Page 1 of 2

Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Fri Dec 10, 2010 11:04 am
by Matapiojo
Return to 40K [HUB]

- Chaos energies can corrupt organic and inorganic matter alike.
“Some Magos of Mars and members of the Inquisition have proferred the notion that Obliterators are infected with some kind of warp-based, daemon-created virus that alters reality within and around them. These theories are highly contentious, for there is little evidence to back up these claims. Opponents of the theory say that s simple virus could not exist in the way it is claimed, and that it is simple daemonic possession, in a limited way, that gives Obliterators their power.” Codex: Chaos Space Marines (4e), p.35 - ”Obliterators”, 4th paragraph.

- Chaos agents can prepare objects or structures to house and/or bind a daemon within.
“These terrifying creatures are the fusion of the most powerful of daemonic entities with machines of war that originate outside the immaterium, but already have felt the touch of Chaos. These are often the wrecked remains of great Daemon engines and other possessed vehicles, like the mighty Battle Titans of the Legio Mortis, or the rampaging Defilers created by the Traitor Legions.” Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.44 - ”Soul Grinders”, 3rd paragraph.

“The vehicle’s crew has been replaced by a Daemon, bound within the warped, rune-carved hull.” Codex: Chaos Space Marines (4e), p.87 - ”Daemonic Possession”, 1st paragraph.

- Chaos entities can possess and animate automata.
“Unlike the battle tanks of the Imperial Guard and Space Marines, the Defiler is not operated by a human crew. Instead a Defiler is fuelled and guided by the warp energy of a bound daemon of chaos. Using complex arcane rites, the adepts of the so-called Dark Mechanicus work with Chaos Space Marine Sorcerers to draw forth the essence of a daemon from the Warp, and trap it within the rune-bound hull of a Defiler.” Codex: Chaos Space Marines (4e), p.35 - ”Chaos Defiler”, 3rd paragraph.

- Typhus designs a plague that spreads a warp worm through sound:
“'I know that my humble tribute to the Emperor is held in high regard, but I can now see what a poor counterfeit of the truth that effort is. Tonight, so will you. I cannot tell you what my patron has unveiled for me. But I can show you.'

The composer's last words slithered out over the hall like a death rattle. Gurges turned to face the choir. He raised his arms. The singers remained unmoving. The last light went out. A terrible, far-too-late certainty hit Corvus: he must stop this. And then Gurges began to sing.

For almost a minute, Corvus felt relief. No daemon burst from his brother's mouth. His pulse slowed. He had fallen for the theatrics of a first-rate showman, that was all. The song didn't sound any different to him than any other of Gurges's efforts. It was another succession of notes, each as meaningless as the next. Then he noticed that he was wrong. He wasn't hearing a simple succession. Even his thick ears could tell that Gurges was singing two notes at once. Then three. Then four. The song became impossible. Somehow still singing, Gurges drew a breath, and though Corvus heard no real change in the music, the breath seemed to mark the end of the refrain.

It also marked the end of peace, because now the choir began to sing. To a man, they joined in, melding with Gurges's voice. The song became a roar. The darkness began to withdraw as a glow spread across the stage. It seeped from the singers. It poured like radiation fog into the seating. It was a colour that made Corvus wince. It was a kind of green, if green could scream. It pulsed like taut flesh. It grinned like Chaos.

Corvus leaped to his feet. So did the rest of the audience. For a crazy moment of hope, he thought of ordering the assembled people to fall upon the singers and silence them. But they weren't rising, like him, in alarm. They were at one with the music, and they joined their voices to its glory, and their souls to its power. The roar became a wave. The glow filled the hall, and it showed Corvus nothing he wanted to see. Beside him, the governor and his wife stood motionless, their faces contorted with ecstasy. They sang as if the song were their birthright. They sang to bring down the sky. Their heads were thrown back, their jaws as wide as a snake's, and their throats twitched and spasmed with the effort to produce inhuman chords. Corvus grabbed Elpidius by the shoulders and tried to shake him. The governor's frame was rigid and grounded to the core of the Ligeta. Corvus might have been wrestling with a pillar. But the man wasn't cold like stone. He was burning up. His eyes were glassy. Corvus checked his pulse. Its rhythm was violent, rapid, irregular. Corvus yanked his hands away. They felt slick with disease. Something that lived in the song scrabbled at his mind like fingernails on plastek, but couldn't find a purchase.

He opened the flap of his shoulder holster and pulled out his laspistol. He leaned over the railing of the box, and sighted on his brother's head. He felt no hesitation. He felt only necessity. He pulled the trigger.
Gurges fell, the top of his skull seared away. The song didn't care. It roared on, its joy unabated. Corvus fired six more times, each shot dropping a member of the choir. He stopped. The song wasn't a spell and it wasn't a mechanism. It was a plague, and killing individual vectors was worse than useless. It stole precious time from action that might make a difference.

He ran from the box. In the vestibule, the ushers were now part of the choir, and the song pursued Corvus as he clattered down the marble steps to the mezzanine and thence to the ground floor. The foyer, as cavernous as the Performance Hall, led to the Great Gallery of Art. Its vaulted length stretched a full kilometre to the exit of the palace. Floor-to-ceiling stained glass mosaics of the primarchs gazed down on heroic bronzes. Warriors beyond counting trampled the Imperium's enemies, smashing them into fragmented agony that sank into the pedestals. But the gallery was no longer a celebration of art and glory. It was a throat, and it howled the song after him. Though melody was a stranger to him, still he could feel the force of the music, intangible yet pushing him with the violence of a hurricane's breath. The light was at his heels, flooding the throat with its mocking bile.

He burst from grand doorway onto the plaza. He stumbled to a halt, horrified. The concert had been broadcast. Palestrina, Ligeta's capital and a city of thirty million, screamed. It convulsed.

The late-evening glow of the city was stained with the Chaos non-light. In the plaza, in the streets, in the windows of Palestrina s delicate and coruscating towers, the people stood and sang their demise. The roads had become a nightmare of twisted, flaming wreckage as drivers, possessed by art, slammed into each other. Victims of collisions, not quite dead, sang instead of screaming their last. Everywhere, the choir chanted to the sky, and the sky answered with flame and thunder. To the west, between the towers, the horizon strobed and rumbled, and fireballs bloomed. He was looking at the spaceport, Corvus realized, and seeing the destruction caused by every landing and departing ship suddenly losing all guidance.

There was a deafening roar overhead, and a cargo transport came in low and mad. Its engines burning blue, it plowed into the side of a tower a few blocks away.”


“Corvus stared at the singing pedestrians, and thought through the implications of what he was seeing. Nothing, he was sure, could free the victims once the song took hold. So they would stand where they were struck and sing, and do nothing else. They wouldn't sleep. They wouldn't eat. They wouldn't drink. Corvus saw the end result...”


“'Do you know what s going on? Are we under attack? We can't get through to anyone.'

'Yes, we are at war,' Corvus answered. He strode briskly to the door. 'No one in this base has been in contact with anyone outside it for the last ten hours?'

Jeronim shook his head. 'No, sir. Nothing that makes sense. Anyone transmitting is just sending what sounds like music,' Corvus cut him off. 'You listened?'

'Only a couple of seconds. When we found the nonsense everywhere, we shut down the sound. No one was sending anything coherent. Not even the Scythe of Judgement.'

So the Ligetan flagship had fallen. He wasn't surprised, but Corvus discovered that he could still feel dismay. But the fact that the base had survived the transmissions told him something. The infection didn't take hold right away. He remembered that the choir and the audience hadn't responded until Gurges had completed a full refrain. The song's message had to be complete, it seemed, before it could sink in.”


“The communications officer looked up from the auspex as Corvus and Jeronim walked into the centre. 'Colonel,' he saluted. 'A capital ship has just transitioned into our system.'

'Really? That was fast.' Improbably fast.

'It's hailing us, the master vox-operator announced.'

Corvus lunged across the room and yanked the headphones from the operator's skull. 'All messages to be received as text only until further notice,' he ordered. 'No exceptions. Am I clear?' The operator nodded.

'Acknowledge them,' Corvus went on. 'Request identification.'

The soldier did so. Corvus moved to the plastek window and looked out over the base while he waited. There were five thousand men here. The position was elevated, easily defensible. He had the tools. He just had to work out how to fight.

'Message received, colonel.' Corvus turned to the vox-operator. His voice sounded all wrong, like that of man who had suddenly been confronted with the futility of his existence. He was staring at the dataslate before him. His face was grey. 'Read it,' Corvus said, and braced himself.

'Greetings, Imperials. This is the Terminus Est.'”


“'Multiple contacts, lord,' the bridge attendant reported.

'Of course there were. The Imperium would hardly leave Ligeta without a defending fleet.' Typhus moved his bulk towards the main oculus. They were already close enough to see the swarm of Imperial cruisers and defence satellites. 'But how many are on attack trajectories?' Typhus asked. He knew the answer, but he wanted the satisfaction of hearing it. The officer looked twice at his hololithic display, as if he doubted the reports he was receiving. 'None,' he said after a moment.

'And how many are targeting us?' Another brief silence. 'None.'

Typhus rumbled and buzzed his pleasure. The insects that were his parasites and his identity fluttered and scrabbled with excitement. His armour rippled with their movement. He allowed himself a moment to revel in the experience, in the glorious and terrible paradox of his existence. Disease was an endless source of awe in its marriage of death and unrestrained life. It was his delight to spread the gospel of this paradox, the lesson of decay. Before him, the oculus showed how well the lesson was being learned. 'Bring us in close,' he commanded.

'At once, lord.' The bridge attendant was obedient, but was a slow learner himself. He was still thinking in terms of a normal combat situation, never mind that an Imperial fleet's lack of response to the appearance of a Chaos capital ship was far from normal. 'We are acquiring targets,' he reported.

'No need, no need,' Typhus said. 'See for yourselves. All of you.'

His officers looked up, and Typhus had an audience for the spectacle he had arranged. As the Terminus Est closed in on the glowing green-and-brown globe of Ligeta, the enemy ships gathered size and definition. Their distress became clear, too. Some were drifting, nothing more now than iron tombs. Others had their engines running, but there was no order to their movements. The ships, Typhus knew, were performing the last commands their crews had given them, and there would be no others to come.

'Hail the Imperials,' he ordered. 'Open all frequencies.'

The strategium was bathed in the music of disease. Across multiple channels came the same noise, a unified chaos of millions upon millions of throats singing in a single choir. The melody was a simple, sustained, multi-note chord of doom. It became the accompaniment to the view outside the Terminus, and now the movement of the fleet was the slow ballet of entropy and defeat.

Typhus watched as two cruisers follow their unalterable routes until they collided. One exploded, its fireball the expanding bloom of a poisonous flower. The other plunged towards Ligeta's atmosphere, bringing with it the terrible gift of its weapons payload and shattered reactor. Typhus thought about its landfall, and his insects writhed in anticipation.”


“Typhus was particularly proud of it. The parasitic warp worm laid its eggs in the bloodstream and attacked the brain. It spread itself from mind to mind by the transmission of its idea, and the idea travelled on a sound, a special sound, a song that was an incantation that thinned the walls between reality and the immaterium and taught itself to all who had ears to hear.”
/ Hammer and Bolter (#11), p.** - **

- Warpgate damages a nearby star:
“The vast viewscreen facing the throne, taking up most of the curving from wall of the bridge, showed a panorama of the Veiled Region, with the star Kravamesh glowing along one edge. Kravamesh had turned dark and smouldering, black swarms scudding across its burnt orange orb, as if the star was drained of power to fuel the gate across to the warp that had brought Abraxes into realspace.” / Hammer and Bolter (#12), p.53 - **

- Possessed Marine and its visible effects:
“She walked over and snatched up the slate. 'Wild beast, eh? Wild beast?'

'Some form of vicious predator indigenous to the mountain region that—'

'Forgive me, that’s so much shit,' she said. She snapped the slate into the reader slot of a compact edit engine on the far side of the room. Some of her picters and spare lenses littered the bench beside it. The engine whirred into life, and the screen lit up, cold and white. 'What did you make of the discrepancies?'

'Discrepancies?' Loken asked.

'Yes.' She expertly tapped commands into the engine’s controls, and selected the file. With a stab of her index finger, she opened the first image. It bloomed on the screen.

'Terra, I can’t look at it,' she said, turning away.

'Switch it off, Keeler.'

'No, you look at it. Look at the visual distortion there. Surely you noticed that? It’s like it’s there and yet not there. Like it’s phasing in and out of reality.'

'A signal error. The conditions and the poor light foxed your picter’s sensors and—'

'I know how to use a picter, captain, and I know how to recognise poor exposure, lens flare, and digital malformance. That’s not it. Look.'

She punched up the second pict, and half-looked at it, gesturing with her hand. 'Look at the background. And the droplets of blood in the foreground there. Perfect pict capture. But the thing itself. I’ve never seen anything create that effect on a high-gain instrument. That "wild beast" is out of sync with the physical continuity around it. Which is, captain, exactly as I saw it. You’ve studied these closely, no doubt?'

'No,' said Loken.

Keeler pulled up another image. She stared at it fully this time, and then looked away. 'There, you see? The afterimage? It’s on all of them, but this is the clearest.'

'I don’t see…'

'I’ll boost the contrast and lose a little of the motion blurring.' She fiddled with the engine’s controls. 'There. See now?'

Loken stared. What had at first seemed to be a frothy, milky ghost blurring across the image of the nightmare thing had resolved clearly thanks to her manipulation. Superimposed on the fuzzy abomination was a semi-human shape, echoing the pose and posture of the creature. Though it was faint, there was no mistaking the shrieking face and wracked body of Xavyer Jubal.

'Know him?' she asked. 'I don’t, but I recognise the physiognomy and build of an Astartes when I see it. Why would my picter register that, unless…'

Loken didn’t reply.”
/ Horus Rising, p.510 - **

- A data-demon (possibly an Obliterator virus demon) takes possession of a star fort's machine-spirit, a Techmarine, and the facility itself.:
“'Quiet!' bellowed the machine-spirit. The fractal of light flattened and spread out, the holo-image rippling over the Techmarine’s armoured form and up the crystalline walls. 'I can hear them.'

'Hear them?' said Korgon. 'They are still beyond medium sensorium range. We can barely pick up any comms at all.'

'They are here,' said the spirit. 'I can taste them. I can smell their filth! Filling the radio spectrum with their ordure! Flooding the data network with seething rot! Techmarine, this is no physical assault! I am… I am besieged!' The fractal darkened. Flecks of yellowish light flickered like fireworks in the datacore. A tendril of fractal spilled against the edge of the well, like a weary hand steadying a battered fighter.

'Bastion!' said Korgon in alarm. 'Speak! What ails you?'

'Witchcraft!' spat the machine-spirit. 'Daemon-magic! Flee this place, Techmarine! Flee! These rancid frag-holes, these rot-belching vermin, they have undone me! Ten thousand years, an entire age of Imperium, and now by these cowards I am undone!' The whole datacore shook. Shards of black crystal fell as the stacks of datamedium fractured. The floor tilted and split, crevasses opening around Korgon’s feet.

'What must I do?' shouted Korgon over the din of tearing metal.

'Go! Now! Run! Take my guns and blast them from the void!'

'I cannot leave you! I have my duty!'

'Your duty is the destruction of our foes!' Tendrils of yellow-green light were writhing through the steel of the deck and the crystal of the datamedium now, like snakes squirming beneath the surface of black ice. Korgon fell, the deck breaking under him, and he grabbed at the shards of metal to keep himself from sliding into the well. The fractal was shimmering between black and sickly yellow-green, a semblance of tormented features shuddering across it. There was something else in in there with it, too, something dark and sinuous, smoky coils wrapping around the machine-spirit to strangle and constrain it.

Korgon scrabbled to his feet and backed away from the struggle. The daemon-coils snagged around his feet and arms but he broke them, breaking into a run as he headed for the exit that would take him into the maintenance sections of the Bastion Inviolate. A hand half composed of greenish light and half seething darkness grabbed the dataprobe on the end of the Techmarine’s servo-arm and wrenched it towards one of the datamedium stacks. The probe stabbed into the black crystal and the servo-arm glowed bright as a torrent of data stormed through it. Korgon’s back arched as his muscles convulsed. Bones cracked. His lips peeled back from his teeth and his eyes rolled back, his body shuddering. Foam flecked around his mouth.

'Techmarine!' yelled the machine-spirit. 'My brother!' Korgon’s body deformed under the convulsions of his own muscles. The ceramite of his armour buckled. Where it split, blood flowed. Where the armour was torn, eyes bulged, veined and filmy, staring madly. Korgon the man disintegrated, replaced with something awful and inhuman. The machine-spirit of the Bastion Inviolate bellowed in anguish and pain. As one the stacks of datamedium shattered, shards of crystal howling on a gale of shredded information. The daemon-shadow slithered over everything and a well of darkness erupted in the heart of the star fort. Death came to the Bastion Inviolate beneath a veil of shadow and flesh.


Castellan Lepidus outlived the command deck crew by a handful of seconds. They were asphyxiated as the machine-spirit lost control to the data-daemon and the airlocks and bulkhead doors were slammed open. The air shrieked out of the star fort, dragging many crew with it, kicking out blindly as they were thrown out into the void. Those who held on died in the next moment, blood vessels rupturing, lungs bursting, their blood coughed out into a frozen mist in the sudden cold. A Space Marine could survive the void for a while. It was not the void that killed Lepidus. It was the face that bulged up from the deck under his feet, its lines carved hard from the steel, huge glassy black eyes unblinking as Lepidus was dragged down into its yawning mouth by hands of data-shadow. The Castellan was drawn into a pit of gnashing blades, the throat of a steel serpent lined with jagged teeth, and swallowed whole by the abomination conjured from the substance of the Bastion Inviolate. His shouts of defiance were swallowed by the vacuum and his life winked out as his body was shredded and crushed down there beneath the deck.

The scene was repeated all across the star fort. The fort’s small detail of Imperial Fists were ground to paste or impaled on fingernails of steel from hands that unfolded from the machinery around them. Others followed the crew out of the airlocks, tumbling through space, alive for the moment but certain to die as their armour’s air supplies ran out. They had the last sight of the Bastion Inviolate, of the way its ornate arches and buttresses folded in on themselves to form huge faces, of the enormous filmy eyes that stared from the wounds opening up in the star fort’s hull. As they died, they saw the Bastion Inviolate die too. In its place was created something much, much worse.”
/ Endeavour of Will, p.9-11 - **

- More on the demon virus and machine-spirit components:
“Daemon virus, the last message had said. In the arcane code of the astropath, it had flickered across from one star fort to the other at the speed of thought. Witchcraft. Moral threat. We are undone. The words ran through Techmarine Hestion’s mind as he shouldered his way through the bulkhead door, forging a path through a maintenance passage not built for a Space Marine in armour. From somewhere deep in the engine and power sections of the Endeavour of Will, warning klaxons were blaring and synthesised voices were issuing dire warnings in a confused babble of sound.

Hestion pulled himself through a hatch into a vast, cold vault. The arched ceiling high above was obscured with freezing mist, and the polished metal of the walls was caked in ice. The vault housed a roughly spherical mass of archeotech, a biomechanical mass woven together from dozens of human forms, swathed in cabling and steel casings. The machine-spirit of the Endeavour of Will was housed here, the rhythms of a hundred human bodies regulating its functions and a hundred human brains containing the architecture of its mind. Just as the servitors that maintained the star fort’s systems were built around the bodies of deceased crew, so this machine was composed of the bodies of the various tech-adepts and magi who had maintained it over the millennia. Their final honour had been to join the machine-spirit, their own minds mingled with it, their own wisdom added to the vast knowledge fillings its memory banks.

'I can see them,' said the Endeavour of Will, its voice issuing from its hundred mouths. 'They are between the seventh and eighth moons. They watch us.'

'The enemy ship is not the biggest threat,' said Hestion. 'The last communication from the Bastion Inviolate spoke of witchcraft. Of a tech-virus, born of daemon magic.'

'Then the Bastion is lost,' said the Endeavour of Will. 'I felt an emptiness in the realm of information, and I feared my friend was gone. For ten thousand years we have been brothers, forged in the same age, fighting alongside one another in the age that followed. So does time rob us even of that which cannot die.'”
/ Endeavour of Will, p.13 & 14 - **

- Obliterator infecting a defense laser with its virus:
“The Obliterators’ hands reformed into steel claws that ripped away the metal of the weapon’s housing, revealing stacks of datamedium amid the destruction.

'Stop,' said Mhul, his words accompanied by a burst of psychic code that seized the Obliterators’ muscles. 'There. You. Infect it.'

One of the Obliterators took a step back and reeled as if struck. His face split open and cycled through various calibres of gun barrels, melding from one to the other from the flesh and steel inside its skull. Finally something other than a weapon emerged – a nest of tendrils, fleshy and red, that probed in front of them accompanied by a wet hissing sound. The tendrils found the crystalline datamedium and wrapped around it, slithering across its surface to find a way in.

The Obliterators were created when an Iron Warrior, already as much machine as Space Marine, became host to a tech-virus. The virus itself had its origin in the warp. Perhaps it was a gift from one of the dark gods that reigned there, or was a curse on the Traitor Legions. Perhaps it was a natural predator (as natural as anything could be in the warp), or it was a daemon itself, one that existed entirely in information form. Whatever its reason for being, it took the substance of a Space Marine and turned it into a biomechanical weapon, every muscle and bone adapted to form part of the hundreds of weapon systems an Obliterator could form from his mutating body.

And the tech-virus had another property even more dangerous than its capacity to turn flesh into a weapon. It was infectious, and could be transmitted. The tendrils wormed their way under the surface of the datamedium. The crystal became blotchy and discoloured as the virus found a new place to live and thrive, forming mottled blooms like bacteria on a Petri dish. The air was filled with the sound of grinding metal as the whole defence laser shuddered. It rotated in its mountings, the building-sized laser barrel turning towards the main structure of the Endeavour of Will. Flakes of rust fell like a dark rain around Steelwatcher Mhul, and loose components clattered to the deck around him. The Obliterators extracted themselves from the tangle of metal as it churned with the movement. The one who had infected the gun stumbled out of the wreckage as its face reformed into the scowl it always carried, one eye narrow and hateful, the other replaced with a gun barrel.


The whole western spire shuddered and thrummed with power. Behind Shon’tu’s position the titanic defence laser was powering up, the energy coils along its length glowing at first a dull burnt orange, then blue, then white, as enormous amounts of power were pooled. The barrel completed its traverse to point straight at the centre of the star fort. Safety circuits that would normally prevent the laser from being aimed at the star fort itself had been burned out by the Obliterator virus, while the control circuits destroyed by the initial attack on the machine-spirit had been repaired. The defence laser was in Iron Warriors hands now, and there was nothing the star fort or anyone on board could do to stop it.

The laser fired, and it seemed that the void itself was torn open, a gash through reality that opened up to an ocean of burning light. The augmetic vision of the Iron Warriors kept them from being blinded. The heat and magnetic shielding of the star fort’s structure kept them from being incinerated and irradiated. For that split second, a lance of energy hotter than a star transfixed the star fort like an arrow through the heart. When the glare died, the star fort was laid open, a massive wound revealing the tangled steel entrails surrounding the machine-spirit core and the command decks. Torrents of wreckage spilled out, spinning off into the void in all directions. Severed power lines spat energy at random and explosions burst silently, instantly snuffed out by the vacuum.”
/ Endeavour of Will, p.63-65 - **

- More on the Obliterator virus:
“Through the wreckage crunched the two Obliterators, the vanguard of Shon’tu’s force, blazing fire in every direction. Their flesh was seething and sheened with blood, black tendrils of corruption writhing from their skin. The steel of the wall they burst through became blackened and veined, the tech-virus they carried bleeding out from them into everything around them.” / Endeavour of Will, p.71 - **

- Daemons may be able to possess non-psykers:
“'This is daemon-work,' said Lysander.

'Are you certain?' said Rigalto.

'I have rarely been more certain of anything. These souls were their way in. With enough will, enough power, even the mind of a non-psyker can be a gateway for the daemon. We bloodied Shon’tu’s nose at the Tomb, my brothers. It is not the way of the Iron Warriors to send warp-spawn to do what they could themselves do face to face. We are forcing their hand.'”
/ Endeavour of Will, p.48 - **

- Daemonic invilnerability:
“The injury had clearly injected sense back into him because his bolter was very firmly trained on the daemon. He flipped the weapon to semi-automatic and opened fire. As before, every shell impacted harmlessly against the daemon, but this time instead of clattering uselessly to the ground, they were repelled by the thing’s invisible defences. Several shells were fired straight back in Evander’s direction and only by throwing himself to the floor did he escape their impact. They struck the wall behind him, detonating one after the other. The damage to the walls of the ship repaired itself even as the Space Marines watched.

‘How is that possible?’ Evander voiced his disbelief.

‘This is my ship,’ said the daemon, its tone almost conversational. ‘I can shape it as I wish. I can shape myself as I wish and that extends beyond my body to the vessel I inhabit.’”
/ Accursed Eternity, p.70 - **

- Daemons timing immaterial attacks:
“The apothecarion darkened. Spidery shadows flickered over the glow-globes in the ceiling. Half-glimpsed figures of gnarled, blood-red muscle, cloaked in darkness, scampered around the walls. Lysander backed up against Hestion’s bed, drawing the Fist of Dorn up into a guard and shouldering his shield so it protected Hestion from the gathering shadows. Spectral fingers lashed out, congealing into reality as they raked across Lysander’s shield. More reached out from the warp and snared Lysander’s limbs, trying to haul him off his feet. He wrenched his shield arm around and batted one of the shadows against the far wall, its body like a bundle of spiders’ legs bunching up as it slammed into the wall and thrashed to the ground. Lysander raised the hammer and punched its head into a second daemon as it coalesced in front of him – the daemon flitted back, vanishing through the wall as the hammer crunched home a hair’s breadth too late.” / Endeavour of Will, p.50 - **

- Daemon utilizing a star's energy:
“Lightning crackled around it in every colour. The red giant star dulled as Velthinar drew off its light, surrounding itself in the star’s fire so that every edge and tip of its armoured form glowed painfully bright. White-hot and trailing flame lightning like a comet, Velthinar accelerated, arrowing straight for the Endeavour of Will, shining with enough power to punch through the star fort and rip out its innards.” / Endeavour of Will, p.76 & 77 - **

“‘Throne of Gold,’ said Sergeant Laocos, standing just behind Lysander and following his gaze. ‘What is that?’

‘A friend,’ replied Lysander.

Velthinar knew that something was wrong. It paused in its path towards the Endeavour of Will and turned to see what was causing the disturbance in the warp behind it. What it saw was reality splitting and the stuff of the warp pouring through. A billowing tide of sorcery crashed into the vacuum, carrying upon it a vast shape, like a ghost hulk carried on a stormy ocean. Its hull was pitted and scored with the punishment of the warp, and every surface was blistered with pustules and veins. Eyes opened everywhere there was space for them, clustering like buboes, rolling madly and bloodshot. The shape trailed ragged tentacles and arteries that spilled blackish blood into the void. It was deformed and horrible, all symmetry destroyed, but it still carried enough of its original form to be identified as a star fort, much the same shape and size as the Endeavour of Will. A few tattered banners still hung from it, carrying the colours of the Imperial Fists.

‘I cannot be redeemed,’ bellowed an artificial voice, transmitted through the substance of reality. It was heard by everyone for light years around, but it was directed at the daemon Velthinar. ‘I cannot be saved. I cannot know peace.’ Tentacles burst from beneath the corrupted mass of the star fort, snaking around Velthinar’s primary limbs. Velthinar thrashed, but the star fort was bigger and stronger. ‘But I can have revenge,’ the voice continued.

Velthinar fought. The energy it had siphoned from the star Kholestus raked across the corrupted star fort, blasting off battlements and defence spurs, but it was no good. The grip was tight and not even Velthinar Silverspine could break free. Velthinar was looking into the million eyes of the Bastion Inviolate. ‘My god will shred your soul!’ spat the daemon.

‘I have no soul,’ came the reply. ‘I was a machine. Now I am a disease. You did this to me.’”
/ Endeavour of Will, p.76 & 77 - **

- Daemon creation and destruction.
“A Daemon is 'born' when a Chaos God gives up a little of its power to create a separate being. This power binds a collection of senses, thoughts and purposes together, giving a personality and consciousness that moves within the Warp. The Chaos power can reclaim the power and independence it has given to its Daemon children at any time, thus ensuring their loyalty. It is only through the loss if this power that a Daemon can be truly destroyed, its mind dissolving into the whirls and currents of Warpspace.” / Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.6 – “Chaos Daemons”, 1st paragraph.

- Daemon are the most numerous of Warp denizens.
“Daemons are beings of a completely different nature to their masters, and are the most numerous creatures in the Warp.” Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.6 – “Chaos Daemons”, 1st paragraph.

- Daemons cannot be killed in any conventional sense of the word.
“Slaying a Daemon's physical projection does not kill a Daemon, only its presence in reality; its true Warp power remains unharmed.” Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.7 – “Chaos Daemons”, 3rd paragraph.

“When a Daemon is 'killed' in the material world, it is not truly destroyed but banished to the void. It must remain there to regain its strength, and is sometimes absorbed completely by its creator, or will eventually manifest itself again.” Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.7 – “Chaos Daemons”, 4th paragraph.

“‘It bleeds, my brothers,’ he said, pointing an armoured finger at the creature. ‘And if it bleeds, we can kill it.’

‘You cannot kill it, Chaplain.’ It was Remigius’s voice. ‘It is a daemon. Unless you can banish it back to the warp, the best you can hope for is to… inconvenience it.’”
Accursed Eternity, p.46 – **

- Daemonic crusades:
“Preparations for a Crusade can take years, or weeks depending on the whims of the gods.” Warhammer Monthly (#55), p.** – **

- A wounded Bloodthirster breaking Sanguinius's legs and subsequently slaughtering 500 Blood Angels in the space of a "flash":
“Sanguinius seized the initiative, his frenzy taking the Bloodthirster by surprise, his sword stabbed into the daemon's chest, ripping open a gaping wound. The massive crearure roared in pain and anger and lashed his whip at the Primarch's legs. Sanguinius was momentarily unbalanced as his legs were crushed in the whip's coils. The daemon smashed him to the ground with the flat of his axe. The winged hero was stunned, helpless before the daemon's wrath. As his vision cleared he looked up at the mighry monster towering over him. 'Come at me again, daemon! Feel the lick of my sword a second time if you dare!' Ka'bandha looked down on the smitten Primarch. 'I let you live this time, manling. Your legs will heal but this wound will always fester.' At this, the beast let out a mighty bellow and flashed across the battlefield, cutting a huge swathe through the ranks of the Blood Angels with his great axe. Five-hundred Space Marines died a horrible death as their bodies were torn apart. The psychic backlash of so many of his sons dying so suddenly blasted Sanguinius into unconsciousness. The Blood Angels were leaderless, their fate to be decided.” Horus Heresy Collected Visions, p.179 – **

- A mighty daemon being the source of a techno-virus (possibly the Obliterator virus):
“The daemon Velthinar Silverspine resembled an enormous bloated insect, something that might be found clinging to a leaf on a poisonous jungle world but expanded to a titanic size. Its fleshy bulk could not be contained within its exoskeleton and bulged between the carapace plates in pallid hanging folds. It had legs, many of them, but its size was such that it could not hope to move normally, and it lay on its back with its head curled up over its thorax. Its carapace was iridescent and jewelled, like a suit of alien armour created by the finest craftsmen, with fine silver filigree over plates of deep blue that shimmered to purple. Its head was a mass of eyes and mouthparts, its mandibles sheathed in silver and decorative rings and jewels hanging from every piece of exposed flesh. Its eyes were orbs of red and blue, misty and swirling inside like a soothsayer’s crystal ball. Its lack of apparent mobility was irrelevant given its role – its shadow form, the shape it took when shifted into the realm of information, was the form it used to do all its damage. It was the techno-virus that had destroyed the Bastion Inviolate, just as it was the insectoid horror that lurked inside the Ferrous Malice like a parasite in a hollowed-out organ.” Endeavour of Will, p.19 – **

- Daemons have the ability to create pocket realms in the Warp to move unseen across the materium:
“‘We were moving towards the bridge. Arion moved up to stand beside him and then they just vanished. As though they had never been here at all.’

Evander scrolled through his own data-feed and studied Third Scale’s readings. The icons for both Arion and Korydon had winked out. ‘That is impossible,’ he said, more to himself than to either Tylissus or his own group.

‘No,’ said Inquisitor Remigius. ‘No, not impossible. Highly improbable, but possible nonetheless. Daemons have abilities we can only guess at and we are deep within the realm of a powerful entity. We believe that they can create…’ He paused, attempting to draw the picture in a simple manner. It was, strangely for him, not an act of condescension, but simply because the Ordo Malleus themselves had never been able to accurately describe such activity.‘They can create pockets in the immaterium. Places that exist outside of our awareness that allow them to move unhindered, unseen, until they desire otherwise. Perhaps the sergeant has been pulled into such a trap.’

‘How, exactly, do we undo it? How can we bring our men back?’ Evander turned on the inquisitor, his eye lenses glowing a furious red.

The inquisitor gave a helpless shrug. ‘We can’t,’ he replied. ‘If I had more of my brethren with me, perhaps we might stand a chance of performing the ritual, combining our powers with enough force to pierce this sorcery. But I don’t, and with the greatest of respect, Sergeant Evander, we don’t have the time. There is every chance that the pocket will tear at any moment and your missing men will return just as suddenly as they vanished, but whether they do or not, we have to move onwards. I’m sorry for your loss…’”
Accursed Eternity, p.41 – **

“A huge beast stood before them, effectively blocking the corridor. It had appeared from seemingly nowhere. It was a dark brown in colour, without fur. Beneath its thin skin muscles and sinew could be seen moving quite clearly. Eight eyes either side of its long snout burned blood-red in the glow of the Space Marines’ gun-mounted lights, and its razor-sharp fangs dripped with saliva. The daemon-beast snarled and crouched low, making ready to spring on the group. Evander gave a single order which every Space Marine present acted upon obediently and without hesitation. ‘Terminate.’

The order came a moment too late. The daemon-beast threw back its head and opened its muzzle. No sound came out, but all of the Adeptus Astartes cringed backwards as a psychic scream ripped through their minds. The inquisitor stumbled and fell, blood dribbling from his ears. The four Space Marines at the front of the group squeezed the triggers on their bolters to no avail. Even as the shells struck the creature, it vaporised. A flow of ethereal mist marked its passage as it tore between them, only to rematerialise at the back of the group where Remigius stood.”
Accursed Eternity, p.45 – **

Daemon Artifacts/Machinery
- A Daemon weapon consumes the soul of a Berserker as well as the bound energy from another daemon weapon.
“Honsou was fast, but Dall was faster and brought his own axe up to block the strike. The warrior spun the axe and slashed it around in a bifurcating sweep. Honsou ducked and rammed the haft of his weapon into Dall’s gut, spinning away from his opponent’s reverse stroke. The blade passed millimetres from his head and he felt the angry heat that burned within the warpforged weapon.

He took a double-handed grip on his axe and widened his stance as Dall came at him. The warrior of the Blood God was fast and his roar of hatred shook the very walls, but Honsou had faced down more terrifying foes than Vosok Dall and lived.
Honsou stepped to meet the attack, throwing his arm up to block the blow. The axe slashed down and bit deeply, the blade stuck fast into Honsou’s forearm. Like the Newborn and Cadaras Grendel, Honsou wore the naked metal colours of the Iron Warriors, but the arm struck by Vosok Dall’s axe appeared to be incongruously fashioned from the purest, gleaming silver.

Dall grunted in shock, and Honsou knew this warrior would expect anything he hit with his axe to go down and stay down.
That shock cost him his life.

The warrior tugged at his weapon, but the blade was stuck fast and Honsou swung his axe in a mighty downward arc, hammering the glossy black blade through the top of his foe’s skull. The axe smashed through Dall’s helmet, skull and neck before finally lodging in the centre of his sternum.

Vosok Dall dropped to his knees and toppled onto his side, his dead weight dragging Honsou with him. Dall’s entire body
convulsed as the malevolent warp beast bound to Honsou’s axe ripped his soul apart for sport. Blood fanned from the cloven skull in a flood of crimson, and even as Dall’s soul was devoured, his grip remained strong on his weapon.

A bright orange line, like that of a welder’s acetylene torch hissed around the edge of where Dall’s axe was buried in Honsou’s arm and the weapon fell free with a crescent-shaped bite taken from it. Even as Honsou watched, the fiery lustre of the blade faded as its power passed into Honsou’s weapon.

Where Dall’s blade had penetrated Honsou’s arm was unblemished and smooth, as though it had come straight from the
silversmith’s workbench.”
Skull Harvest, p.** – **

- The Bloodtide awakens:
“'Millennia ago,' Voldorius continued, 'you drowned an entire quadrant in blood. And you did so at my behest. The fane-worlds of Gan-Barak were cast down in asingle night, a billion sycophants crushed beneath the falling stones of their own altars. The wars of Lord Griffon were halted in the blink of an eye, a million kilometres of trench lines brimming with the blood of a billion martyrs. The corpse-gas of an entire planetary population ignited at a single spark, scouring a whole world of the pathetic subjects of the Corpse-Emperor. An entire Titan legion fell, literally fell, as it advanced across the burning plains of dying Nova Gethsemane. Do you recall all of that, prisoner? Do you recall what deeds were done, in my name?'” Hunt for Voldorius, p.100 – **

“Malya’s head swam as her mind was filled with frozen, staccato images and fragments of forbidden knowledge. The silver-bodied prisoner treading a landscape of flensed bones. Voldorius as a mortal ordering the prisoner to unleash the Bloodtide. A city drowning as every one of its citizens bled out. The skies above a feral world burning as an entire Imperial Navy Fleet plummeted through the atmosphere. A forge world of the Adeptus Mechanicus, its population dead, but its machineries grinding on for centuries before anyone noticed.” Hunt for Voldorius, p.149 – **

- Daemon Weapon have many properties, and those may be determined by the strength of the daemon bound within:
“Daemon weapons, as one might suspect, have the spirit of a daemon bound into them. They are treated as a standard weapon of their type (ie, you don't get daemonic power weapons, for example) and have one or more of the following properties. As a guide, a weapon with a daemonic beast enslaved to it will have one property; one with a daemonic servant or lesser daemon will have two properties; one with a daemon prince will have four or five properties; one with a greater daemon will have up to six properties. Daemonic weapons also have their own Willpower value. This is 50+D10 for daemonic beasts, 70+2D10 for daemonic servants and lesser daemons, and 80+4D10 for greater daemons and daemon princes. If ever the wielder’s Willpower drops below that of the bound daemon, he must pass a Willpower test at the start of every turn or succumb to the daemon. The GM should control daemon-influenced characters, who will act in a suitably selfsacrificing and chaotic fashion (see the psychic power Enforce Will on page 58 as a guide of what a character will and won't do under daemonic influence).” Inquisitor Rulebook (pt 1), p.68 – Close Combat Weapons: Daemon Weapons

- Known Daemon Weapon properties:
Bound: The weapon is psychically bound to the character and cannot be parted from them. It can be called to the wielder’s hand by a thought and the character may draw the weapon at any time without using up any of their actions (it jumps from its scabbard into the character's hand). If the weapon is dropped, lost, etc, the character can command it to fly back to his hand for the cost of one action. For each turn the character is separated from his weapon, he must pass a Willpower test or add +D6 to his Injury total.” Inquisitor Rulebook (pt 1), p.68 – Close Combat Weapons: Daemon Weapons

Breathe: The scaled blade and ether-shark hilt allow the wielder to breathe anywhere, even in a vacuum. The wielder cannot be affected by any type of gas weapon, cannot drown, etc.” Inquisitor Rulebook (pt 1), p.68 – Close Combat Weapons: Daemon Weapons

Brain Leech: Seared in the flames from a hundred burning books of forbidden lore, this weapon seeks out knowledge and steals it. If an enemy is wounded by the Brain Leech (after any deductions for armour, etc) he loses 4D10 from his Sagacity.” Inquisitor Rulebook (pt 1), p.68 – Close Combat Weapons: Daemon Weapons

Corrupter: Quenched in the bile of a daemon and consecrated on an altar of plague victims, this daemon weapon spreads contagion with every blow. Any character taking damage from this (after deductions for armour, etc) must make a note that he is infected. He must pass a Resistance test at the start of every subsequent turn (see the section on toxins & gases on page 89 for Resistance tests) otherwise he adds +D3 to his injury total. For each additional corrupting hit suffered, there is a -5% modifier to the Resistance test.” Inquisitor Rulebook (pt 1), p.68 – Close Combat Weapons: Daemon Weapons

Daemonbane: The daemon within the weapon is extremely jealous and will attempt to banish any other daemons it comes into contact with. If a daemonic character takes any damage from the weapon (after deductions for armour, etc) the daemon inside the blade will immediately attempt to use the Banishment psychic ability on them, following all of the rules given on page 60 in the Psychic Powers section, and using its own Willpower value. Daemonbane weapons cannot be wielded by daemonic characters.” Inquisitor Rulebook (pt 1), p.68 – Close Combat Weapons: Daemon Weapons

- A device mounted on a ship that is capable of opening Warp portals:
“'This is a spaceship,' said Daenyathos. 'A spaceship as huge and deadly as any the Imperium has ever fielded. And now it is a spaceship with a warp portal. I have stolen the Predator s Eye from the star Kravamesh and embedded it in the Phalanxd. What could the great Abraxes desire more than a doorway into the warp from which spills all the legions under his command, and that he can take between the stars as he wishes?'

Abraxes clenched a fist, and his thoughts could almost be read on his face. They were not human thoughts they would not fit in a human mind. 'I shall extinguish stars,' he said. 'I shall weave a pattern across the galaxy, even unto Terra!'”
Hammer and Bolter (#9), p.43 – **

- Worshipping iconography aiding a daemon to maintain its hold in the materium:
“Around the temple, which took up a good portion of the midsection of the Ferrous Malice, ran a gallery where supplicants and sacrifices could walk around the temple at Velthinar’s eye level. At intervals along this gallery were statues looted from benighted, primitive worlds where the gods of the warp were worshipped, and their sacred power helped keep Velthinar manifest while the Ferrous Malice was in real space.” Endeavour of Will, p.18 – **

- A daemon-ship changing attributes from the thoughts of mortals:
“Korydon let out a soft snort of derisive laughter. He didn’t know what he had been expecting either. Certainly not metre after metre of expansive, clinically white corridors. Perhaps he had been anticipating attacks from misshapen warp entities. Perhaps he had been expecting the walls of the ship to be oozing ichor and blood…

The thought dissolved into the ether and he shook himself. Fanciful, foolish thinking that had no place in the head of an Adeptus Astartes sergeant. ‘Move onwards,’ he ordered, waving with his bolter. Best to leave such ridiculous and fantastical imaginings to others. He could not allow such things to taint his duty. He abandoned the thought and the Star Dragons continued forwards. In the wake of their passage, something held onto the ethereal wisp of Korydon’s abandoned idea. With an inhuman appetite, it devoured what it needed to give itself the strength to take form. It had been left starving for so many years that the single thread of imagination was a veritable banquet. It was gorged upon and fed the invisible horrors of the Accursed Eternity. When it had finished, it wanted more. There was a saying from Old Terra that held truth in this place. Careless talk, so the saying went, costs lives. The future began to shape itself. In the corridor behind Third Scale, a dark and viscous fluid began to seep slowly from the walls, going entirely unnoticed by the Space Marines as they passed.”
Accursed Eternity, p.29 – **

- There is no flow of time as we know it in the Immaterium.
“Beyond the boundaries of physical space, unrestricted by time or casualty, there is a plane utterly incomprehensible to mortal minds.” Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.4 – “Eternal Glory to Chaos!”, 1st paragraph.

“Legend has it that a Daemon banished in this way cannot return for a thousand years and a day, though it is impossible to prove such a belief through study, and time is meaningless within the Warp.” Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.7 – “Chaos Daemons”, 4th paragraph.

- Events in the Warp happen with no discernible timeline..
“That is how events are viewed from the chronology of the real universe; in the Warp, things are different. The Realm of Chaos has no true time, and events do not occur in a strict seqence of cause then effect. In essence, Slaanesh has always existed in the Warp, and yet has never existed” Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.7 – “The Birth of Slaanesh”, 5th paragraph.

Vehicles: Space
- Daemonic possession enhancing a ship beyond its natural capabilities...and eats another ship (yes, eats):
“The two spiralled around one another, the Chaos vessel in one moment seeming lumbering and slow, and in the next making the strike cruiser seem massively outgunned and outclassed. But this was just the overture. In a plume of purple black flame, alchemical rockets flared along the spine of the Ferrous Malice and slowed it down suddenly, twisting it into a reverse manoeuvre far beyond any Imperial-built ships of its size. At the same time its prow split open, revealing folds and tendons of vulnerable muscle, already torn and bleeding from the opening fire. From this biomechanical mass emerged the snout of a nova cannon. Few Imperial shipyards could forge such a weapon now, and none knew the secrets of creating the nuclear flame that now flared around the barrel as the weapon charged. The crew of the Siege of Malebruk responded to this unexpected change in the battlefield by turning every effort towards evasion. The machine-spirit charted a crazed, jinking path that wrapped itself around the Ferrous Malice, too far for defensive turrets to open up against the strike cruiser but too close for the nova cannon to be brought to bear. The nova cannon stayed silent. The Siege of Malebruk moved out of its arc of fire, even as the Chaos ship’s alchemical rockets fired again to turn it back on itself again. The Ferrous Malice had no machine-spirit. In place of an artificial intelligence roosted a host of data-daemons, insubstantial warp creatures that flocked to serve their master, Velthinar. They squabbled and fought faster than the speed of thought and, through the sheer bedlam that went through their inhuman minds, wove battle plans that no enemy could predict. Their pronouncements were passed on to the crew and the strange unwholesome creatures that writhed through the oil sumps of the engine decks. The insane command structure of the ship, with the Iron Warriors overseeing multiple castes of mind-slaves, possessees, daemons and mutants, should never have permitted anything so complicated as a warship to function – but the Ferrous Malice was a construct of Chaos, transformed into a voidbound asylum by millennia in the warp, and by some incomprehensible process all the madness produced a ship that could think and act faster than should have been possible for its size.” / Endeavour of Will, p.23 & 24 – **

“And so the Ferrous Malice rolled on its side, presenting a scarred expanse of hull to the enemy. The broadside guns mounted there did not fire, and the crew of the Siege of Malebruk took advantage of this unusual good luck to hammer out a broadside of their own, stripping away hull plating and ripping charred craters along the length of the enemy. Fires billowed out into the void as ammunition and fuel stores cooked off. The wounding was terrible, with laser turrets boring holes decks deep and vast areas of the Ferrous Malice depressurising and throwing struggling handfuls of crew into space. Then the hull peeled away of its own accord. Coils of muscle unravelled, whipping across the closing gap between the two ships and wrapping around the extremities of the Siege of Malebruk. The tentacles reeled in the strike cruiser, even as armoured beaks, like the mouthparts of some sea-dwelling kraken, emerged from the ruination of torn flesh and metal inside the Ferrous Malice.” / Endeavour of Will, p.24 – **

- Fleet transmissions are devastating to others:
“The ships began to scream. Hellish noises and foetid transmissions blasted out through their vox networks as though each one possessed a voice, part animal howl, part augmetic rasp. On the Imperial ships, vox heralds collapsed at their consoles, their brains bursting as the amplified shrieks burned through their systems and shorted them out.” / Salvation's Reach, p.153 – **

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Wed Dec 15, 2010 10:03 am
by Matapiojo
Vehicles: Space (Continued)
- A daemon ship unleashing a warp-attack:
“Then the black shape proclaiming itself Necrostar Antiversal began to glow brightly from within, a red glare that started in its heart and spread through its tracery of red veins, straining with light and heat like a charred volcanic cone about to split and blow open under pressure from within. A vast froth of red corposant enveloped the daemon ship’s prow, chained lightning that crackled and coiled like live snakes. With a sudden flash, the lightning boiled over and lanced a jagged red bolt out ahead of the ship, a whiplash discharge of immense aetheric energies. The bolt wasn’t even a direct platform-to-target strike like a main plasma or laser weapon. The lash of it flew out sideways, wild and frenzied, untamed and unaimed. It coiled madly out into void space and only then whipped back towards a target, like a lightning strike jumping as it hunted for something to earth itself against. The jagged, blinding discharge struck the Benedicamus Domino like the vengeance of a displeased god, blowing out its forward shields and exploding its upper decks. There was no sound. A snap shockwave of heat and debris ripped out from the impact, followed by a slow, widening ball of white light that was too hard to look at. Bridge viewers dimmed automatically. When the glare died, the Domino was revealed on fire and listing, sections of its upper structure and hull architecture annihilated or left glowing gold along burned edges. Spika maximised the magnification to get a look at the frigate. The pict image jumped on the bridge screens, fuzzed, and then steadied and resolved. ‘By all that’s sacred…’ Gaunt breathed. Screaming its name again, like a child driven to raving madness by a fever, the Necrostar Antiversal bled more corposant and unleashed another shot. The second bolt of jagged red fury hit the Armaduke as it turned.” / Salvation's Reach, p.157 – **

- Anti-Auspex detection:
“There were no active vessels nearby, Imperial, xenos or otherwise, but had any been present—and had they possessed the capacity to break the auspex encryption haze projected by the dark ship—they would have known the ship by the name it bore in the Horus Heresy ten thousand years before. In that foulest of ages, this ship had hung in the skies above Holy Terra as the world’s atmosphere burned. A million ships painted the void with flame as they raged at each other, while the planet below, the cradle of humanity, caught fire. This ship had been there, and it had slain vessels loyal to the Golden Throne, casting them from orbit to tear through Terra’s cloud cover and hammer into the Emperor’s cities.” / Fear the Alien, p.288 – **

“This ship had been there, and it had slain vessels loyal to the Golden Throne, casting them from orbit to tear through Terra’s cloud cover and hammer into the Emperor’s cities.” / Fear the Alien, p.292 – **

- Warp size:
“Though the galaxy of the Imperium is vast, there is another realm, alongside which the Imperium is nothing in comparison. The Realms of Chaos, the warp, he immaterrium, all the names humanity has given to this parallel dimension. None, however, can hope to encompass it, for the warp is a realm of infinite size, infinite possibilities, and infinite madness.” Black Crusade Core Rulebook, p.10 – **

- The Warp is the source of all supernatural energies.
“Humanity has long been able to use the power of the Warp - magicians, seers, witches, mediums, shamans and exorcists have all tapped into its power, although most likely they have done so without a true understanding of their abilities. In the 41st Millenium these individuals are known as psykers. Psykers use their powers by drawing upon the Warp, using their minds to siphon its unnatural energy to hurl blasts of power, teleport objects, send their thoughts across space and perform countless other 'miracles'.” Codex: Chaos Daemons (4e), p.23 – “Psykers and the Warp”, 1st paragraph.

- Warp universe came to be simultaneous to the material universe.
“It is said by those psyker-mystics and astral-seers who will speak of such things, that the Warp exploded into being at the same instant as the material universe, and that the two realms are inextricably and permanently linked to one another.” Codex: Chaos Space Marines (3.5e), p. 6 – “The Warp”, 1st paragraph.

- The Immaterium is a spiritual realm:
“As real-space is a dimension of the physical, so it is said, Warp space is a dimension of the spiritual.” Codex: Chaos Space Marines (3.5e), p. 6 – “The Warp”, 1st paragraph.

- The Warp has other inhabitants:
“Shrike’s face froze at Kor’sarro’s naming of the disaster that was Operation Chronos. A million Imperial Guard troops had been forced to redeploy in the face of a plague of the vile xenos known as Enslavers. The White Scars and the Raven Guardhad been allotted the task of rearguard, their mission to launch stalling attacks againstthe endless hordes of xenos-dominated mind-slaves and to strike at the more vulnerable Enslaver behemoths that controlled them. But mutual distrust had causeda breakdown in coordination and communication. A celebrated Raven Guard Chaplain had fallen prey to Enslaver domination and a nearby White Scars force had,for whatever reason, failed to intervene.” Hunt for Voldorius, p.101 – **

“Kor’sarro had witnessed even warlike orks fall back in the face of such a barrage. He had known tyranid bio-organisms, bred for nothing but war, to falter against such a weight of firepower. He had seen only two types of foe continue forwards against such odds. On the third moon of Woebetide, whilst serving as a Scout many decades before, he had faced an Enslaver plague, and watched as ten thousand mind-slaved meat puppets, each formally a stoic Cadian shock trooper, were compelled by their alien masters to cross a minefield a hundred kilometres deep into the combined fire of the White Scars, Red Hunters and Celestial Lions Chapters. The other occasion had been on Delta Arbuthnot, when a potent, alpha-level psyker had forced an entire planetary population of ratling agri-serfs to rise up against the landowners in an orgy of bloodshed, even though they were armed with no more than shovels and their foes with automatic weapons.” Hunt for Voldorius, p.157 – **

- The Eye of Terror has many levels of Warpspace seeping in:
“Czevak informed the bridge. ‘It’s called the Scorpento Maestrale. The Eye of Terror is a strange place, a very, very strange place. But some bits are stranger than others. In the Eye, the warp and realspace co-exist. Time has less meaning here; matter and energy are indistinct and raw, emotive power rules. In some places in the Eye normal planets and systems exist, upon which unreality intrudes. In the Scorpento Maestrale the opposite applies – reality is but a drop in an immaterial ocean of madness and right now we are that drop.’” Atlas Infernal, p.272 – **

- The Warp can abduct specific astral bodies:
“During the Age of Strife, entire suns had disappeared into warp space: the frozen husks of a thousand civilizations drifted between the stars.’” Deathwing, p.93 – **

- Old belief systems trying to make sense of warp phenomena:
“Sindermann shrugged. 'It’s silly,' he said, showing her the screen of the data-slate. 'The background history we’ve already been able to absorb from this world features the name Samus, and the Whisperheads. It seems this is a sacred place to the people of Sixty-Three Nineteen. A holy, haunted place, where the alleged barrier between reality and the spirit world is at its most permeable. This is intriguing. I am endlessly fascinated by the belief systems and superstitions of primitive worlds.'

'What does your slate tell you, sir?' Keeler asked.

'It says… this is quite funny. I suppose it would be scary, if one actually believed in such things. It says that the Whisperheads are the one place on this world where the spirits walk and speak. It mentions Samus as chief of those spirits. Local, and very ancient, legend, tells how one of the emperors battled and restrained a nightmarish force of devilry here. The devil was called Samus. It is here in their myths, you see? We had one of our own, in the very antique days, called Seytan, or Tearmat. Samus is the equivalent.'

'Samus is a spirit, then?' Keeler whispered, feeling unpleasantly light-headed.

'Yes. Why do you ask?'

'Because,' said Keeler, 'I’ve heard him hissing at me since the moment we touched down. And I don’t have a vox.'”
/ Horus Rising, p.255 – **

Notable Characters
Khârn the Betrayer

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Wed Dec 15, 2010 10:03 am
by Matapiojo
Reserved for Nurgle

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Wed Dec 15, 2010 10:03 am
by Matapiojo
Reserved for Slaanesh

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Wed Dec 15, 2010 10:03 am
by Matapiojo
Reserved for Tzeentch

Notable Characters
Fateweaver the Oracle of Tzeentch

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Wed Mar 14, 2012 8:12 am
by Matapiojo
Very good indeed. Thanks a bunch. Do you, by any chance, have page numbers for those. Kind of important for these RTs.

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Wed Mar 14, 2012 6:06 pm
by Stealthranger
Matapiojo wrote:Very good indeed. Thanks a bunch. Do you, by any chance, have page numbers for those. Kind of important for these RTs.

Unfortunatley I do not, my friends on the OBD didn't give them =[

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Wed Mar 14, 2012 8:06 pm
by chuckforest
Matapiojo wrote:Very good indeed. Thanks a bunch. Do you, by any chance, have page numbers for those. Kind of important for these RTs.

I wouldn't worry about it too much, Veq isn't a marine, he is a Chaos Badass disguised as a marine, however if you wan it, I most recently queted it in the Dante vs Kharn thread somewhere on pages 5-6 I believe, but again, not a marine.

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Thu Mar 15, 2012 8:26 am
by Matapiojo
Good. I'll check it out.

[EDIT] - Found your post (page 6 / #547), but you didn't give page numbers either.
“Gunfire erupted again from below. Veq swatted away a score of bullets from the Obliterator and caught three more with his free hand, throwing them back down to the floor of the bridge with a curse. The young one, the most dangerous, fired a well-aimed shot at his temple, but Veq flicked his head to the side and the silenced bolt flittered past him. Veq took two steps and leapt, dropping through the lattice of bullet trails to land directiy in front of the Obliterator whose every weapon was blazing at him from point-blank range. The star-sword cut through the air as Veq met every bullet, sending a sparkling fan of deflected fire in every direction. The hulking Obliterator reeled as several of its own bullets punched through its biomechanical body. The flesh of one arm became fluid, extruded, and solidified into a blade of bone with gnawing teeth at the cutting edge. Veq ducked the first blow and parried the second, shearing the first blade in two as a barbed whip, tipped with a lamprey-like mouth, lashed from the Obliterator’s other arm. Veq grabbed the lash, wrapped it round his fist, and used it to swing the Obliterator hard into the wall by the doorway. Armour split and cracked. Corrupted blood spilled. Veq paused to dodge more bolter fire from the other Word Bearers who were falling back through the doorway. The Obliterator tried to rise to its feet but Veq was faster by far. One swipe hacked its arm off. Another opened it up from throat to belly, spilling half-machine guts out onto the floor. Silvery, snaking entrails spattered across the swirling Maelstrom visible through the transparent floor. Veq knew better than to assume the Obliterator would die. A bright line sparked in the air and a twisted, half-machine head rolled onto the floor.

Phaedos, backed against the railing around a corner, jumped out as Veq approached in the hope of ambushing his foe. Veq caught Phaedos’s chainsword on his own sword and locked the blade between the teeth of the chainblade, twisting it out of Phaedos’s grasp. Phaedos let go and rolled beneath Veq’s guard, blasting a volley of bolt pistol shells up into Veq’s body. Veq twisted and felt the air turn searing hot as the bolts shot past his torso, close enough to singe his robes.

Veq saw the bolt before he heard its report, like a tiny steel insect buzzing towards his head. His reactions were almost as sharp as they had ever been, he was pleased to note as he ducked the shot and let it thud into the hull of the fighter behind him. The shooter, though, had slipped back into cover. He was a damn good shot, this one. Probably the scout. Veq broke into a run and allowed himself a small sensation of satisfaction as his sprint lured the other Chaos Marine into spraying a storm of bolter fire, explosive shots rattling around him on full-auto. Miniature explosions studded the hull of the closest fighter as Veq leapt, kicked off the side of the ship and vaulted onto the wing of the ship opposite. The Word Bearer was almost directly below him, trying to track Veq while firing off the rest of his clip. Veq slashed downwards and the wing of the fighter sheared off in a crescent of sparks, crashing to the floor and forcing the Chaos Marine to dive out of the way. A reflex action forced Veq’s blade hand to deflect a shot from the scout, taken in the instant Veq had left himself open. In the split-second the other Space Marine dived under a fighter.

The scout emptied the magazine of the bolt pistol but Veq could see every shot coming and swatted them away .

A suppressed shot coughed out from the shadows. Veq saw the rippling wake of the shell as it cut through the pattern of light and sidestepped it, letting it gouge an ugly scar into the floor. ‘Nervous, Word Bearer? You can’t listen any more, can you? Not now there’s someone who might actually know the truth about what you are becoming.’ Veq followed the path of the bolter shell but the shadows swallowed what little movement he could see.

Makelo squinted down the sights of his bolter, its lightweight frame following his eyes as he followed Veq’s movements. Veq had been right – Makelo couldn’t take him with one shot as he would any other target. Not if he went for an obvious shot – head, throat, torso. He could take him in the foot. The split-second of pain and confusion would let Makelo follow up with a more dangerous shot, perhaps to the artery in the wrist, or the kidneys. Then another, and another, each one more damaging until the cascade of shells ended in a fatal shot. (blah blah blah) The silenced shell slid into the breech, and Makelo let his finger squeeze down on the trigger. (blah) Veq felt the bullet before he saw or heard it, sensing the subtle shift atmosphere as the shot disturbed the ship’s thoughts. He stabbed down with the tip of his sword and deflected the bolter shell before it thudded into his foot. An old trick amongst those who could pick any shot – distract with pain and shock with a shot to the foot or hand or knee, before going for the killing shot. It had been tried on him before. It had almost worked. Veq had determined a long time ago to learn as much as possible whenever anyone tried to kill him, which meant he had learned all the tricks.

The shot was swatted away easily. Too easily. Veq ducked instinctively as the combat knife carved through the air above his head and the dark scarlet form of the Word Bearer leapt down from the towers. The Space Marine hit the floor heavily, rolling and firing at close range.”

Re: Chaos - 40,000 [Discussion]

PostPosted: Thu Mar 15, 2012 8:12 pm
by chuckforest

Pgs.472+489+504 Daemon World