For a hundred centuries the empire of Man has been ravaged by its foes. A million worlds lie burnt in the wake of the myriad enemies of man. The Emperor of Man has been torn from his Golden Throne, and the Astronomicon no longer guides battle fleets through the daemon-infested miasma that is the Warp. Throughout the galaxy, a new and lasting dark age has fallen.
To be a man in such times is to be amongst untold millions. It is to live under the cruelest and most savage of alien lords and daemonic princes. It is to toil and slave at the behest of inhuman masters, craven in their desires and their wills. Whether they be ethereal Tau or bitter Eldar, sallow Orks or daemonic sorcerers, all are in some way twisted by the Warp and its miasmic embrace
On a ravaged world far from the centres of galactic power, a few still cling to their faith in the Emperor and the dying ways of a distant era. They are the last of an ancient order of noble and faithful warriors, fabled for their might and righteousness. Bearing sword and bolter, the last Space Marines roam wide and far across the galaxy, sowing hope amonst the children of the Emperor and fear amonst his murderers.
Until the tyranids finally catch up to them. The tyranids, of course, being the ultimate life form in the Warhammer 40K (and maybe 50K) universe.
ReplyDeleteOh, the Tyranids already ate half the galaxy... and then swarmed away, called off by some mysterious instinct or signal. A few mutated and shrunken hive fleets still stalk the galaxy, twisted by their encounters with the Eye of Terror. Genestealers and lictors still walk amongst the stars in the 51st millenium.
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