark Gods. He is the God of Fate, plots, and schemes, as well as the God that exemplifies the ever-changing nature of the Warp. However, Tzeentch does not plot towards some end (at least none that can be comprehended); he schemes simply to scheme. He is constantly building, even as his devices unravel under their own complexity. At the same time, he is the God of knowledge and comprehension, and his devotees may be those who seek a deeper understanding of an often enigmatic universe.

Tzeentch is known by a hundred thousand titles across the galaxy, amongst them the Weaver of Destinies, the Great Conspirator, and the Architect of Fate. In his mind, he listens to the hopes of every sentient being from every planet in the universe. He watches over the plans of his playthings as they unfold into history, toying with fate and fortune; both for his own entertainment and to further his unfathomable schemes. Tzeentch feeds upon the need and desire for change that is an essential part of all life in the universe. All men dream of prosperity, freedom and a better tomorrow. These dreams are not just the preserve of the impoverished or the powerless -- even Imperial Planetary Governors and Imperial Navy battlefleet admirals dream of further riches, or perhaps even an end to their responsibilities to the Emperor. All these dreams create a powerful impetus for change, and the ambitions of nations create a force that can challenge history. Tzeentch is the embodiment of that force within the Warp.

Tzeentch is not content to merely observe the fulfillment and disappointment brought by the passage of time. He has his own plans -- schemes that are so complex and closely woven that they touch the lives of every living thing, whether they realise it or not. The Chaos God's masterly comprehension of time, history and intrigue allows his ploys to intertwine seamlessly, forming a web of causality that spans the stars. Tzeentch is aware of the visions and plans of all mortals in the galaxy. He takes great delight in the plotting and politicking of others and favours the cunning over the strong. When the inner voice in a man's head speaks, when the desperate whisper their prayers into the night, it is the Architect of Fate that listens. He perceives every event and intention, and from this information, his mighty mind can work out how each will influence the future. The intertwining latticework of probability, hope and change is Tzeentch's meat and drink -- without it he would eventually fade away.

Perhaps the Architect of Fate has plans to overthrow the other Chaos Powers, or to extend his dominion over all the mortal realms. Perhaps not even Tzeentch himself can say for sure. Whatever his ultimate goal, he seeks to achieve it by manipulating the individual lives of men and xenos alike. By offering the power of knowledge and sorcery, he can recruit influential Chaos warlords and magi to his cause, affecting the lives of many more at a single stroke. However, few of Tzeentch's plans are ever simple; some span aeons with their complexity, whilst many appear contradictory to others, or even against his own interests. Only Tzeentch can see the threads of potential futures weaving through time like tangled skeins of multicoloured cords; cords which themselves are made of decision, happenstance and fluke.

Tzeentch is the undisputed master of magic in the universe. Sorcery is one of the most potent agents of change, and those who use it are amongst the most ambitious and hungry for power. The raw psychic energy that empowers the psykers of the mortal realm is the actual fabric of the Realm of Chaos, the same fabric that makes up the Chaos Powers, their daemon servants and the shadow-selves of men that flicker in the Warp and that Mankind calls souls. The use of psychic power, or magic as it can rightly be called, is held as the ultimate expression of faith among Tzeentch's followers, who have much to gain from his patronage. Though it will likely cost them their immortal souls, they will at least have boundless power to show for it while they live; this is in stark contrast to the poor wretched psykers of the Imperium of Man, who are corralled by the Inquisition's Black Ships and brought to Terra where many of them feed the dying Emperor's boundless hunger for psychic energy.

In Tzeentch's eyes, mortal creatures are immeasurably steeped in ambiguity, yet they somehow wage their personal wars completely unaware of the countless contradictions in their souls. Tzeentch cannot help but dabble in the mortal realm; some amongst the Inquisition believe that the Great Conspirator is responsible for the exponential increases of psychic ability in the human race in recent millennia. His own need to manipulate and control, and his desire to increase his own power in the Warp, mean Tzeentch is eternally playing the Great Game waged amongst his brother Chaos Gods. The Architect of Fate is not above sullying his clawed hands with the bloody business of war, though he much prefers to win his battles through guile and sorcery than brute force. Consumed by his own ineffable thoughts, Tzeentch binds the galaxy in the weave of his complex schemes just as a spider binds a fly. Though his schemes can take millennia to unfold, when they come to fruition, it is usually reality itself that pays the price. While one mortal lies to another, while envy and ambition survive among men and aliens, Tzeentch will work his magic as the puppet master of the universe, working towards the day when his final great work will be revealed.

The skin of Tzeentch crawls with constantly changing faces, leering at and mocking onlookers. As he speaks, these faces repeat his words with subtle but important differences, or provide a commentary that throws doubt upon his words. These lesser faces appear and disappear quickly, but the puckered visage of Tzeentch himself remains low down in his chest, so that head and body are one. From above Tzeentch's burning eyes spring two sweeping horns, the spiralling extremities of which crackle with arcane fire. The firmament surrounding Tzeentch is heavy with magic; it weaves like liquid smoke about his head, forming subtle and interwoven patterns. Forms of places and people appear in the smoke as Tzeentch contemplates their fate. Those who appear there will inevitably find their minds, bodies or destinies mutating into strange new forms, for none can come to Tzeentch's attention and remain untouched.

Tzeentch exerts his influence in the mortal realm through subtle manipulation and devious ploys. The victims of his corruption are Sorcerers drawn by the promise of forbidden knowledge; scholars who seek knowledge at all costs; politicians lured by the power knowledge provides to outmanoeuvre their opponents. Tzeentch's true power is sorcery, and as all sorcery flows from the font of the Immaterium, so too is Tzeentch the master of that twisted, chaotic medium of psychic energy. Tzeentch embodies mortals' tendency towards mutability and change, the drive to evolve and manipulate. This spirit is present in the essence of every living creature from the first division of cells in the womb to the ultimate craving for survival. It is in the hearts of those with the strongest desire to prevail that Tzeentch whispers his insidious promise; offering a means of life eternal to those unwilling to accept death and oblivion as inevitable. Tzeentch's sacred number is nine, his colours are typically seen as blue and gold but an ever-changing rainbow of colour is appropriate as well, given that he is the Lord of Change.

Nurgle: Nurgle, also known as the Plague Lord, is the Chaos God of Disease, Decay, and Destruction. In particular, the emotion of despair in mortals empowers him. He is known also as Grandfather Nurgle, the Lord of Pestilence and the Lord of Decay. He is the oldest of the four Chaos Gods and is the most directly involved with the plights of mortals, particularly humans who suffer so acutely from a fear of death, perhaps the oldest fear of that species. While Nurgle is the God of Death and Decay, he is also the God of Rebirth. After all, decay is simply one part of the cycle of life, without which no new life could grow. In the same way, Nurgle is also the God of Perseverance and Survival. While those who wish to spread decay and corruption are certainly amongst his followers, there are also those who wish to endure, to become tough enough to handle the difficulties and opportunities presented by an uncaring universe. Many of those affected by Nurgle's poxes usually turn to him in order to escape the pain caused by sickness and disease.

Nurgle is the Great Lord of Decay and the Master of Plague and Pestilence. All things, no matter how solid and permanent they seem, are liable to eventual corruption and death. Even the process of creation is but the precursor to destruction and decay. The bastion of today is tomorrow's ruin, the maiden of the morning is the crone of the night, and the hope of a moment is but the foundation of regret. Though he is the creator of every infection and epidemic to have ever swept the universe, Nurgle is not a morose purveyor of despair and gloom, but a vibrant god of life and laughter. In death, there is life. Upon the decay of the living untold numbers of bacteria, viruses, insects and other carrion-feeders thrive. All life feeds upon other life to exist, and from every plague grows new generations, stronger and more virile than those who came before. Regeneration comes from decay, just as hope springs from despair. The greatest inspiration comes in the darkest moments; in times of crisis mortals are truly tested and driven to excel.

To understand what might otherwise seem contradictory or even perverse in nature, one must first comprehend that which Nurgle embodies. On the one hand, he is the Lord of Decay, whose body is wracked with disease; on the other, he is full of unexpected energy and a desire to organise and enlighten. The citizens of the Imperium know full well that their lives will end one day and that many of their number will live with disease or other torments in the meantime, yet they drive this knowledge deep into the corners of their minds and bury it with dreams and ceaseless activity. Nurgle is the embodiment of that knowledge of mortality and the unconscious response of all sentient beings to the knowledge of their own ending. He is the hidden fear of disease and decay, the gnawing truth of mortality and the power of defiance that it generates.

Nurgle himself takes the form of a titanic flesh-hulk riddled with decay and pestilence. His gigantic carcass is bloated with corruption and exudes an overpowering stench that gnaws the mind. His skin is greenish, leathery and necrotic, its surface abundant with running sores, swelling boils and fruitful infestation. Nurgle's gurgling and pulsating organs are rank with the excrement of decay, spilling and spurting through his ruptured skin to hang like obscene fruit around his girth. From these organs burst swarms of tiny Nurglings that chew on Grandfather Nurgle's rotting intestines and suck upon his bountiful, noxious juices.

Every single human being in the galaxy has been touched by Nurgle's foetid hand at some point. Countless trillions are host to his malignant, invisible creations, which corrupt their physical forms and sow despair in their minds. Interplanetary traffic ensures that contagious diseases are carried from world to world by the ignorant, the wilful and the strong. As Nurgle's gifts multiply in full-blown pandemics, his power reaches a peak. Whole star systems -- even whole sectors -- are quarantined as plague runs rife across the stars. Proud civilisations wither away even as Grandfather Nurgle conjures obscene new life from their remains. Wherever there are plague pits and mass graves, the rotting splendour of Nurgle shines through.

Despite his consistent generosity, only an enlightened few truly embrace Nurgle's greatness among men and aliens. Yet his worshippers exist in numbers enough to ensure his daemon servants access the material dimension wherever plague abounds. This is just as well, for of all the Chaos Gods, it is Nurgle who most appreciates the personal touch.

Nurgle's sacred number is seven, his colours are those of rot and ruin, waste and vomit, mucus and pus. Nurgle also embodies the will of Mankind to struggle on no matter what opposes it, albeit perversely. Suffering, death, pain: human beings push these things from their minds and try to forget them by living in the moment in the hope that the future will be a better one. For this reason Nurgle, his daemons and mortal followers usually demonstrate a disturbing joy at the pestilence that he inflicts, seeing the plagues as gifts and the cries of their victims as gratitude for the strength to overcome the obstacles of a mortal life rather than agony. The Plague Lord is often referred to as "Grandfather Nurgle," "Father Nurgle" or "Papa Nurgle" by his followers because of this hideous paternal stance. He is represented by the colours of green and brown, generally the most putrid variations of each.

It has recently been uncovered by the Eldar Harlequins that Nurgle is in possession of the Eldar Goddess Isha (whom he rescued from Slaanesh's imprisonment), and imprisoned her within his realm in the Warp. Nurgle utilises her for his experiments, creating new contagions and diseases to spread into the material universe. With her divine powers of healing, Isha quickly regenerates from these tests, although Nurgle gleans what information is desired from the temporary effects. It is said that, secretly, she whispers the cures to those diseases to the mortals of the universe.

Chaos Space Marines: Chaos Space Marines are the evil counterpart to Warhammer 40,000's iconic faction, superhuman soldiers who have pledged themselves to the Dark Gods in pursuit of greater power.

 

The life of the Adeptus Astartes is one of discipline, endless service and self-denial, but some warriors chafe under such restrictions and seek to use their skill at arms to further their own ambitions. These renegades and traitors find new patrons in the Chaos Gods, who offer tangible rewards for their rapacious lifestyles. Chaos Space Marines' already formidable wargear is enhanced by the powers of the Warp, and their very bodies are twisted into more deadly, if hideous, forms. The road of a champion of Chaos is long and bloody, and many die forgotten, or devolve into gibbering monsters as their minds collapse and their bodies mutate beyond recognition. But the ultimate prize, immortality as a mighty Daemon Prince, continues to tempt Space Marines into damnation.

 

The most infamous Chaos Space Marines belong to the nine Traitor Legions that went renegade during the Horus Heresy, who nearly succeeded in destroying the Imperium in its infancy before being driven into the Eye of Terror to lick their wounds and plan their vengeance. Ten thousand years later, many of these veterans continue to wage war against the Emperor's forces, granted unnaturally long life as a reward for their service, or perhaps as punishment for their failure. They are joined by new generations of Space Marines—individuals, squads, or even whole chapters who have spat on their oaths and bartered their souls for power. They were once the Imperium's greatest heroes, but now they want nothing more than to see the galaxy burn.

Chaos Space Marine Chapters:

Emperor's Children

Iron Warriors

Night Lords

World Eaters

Death Guard

Thousand Sons

Black Legion

Word Bearers

Alpha Legion

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...Holy shit, I did not expect to write that much. Anyway, here's the actual story summary.

 

A Tyranid Hive Fleet, the largest ever seen, invades the galaxy, leading to unbelievably massive and bloody battles. As time goes on, alliances are forged and deals are made in order to keep the Tyranids at bay, as them devouring the entire galaxy is not good for anyone.

 

Edited February 28, 2017 by GreyKnight151
Grammar