Never show your hand, no matter what life or the moment has dealt you, be it a curse, an unquenchable anger, or a pretty girl. You might have an edge that leaves others green with envy or seeing red, but there’s always a card waiting in the dealer’s hand or a roll in a rival’s ready to take you down.
Meat comes in all shapes and sizes, be it the thick slabs of muscle that the Orks flex so proudly or the lithe pale flesh of the Aeldari rippling with aetheric power in every sinew. Yet the meat most craved by the species known as the Kroot is something much more… Nectarous, the bio-enhanced bodies of the Adeptus Astartes—surely nothing
On Holy Terra, the cradle of humanity, there were a thousand libraries. These vast repositories seemed to stretch out endlessly, filled with the accumulated records and learnings of the God-Emperor’s massive realm. With their typical heavy-handedness, the Adeptus Administratum poured an army of adepts into these towering edifices of information. Pale-skinned men and women spent their entire lives within the
‘Even the lowliest individual – the least pious, the most deserving of scorn – still possesses one thing to be offered up in service to the Imperium of Man: their life. There is, perhaps, nothing more innately precious than a good death.’ from the Venerable Fr. Zyrnt’s Dying Contemplations(ca. 200.M39) It was a rough ride right into the ravenous jaws
Speed, adrenaline, the sharp, metallic taste of blood in the air; these were the greatest joys of life in Commorragh. The whining hiss of jetbikes cut through the air, drowning out the lower wail of the pursuing skimmer ships. Blades of light danced around the riders, searing afterimages into unprotected retinas. The lights of the luxury spires and gladiatorial revels
Jone was still adjusting her psy-dampening hood and juggling a mug of recaff when she entered the choral antechamber. Master Furth had been in the tank for the last eight hours and she was expecting a substantial stack of scrolls to sort and forward. The morning shift was the worst, all those unattended hours of messages waiting overnight. She had
In the deep recesses of the station, past ancient corridors and beneath decks long since forgotten by all but the lowliest and most desperate inhabitants, a clawed hand knocked at a door. The viewport was scraped aside, and a pair of suspicious eyes gazed out at the stranger. ‘Grots of da worlds, unite?’ It offered in a rasping voice. ‘You
Credits: Colyn DeGraaff (Creative Director), Jack Shelton (Publishing Editor), Darren Davies (Editor), Zev Benjamin (Editor), Ebony Gary (Editor), Joy Snow (Editor), and special thanks to Geneviève Laprise (Community Lead).
