Sigh. I’ve been playing and painting for a few years now, and whenever I hear something like this, I end up wanting to put my head in my hands. The Space Marines are by far the most popular army in 40k, and are often the one with which players start. It’s always a shame, then, when people do the same tired things when creating a chapter. In this article, I hope to suggest ways of approaching a new chapter, so that you end up with something that’s interesting, unusual and still has the capability to kick backside on the battlefield. I’ve divided the article in two: firstly, the more practical side of thinking up how your army will look and why, and secondly, a (very) rough guide to how to approach writing background.

Of course, these are just my opinions: feel free to ignore them as you wish. But a marine chapter is like a character from a book – just saying he’s tough won’t make him interesting. Something more is needed, preferably something original or just cool. And frankly, in a galaxy where the Dark Angels and the Legion of the Damned are on the side of mankind, a chapter whose only distinguishing feature is how grim and covered with skulls they are may not stand out that much…

Chapter Hooks

So, how should you go about designing a chapter? To my mind, it’s a lot like creating a character in a story. Like the hero of a novel, the best chapters have a personality of their own and the strengths and weaknesses that entails – there’s a lot of difference between a Space Wolf and an Ultramarine, for example. You know that, chances are, a Space Wolf is going to be rough, hearty and keen on fighting things up close (he may also have red hair and an unusual smell, but let’s not stereotype too much). The typical Ultramarine, however, will be disciplined, organised and more willing to take down the enemy from long range.

Here then are some ideas – hooks, if you like, on which you can use as a starting-point to hang the look and character of your chapter:

1) Colours. Got a favourite colour? Really like the idea of violet marines? Then why not paint them like that. You may well find that the chapter background flows from there. A reddish-orange chapter might come from a world a bit like Mars, and have painted their armour in memory of their homeworld. Those chequered patterns on their shoulder pads might be their founder’s heraldry.

In a world of block-coloured plate armour, a chapter of well-painted, original marines will really stand out. Although not very fashionable at the moment, it seems, the brighter, more heraldic chapters like the Howling Griffons and Storm Lords look incredible when painted well.

2) Chapter philosophy/history. Some chapters are obsessed with one particular aspect of the 40k world – take the Iron Hands, for example. Their fascination with technology leads to them having large amounts of bionics. A chapter of penitents might all wear a ball and chain, or be covered in sacred texts. What would a chapter look like who particularly revered their librarians? Or their battle banners, or apothecaries, or whatever?

3) Real history. Several existing marine chapters are futuristic versions of people from history. The Black Templars are like crusading knights, whereas the Space Wolves are a lot like Vikings. More subtly, the Ultramarines use a lot of Roman symbols.

Most cultures have produced heroic warriors that could be the starting-point for a marine army: Apaches, Incas, Prussian lancers and so on. Even if they didn’t wear plate armour, their culture can be reflected in their power armour. My own chapter, the Sons of Empire, are inspired by Victorians. Their armour is polished brass and covered in bolts and scrollwork, as was much of the machinery of that time.

4) Battlefield Practicalities. A friend of mine feels that armour should be painted the same way whether it’s on a tank or a space marine. So, he airbrushed his marine chapter in the same way that historical modellers paint tanks. He painted in the details later, but left some of the ornamentation – skulls on armour and so on – painted in camo. His logic is that his marines rely on stealth to survive. It’s unusual, and although some players don’t approve, to my mind it works because it suits his chapter’s circumstances. Similarly, a chapter known for its long missions may use a lot of repaired and battered armour, perhaps with many trophies from one particular foe.

There are many more ways to do this, but these are a few of the easiest hooks on which to “hang” a chapter. Once you’ve got an idea behind your chapter, you can design their armour and background around that idea, perhaps adding some Traits from the marine codex to represent their character on the field.

The Horror that is Fluff

Now comes the tricky bit – fluff, ie background material. Note that you don’t have to write reams of the stuff, or any of it at all: it’s just nice to be able to fit your chapter into the 40k universe. Be warned, though: people vary immensely about what they’ll consider acceptable fluff or not. Some players are very defensive about the ways a marine is recruited, others get irked if a chapter starts being too “nice” and so on. It’s up to you to decide what level of criticism is fair enough and what isn’t. As a rule, the forums on L.O. are very good for sounding out what’s possible, and the help is pretty constructive.

Certain things need to be remembered when working out fluff for a chapter. Firstly, and most importantly, How do they fit into the Imperium? The Imperium is a big place, and many chapters have their own mini-empires of planets they control, just as the Ultramarines have Ultramar. Such empires can vary enormously, but they are all part of one big over-empire, and as such are all technically answerable to the Inquisition, and to Earth.

Some principles apply across the whole Imperium. Whatever planet you’re on, tithes may have to be paid to the Imperium, either as money, goods, Guardsmen, Marines, leisure facilities or whatever else you can think of. All planets run the risk of producing psykers, to different degrees, and may be obliged to export their psykers for sacrifice to the Emperor on Earth. Many marine chapters are linked to the Imperium by debts of honour – and all can be ordered to carry out work for the good of the Emperor. Of course, a wily Chapter Master may be able to negotiate his way out of this, or to reinterpret some of the orders he receives to his own benefit. But one who simply declares himself independent and doesn’t get out of Imperial space very quickly will soon have a lot of trouble coming his way.

Similarly, the marines themselves may have different ways of living – but all can be guaranteed to train hard and be tough as old boots. Marines in a codex chapter may spend their time living like warrior monks, praying and fighting all day long. More feral marines may simply walk into the wilderness and fight monsters for practice.

Most marines live together, away from the populace: the Salamanders don’t, and your chapter needn’t either. Your guys may spend their time praying, meditating or giving inspiring talks to the community – but no matter what, they’ll need to be able to fight.

(A small aside. The question of whether a marine would have a family – or whether he’s got the inclination or equipment to do so at all – is always guaranteed to get a vigorous argument going. You’re best off avoiding this issue. The average marine is celibate, whether by choice or necessity).

If your chapter’s history involves any of G.W.’s characters, be a bit wary. Raven Guard players won’t be impressed if you claim that your Chapter Master once scared Captain Shrike into running (well, flying) away. The motto here is not to do anything that treads on anyone’s toes or can’t fit alongside the existing fluff: your chapter may have tried to capture Ahriman – they may even have met him on the battlefield – but they’ve clearly not killed him because in the current edition of 40K, he’s still alive. Pretty obvious, really.

In conclusion, the galaxy is a very big place, and the further you are from Earth, the harder it gets for the Ecclesiarchy and the Ordo Hereticus to make everyone behave exactly as they want. Just keep it reasonable, and remember that there’s plenty of ways to make an interesting chapter history without your chapter master having beaten up the Emperor in a fight and waltzed off to make his own rival empire. Balance is everything: a chapter that worships Chaos is going to get splattered sooner or later, no matter what, but what about a chapter that tries to use Chaos artefacts for the good of the Imperium? Relictors, anyone?

My Own Chapter – an example

The reason I’m talking about my own chapter is not that I’m claiming it’s especially good, just that it’s the only chapter I know from the inside, so to speak. Seeing how I went about it might inspire someone else – not to follow exactly, but to use the same principles to invent something of their own.

I love the look of Victorian machinery: all the polished brass and scrollwork, the primitive levers and steam-powered technology looks really cool. When I started my marines I wanted to reflect this look in their armour. I chose a brass and Dark Angels Green colour scheme, as DA green is similar to traditional British racing green, with red chest-plates to suggest the red uniforms 1890’s soldiers used to wear. To reflect the bolted-together look of Victorian technology, I stuck bolts cut from spare Ork weapons onto the armour. I cut the backpack vents and turned them upward, so they would be spouting steam like chimneys behind the marine’s head.

To continue the theme, I painted decorative scrollwork on the armour and gave some of the marines pith helmets and large moustaches made from Green Stuff. Vehicles were fitted with new exhaust funnels, extra bolts and more ornate, primitive-looking guns taken from Orks and Chaos marines. Several have Victorian girls’ names, like WW1 tanks: the Land Raider’s kill markings show that it has destroyed some of H.G. Wells’ Martian war machines. By working out the ways I could suggest the theme, and repeating them through the army, I was able to make the same concept run through the entire force, giving them a strong visual identity.

Now that I had a painted and converted force, I decided to write the fluff. I wanted them to reflect the real Victorians: tough, confident, and eager to increase their power. Like the Ultramarines, they would have a small empire of their own, which they’re eager to enlarge by capturing more territory. They prefer putting aliens to work, rather than wiping them out – a policy which would not be much liked by the Adeptus Terra.

So, I’ve positioned them close to the galactic edge, where the Inquisition’s control is weaker, and said that frequent warp-storms have isolated them from the Imperium and encouraged their culture to develop on its own. They keenly protect their own population, but regard aliens and other chapters as foreign and not quite right – much like their historical counterparts. Their history is one of conquest and a desire to expand their own influence – reflecting the era they’re based upon.
What this means is that they won’t play a massive part in the history of the Imperium – but to my mind, that’s a small price to pay for having invented something I can be proud of and genuinely call my own.

Bjorn the Fell Handed:

Bjorn the Great Wolf

Bjorn the Fell Handed, the oldest known dreadnought in the Imperium of man; having seen the glory of the Emperor before he was placed upon the golden thorne and having had the honour of serving in the personal retinue of Leman Russ himself. One hundred and ninety-seven years after the Emperor was incarcerated in the life-preserving Golden Throne, Leman Russ vanished from the Imperium. He was last seen by his legion during the Feast of the Emperor’s Ascension, where it is said that Russ climbed onto the oak table on which he duelled the Emperor at their first meeting to give a speech, but froze. After a long silence, where it appeared that he was overcome with a vision, Leman Russ fell to his knees, then turned and issued hushed instructions to his most faithful retainers. He simply announced to his loyal brothers that he would be leaving, but would return “for the final battle, for the Wolftime”. He then vanished, taking all but one of his retinue with him; the youngest member, Bjorn.

For seven years after Leman Russ departed for parts unknown, many believing him to ahve traveled to the Eye of Terror, his place was set at the banquet table as his Legion eagerly awaited his return; but it never came. After those long seven years, the wolf lords of the space wolves elected Bjorn, the one remaining member of Russ’ retinue, as the new great wolf of the chapter. Bjorn decided if Russ was not going to return to his chapter, then his chapter would seek him out; thuis beginning the first of many great hunts. These hunts recovered many relics, including the Primarch’s suit of armour, but none have come close to locating their leader or those that had gone with him.

Bjorn further gained renown on the planet Algol Nine, when he saved the planetary governor from sacrifice to the demon Thran’saba. This event is depicted upon the banner which proudly hangs atop his dreadnought armour that he was later interred inside after recieving grievious wounds from the traitor primarch Magnus the Red during one of the great hunts. After being fatally wounded Bjorn spends the next five hundred years at the forefront of Space Wolves battles as a dreadnought before drifting a deep slumber that eventually claimed all of the dreadnoughts of the space wolves.

Bjorn the Venerable

Of all of Bjorn’s deeds and service to the Imperium, none are more well known to any of the serveants of the imperium that have met or seen Bjorn than his defense of the Fang, the mights monestary on the space wolves homeworld of Fenris, against the traitor legion of the thousand sons. The attack itself was the revenge Magnus, for it was the space wolves who had destroyed his world of Prospero just before the Horus Heresy. The attack on the Fang was personally led by Magnus the Red, after he and his legion had carefully manouvered the bulk of the space wolves away from their home in pursuit of a distraction force that had been meant to leave Fenris almost completely defenseless.

The Defense of the Fang

Great Wolf Harek Ironhelm sought for many years to bring Magnus to battle. Several times Magnus appeared to him as a vision among the ruins of devastated cities and taunted the great wolf for his inability to stop him. After many fruitless efforts to catch up with the raiders Harek became obsessed, and took to searching worlds along the edge of the Eye of Terror itself. Eventually he found what he believed to be the thousand sons’ secret base on Gangava and launched a full scale attack against it. In this he was deceived; Gangava was held by a strong garrison of chaos force allied to Magnus but these were a distraction. Even as Harek attacked Gangava, the fleet of the thousand sons and their chaotic levies appeared in orbit over Fenris. The Fang was held by a skeleton force of space wolves and their thralls. For forty days and forty nights the thousand sons assaulted the citadel. Bjorn the Fell-handed, most ancient of the space wolves dreadnoughts, was woken from his long sleep and took charge of the defense. Under Bjorn’s direction the space wolves fell back to the innermost chambers of the Fang, collapsing the tunnels as they went. Simultaneously, a force of scouts, under the command of Haakon Blackwing, managed to escape from the citadel and take ship to Gangava, bringing word of the siege to Harek. Harek was overcome with fury and shame at his folly and immediately ordered the chapters fleet to Fenris, bringing the entire fury of the Space Wolves with him.

As Harek’s fleet arrived in the system, Harek coordinated an attack with Bjorn and the surviving defenders of the Fang before launching and assault to carve out the heart of the thousand sons siege, an assault that the great wolf led personally. On the slopes of the Fang itself, Harek led the space wolves he had taken into the rear of the thousand sons forces while Bjorn led the defenders against the front of the thousand sons attack in a pincer that caught the traitor legion off gaurd. As Harek’s forces and Bjorns forces slowly linked up and began to route the thousand sons, Harek faced off against the evil primarch himself. For all Harek’s ability and prowess in combat, he was merely a marine fighting a primarch that had been forced to embrace the powers of chaos. Magnus was too strong for him and slew Harek, but not before taking a terrible wound himself from Bjorn as the ancient dreadnought surged from his own fighting to help Harek; coming to late to save the great wolf but personally dealing the blow that saw the leader of the thousand sons forced to leave the planet. Caught between two forces and left without a leader, the thousand sons were forced to retreat from Fenris; though some of them do linger on the world and several have been discovered over time.

Bjorn the Legend

Were it not for the actions taken by Bjorn during the initial siege, the world of Fenris would have been lost to the space wolves and the revenge of the thousand sons would have been complete. Bjorn’s stalwart denial of the space wolves worst enemy earned him eternal respect amongst all of the space marine chapters, even the respect of the dark angels, long time rivals of the space wolves.

Bjorn continues to sleep bellow the Fang with the other venerable dreadnoughts, the space wolves will not wake him up for any trivial reason. However he has been known to awaken himself upon rare occasions, between battles he is a renowned storyteller, well versed in the sagas of Leman Russ and he enjoys testing the Wolf Priests. It is rumoured that he is left in his slumber upon his own request, his reason’s being known only by him though if anything it is because he does not wish to walk in an imperium that has fallen so far from the one he knew ten millenia ago.

(All information regarding Bjorn the Fell handed is property of Games Workshop. None of the above is directly copied from any Games Workshop publication)

Next to him, the fleet Commissar eyed the gothic splendour of the bridge lazily. As such, he had seen the bridges of so many ships in the service of the Imperial Navy. Even now, the intricacy and brutal beauty of these giant warships never ceased to intrigue him. An amused smile crept across his lips, as he relished the thought of the new fame and glory that this ship would bring him.

“Captain, I see our destination through the mists. Your order sir?” The navigator’s words cut through the silence and echoed slightly in the dome of the bridge. Herrossa’s eyes snapped open, his decisions made. He straightened in his throne, and glanced at the Commissar.
“Bring the fleet out of warp,” the Commissar ordered casually. Herossa nodded respectfully. “Aedis; notify the fleet, we break warp on my signal.”
“Aye Sir” the Lieutenant replied and immediately began hailing the rest of the fleet. As the other captains of battlegroup Aeries readied their vessels, Captain Herrossa watched as two tech-adepts activated the chart desk, its pale blue hololithic sphere smoothly composing itself, ready to survey every cubic inch of space within seven-hundred thousand kilometres of the ship.

The navigator addressed the bridge: “The light of the Astronomican shines clearly this day; the Emperor is with us!”
“And so shall he remain I pray” laughed Commissar Bourne, as he rose from his seat and slowly paced towards the edge of the Plexiglas dome of the bridge. Herrossa’s eyes followed him. The Captain respected the man; both men had served the Imperial Navy for decades. Both had seen glorious victories, and on occasion a humiliating defeat. Both men were stubborn in their faith; they would once again have victory.

“Confessor Mentius” the Captain addressed the Ecclesiarch; “Would you be so kind to lead us in prayer as we re-enter the Imperium.”
“From my lips to your soul, shall the words of the Emperor’s will guide us all in passage,” the wizened old man smiled. As the proud servant prepared to uplift the bridge in prayer, the Captain gave the order to break warp. He shuddered as he felt the warp drives begin to shift the energies ahead of them. Even in this gigantic and magnificent ship of mine, we are so small, he mused. Even after decades of service, he was still chilled when entering or breaking warp. So much to go wrong, he sighed.

The Confessor’s powerful voice penetrated the deck as he began the prayer. Though becoming frail in his old age, even with the aid of juvenat drugs, his voice had never aged. It was still as full of faith, devotion and fury as it ever was. His prayer rose and those that could sent their voices booming with him across the void in righteous defiance of death.

Scarcely had the hands of the bridge uttered the last words of the Confessor’s prayer, when a huge surge of energy leapt forth. A seething, blinding light engulfed the battleship and all who could see it shielded their eyes. Tense seconds passed, and gradually the light receded.
Herrossa opened his eyes, and sighed with relief to see the cold, star spattered black of real space. Ahead lay their hunting grounds. The Gostya Nebula, purple and blue in its radiant splendour. What irony is this, that such beauty should hide such abominations he thought as he surveyed the vast celestial canvas.
The Captain spoke once more: “Have the fleet report in.” Again, the Flag Lieutenant went about hailing the fleet.

“Lord Rahn, Artemis, Blue squadron and the Widowmakers all reporting all systems functioning. They await your orders Admiral.”
Herrossa gazed into the holograph displayed by the chart desk and surveyed his companions. Lord Rahn, the Dauntless class cruiser and Artemis, a fearsome Mars class battlecruiser travelled in tandem to starboard. The two squadrons of escorts were to port, four sword class frigates and three Firestorms. Then of course in the very centre of the sphere was the Captain’s own magnificent vessel: Invictus the Retribution class battleship. This was indeed a force to be reckoned with.
Commissar Bourne paced impatiently, hand on the hilt of his powersword. His knuckles were white with the force of his grip. A scowl darkened his features; he was tired of the chase. His battle-lust was as immense as his tall frame. Built like a wild grox, and just as much patience.

“Captain I must….”
“Patience Commissar,” the Captain cut him short. “Let us assess our position, lest we ride into the storm unprepared.” The Commissar’s broad shoulders hunched slightly, and his scowl deepened. He is correct however, the Captain thought. Time is against us. We must strike soon.
“Commissar, what say you to a closer inspection of our hunting grounds?”
“Do it I say, and be quick about it. My instincts advise against waiting,” the man’s face twisted into a malicious grin. “We will take this prize and I’ll be damned if he thinks he can hide out in that Nebula without us sniffing him out!”
“We think alike commissar. Herrossa to Artemis, I want four flights of Starhawks with escorting fighters to be ready to launch in ten minutes.”
“Roger Invictus, bays are ready for your signal,” came the reply over the commlink.
“So it begins,” grinned the Commissar.
“Herrossa to engines, bring us to three quarters ahead.” The Captain took a step forward and leaned against the surge of thrust. The ship immediately lurched onward, heaved by its gigantic plasma drives. The fleet moved as one, spread over a large area, giving maximum surveyor capability.

The fleet bore down into the gaseous space like ferrets into a rabbit warren, except that their prey was no rabbit.
It was a traitorous monster, built over ten millennia in the past, pre dating even the great heresy. She was one of three sisters who turned on the Imperium. She, like her sisters now answered to chaos. Damnation’s Fury they call her, a battleship, more powerful even than the mighty Emperor Class whose unyielding strength has as yet remained unconquered. For millennia, the ships of the Imperial Navy had brought battle to her, and each time she had escaped into the warp leaving only death and graveyards in her wake. Now though, her strength was fading. The Imperium gave no thanks to the Eldar who had crippled her, but none the less they had given the Imperial Navy exactly the conditions needed to end her reign of bloodshed.

The blue sphere of the bridge’s holomap sputtered and shook with the static of the nebula. The thick, impenetrable fog suffocated the ships and overloaded their scanners, but they headed it not. They knew how to find their quarry.
“Have the Starhawks begin their sweep” Herrossa ordered. Through the gloom, he could just see the feint flicker of their engines as they blasted fourth from the carrier. They split according to plan forming a rough half-sphere around the fleet. As they spread, Herrossa prayed that the units they carried would be successful.
The pilots reported their status.
“Artemis reports that the bombers are ready to execute code six.”
“Good, commence firing,” he stared hard into the cloud. “Have the signal routed directly into my surveyor.”
“Aye Sir” the Lieutenant said.
The sphere of the surveyor cleared, no longer scanning for large vessels, but for the hundreds of tiny signals from the bomber’s payloads.
The first of the Starhawk flights fired into the nebula. A small speck appeared in the holographic sphere. Others soon joined it. They streaked onward through the nebula, and then simultaneously, they erupted into cascades of smaller signals. Tens of thousands of fist-sized probes diffused through the gas. No more than space dust to an unsuspecting ships scanners. As they spread, the Captain waited. He thanked the Emperor for a clear and undisrupted signal from the probes.
“Well?” The commissar enquired curiously, he too had put much faith in this new product of the tech-adepts of Mars.
“The probes will have spread throughout the Nebula in three minutes Sir” Lieutenant Aedis replied. The commissar nodded and began pacing the deck once more.
The air in the bridge was a soup of excitement and tension. Two minutes passed, then: blip, another blip. Suddenly the surveyor’s audio was alive with signals.
“Report!” the Captain barked.
“I have probes changing velocity around four large objects in the South-Eastern quadrant of the Nebula, it could be her Sir!” The Lieutenant was practically shaking with anticipation.
“Enlarge on my surveyors” Herrossa ordered. The sphere zipped towards the target area. The signals were going haywire, travelling in a straight line only to suddenly change course and fly in another direction. They were bouncing off something.

“Yes! That’s it, we’ve got you Heretic!” Commissar Bourne shouted triumphantly, grinning like a madman; his eyes were a flashing cocktail of hatred and glee.
“It would indeed appear so Commissar,” Herrossa calmly remarked. “Helm, take us within eighty-thousand kilometres. Sensors scan for energy signals.” The Captain glanced towards Confessor Mentius, “Our prayer appears to have been answered” the old man smiled.

The fleet closed formation, the wolf pack crept towards the now fading signals. The Captain silently cursed the dying probes. To short a lifespan he noted. The gas clouds shifted and floated over the ship’s void shields. Visibility slowly started to improve as they moved away from the core. Herrossa could at least see the other Imperial ships. “Gunnery crews to stations, shields to maximum power. I want a full salvo of torpedoes loaded immediately.” The orders were delivered with the time old precision of Imperial nobility; they were the words of the Emperor as far as his crew were concerned.
“Begin scanning.” Herrossa watched as the surveyor flickered, reaching out to the stars for a signal.
Commissar Bourne now stood by his side, upright, confident and ready to deal out the fiery wrath bent up inside him. The Captain was no less eager to throw himself and the ship into battle. He and the Commissar were different. Herrossa was a thinker, a great holochess player and a superb commander. His reputation was one of steadfast resolve and flexibility.

Commissar Bourne on the other hand, was most famous for his part in repelling a boarding action on board the Blade of Woe during the Damocles crusade. Systematically butchering an entire party of alien Kroot in the confines of the battleship’s corridors, leading his men forth in a killing frenzy that impressed fleet command as much as it had worried them that the man was capable of such brutal and bloodthirsty savagery.
He was a man born to the feral world of Kanak; power, ruthlessness and martial prowess were in his blood. Patience was not counted among his many virtues.
Now the two were brought together in the service of the Emperor, at this hour all their skills were needed.
“Sir, I’m picking up a feint signal ahead. A more seconds and I’ll have it on screen.” Herrossa merely stared out of the dome, daring his adversaries to come forth.
“Sources confirmed, four ships ahead, classes unknown. I’m only picking up slight shield signals. They haven’t seen us sir.”
“Delicious,” Herrossa allowed a sly smile to cross his face.
“We have them,” Bourne murmured with satisfaction.

“Send Blue squadron to port, Widowmakers make an attack run on the closest vessel. Have Artemis hang back and await orders,” again, Herrossa’s orders were smooth. Unquestionable.
“Herrossa to Lord Rahn form on my port-quarter, prepare for attack,” he ordered. “Engines to all ahead full!” The ship seemed to spring to life as the engines howled and roared, gunnery crews scurried to their weapons.
The hull was filled with the sounds of the clanking of gears, slamming of breaches and heavy running footsteps of the crew. They charged. The escorts shot off to port and the two warships sped onwards to their prey.
“We have visual,” yelled the Lieutenant above the clamour. “On screen” barked Herrossa.
It was her, Damnations Fury, her monstrous form looming ever closer. With her were the three other ships, all in vulnerably close formation.
“Classes confirmed: one despoiler class, a murder class and two raiders!” The ships were now in plain sight. Lights flickered on in their hulls; their engines were still silent.
Now the shock of the attack run was complete.
As the two ships closed both Captain and Commissar watched as the Firestorms opened up with their prow lances on the closest raider. Virtually unshielded, the smaller ship was instantly gutted. The centre section was vaporised, the rest of the vessel swiftly followed. A blinding flash of seething plasma and an eruption of molten plasteel was all that remained. “Such is the reward of those who consort with the dark powers!” the Captain said between gritting teeth.
Blue squadron followed and threw itself towards the lone cruiser. Though the massive power of the las-weaponry of the frigates was vicious in the extreme, the cruiser’s shields did not yield. Her commander at least was less surprised.

The Chaos ships now began to power up. The second raider accelerated at an astonishing rate. It shot through the swords, letting lose a single volley that was easily deflected by the Escort’s shields.

A ghostly blue veil began to fall over Damnation’s Fury; her shields were among the best the Adeptus Mechanicus had ever constructed.
Shielded she was, but she would not be gunned for a time. Shields can be activated at the flick of a switch, heretic crews cannot. Captain Herrossa knew this well and used it to full effect as he took the two ships dangerously close to the monster’s stern. “Herrossa to port guns, all open fire immediately!” This he yelled as he raced across the bridge to the port side of the ships. He gaped at the sheer size the enemy vessel’s engines. As he stared, his ship shuddered as twelve full strength plasma batteries locked on to their target and belched out destruction. Fire and detonation raked across the stern of the Chaos battleship. Herrossa was astounded by the punishment that its shields absorbed.

However powerful, she was by no means invulnerable and with the last volley that the batteries of Invictus could muster the shields of the vessel collapsed. Herrossa’s ship shot away leaving the chaos ship’s engines for the guns of Lord Rahn. Shell after shell smashed into the traitor’s stern, tearing up retros and obliterating her thrusters.
“A hit! A very palpable hit!” Commissar Bourne mocked as a small star was born from the light of the carnage.
A sizeable section of the ships keel was blasted clean off from between the two colossal engines, now glowing pathetically.
As the two ships raced away from the waking guns of the traitor, the escorts joined to make a run on the cruiser.
This was unwise. Herrossa cursed loudly as the forward gun batteries of the now fully operational cruiser claimed a frigate, its blasted body flying into the nebula. He angrily ordered the remaining escorts to hunt and destroy the raider, which had disappeared. Loading its torpedoes no doubt. As his ship drew away from the enemy, her guns twitched and began tracking. None fired however.

It was only then that he beheld the true scale of the opponent he had challenged. The lamed battleship was far from finished. It would take far more than a smashed keel and a decimated engine.
From the prow of the ship, a cloud appeared. It spewed out from the port and starboard bays, an unending tide of attack craft. Waves upon waves of bombers and fighters launched, ready to strip like locusts all that strayed into their path.
The Commissar gaped and muttered an oath; Herrossa was taken aback by the sheer volume of craft spilling from the battleship’s bays, a cloud of them, like blood diffusing in water.

Before the Captain had time to react, he was assailed simultaneously by the cries of the Lieutenant and the sight of several white objects tearing past their port quarter.
“Captain! Captain! New contacts closing fast” exploded Aedis. “By the Emperor…Eldar!”
“WHAT?!” Roared the Commissar wheeling round as his sword caught a rail with an almighty clang.
“Several Raiders, unknown class….they’re heading for the Chaos vessels Sir!”
The Captain did not reply; he knew exactly what was about to happen, he had seen it before.
“Cursed Xenos, those are Aconite’s! Damn it all!” blazed the Captain; he knew that the Eldar were about to attempt to snatch his prize.
The Eldar Aconite class was most adept at dealing with attack craft; their prows bristled with weapons batteries, capable of cutting swathes through waves of fighters and bombers. But the worst was still to come.
The Chaos fighters scattered as the Aconites nimbly cut through them and destroyed pockets piecemeal. Herrossa’s infuriated mind could not help but be reminded of the ancient Pict records of Dolphins hunting small fish on ancient Terra.

Invictus was still firing broadsides into the Chaos battleship, but could not get close enough to target critical locations through the melee of attack craft and Eldar. Herrossa barely registered the Lieutenant’s voice calling new contacts through his rage. He could only watch as no less than three Eldar cruisers shot through his squadron towards the Chaos ships, followed by several large escorts.

The Chaos cruiser could not stand against the furious Eldar barrage, and with a retina-scorching flash its plasma drives spelled its doom. The debris field left behind would be a magnificent find for scavenging Orks.

The Eldar vessels, having eliminated every immediate threat turned their attentions to Damnation’s Fury, as the battleship’s huge lance batteries feebly attempted to target the Eldar running circles round her.
A red mist descended over Herrossa’s vision as he witnessed shot after shot crashing through his prize’s hull.
The now began to withdraw, leaving the once terrible ship a blazing wreck. They did not even bother to destroy her, so smashed and twisted she was.
As a final mocking gesture, a squadron of small escorts flitted around Invictus once before streaking off after their companions heading out of the Nebula.

Both the Commissar and the Captain stood agape, watching the glory that should have been theirs sail away with the vile witches in their fragile ships.
The Captain shook himself out of his stupor. After composing his thoughts, he strode heavily over to his throne, and slowly sat into his upright, battle-ready posture.
“Quartermaster! Set a course to pursue the Eldar!” Ordered the Captain.  Bourne shot a startled glance towards the great Captain, before the thirst for revenge trickled into his mind and slowly overcame him. They would yet have their victory.

Breaking the silence, the Commanding Officer then said, “Not to worry though. We will be prepared, unlike when we were raided. None of you should be scared. Trust in the Emperor, and we will all be fine!”

The next day, they were going to scout a planet that was thought to have Dark Eldar inhabitants.

Sergeant Conward lay in his bed as he wondered what the planet would be like. He thought and thought, thinking through all the possible situations that he might get in. What if we are captured? Will we be tortured forever? Was the Commanding Officer’s story true? He thought. He finally went to sleep after sitting in bed. It was 10:30 p.m. before he finally went to bed. In 8 hours he would be leaving on the scouting mission.
Sergeant Conward and his platoon of about forty guardsmen had finally begun their scouting mission on the unknown planet where the Dark Eldar were thought to be. The unforgettable torture from the Dark Eldar still lurked in their minds as they patrolled through the underground tunnel in the midst of the night. Their footsteps and the sound of the radio were the only things to be heard.

Unaware of the evil sneaking through the dark pathways, the squad moved through slowly. Suddenly, bright flashes of light filled the air temporarily blinding the squad. Three members of the platoon had disappeared.

“Get into position! Attack!” Conward yelled. Lasgun fire blasted through the air in ferocious bursts towards the direction of their nemesis, but all was gone. Once again it was silent. “Advance in shooting positions,” commanded Conward. They continued working their way through the tunnel. Once again, the Dark Eldar attacked, but this time they were going for the full-blown kill. Sharp projectiles ejected from the Warriors Splinter Rifles slicing through the Imperial Armour. The Guardsmen attacked back, returning fire with their lasguns.

The Dark Eldar then charged with evil laughter filling the air as they swung their blades through the crisp, cold air that filled the tunnel. Conward using his power fist crushed several foes, although in doing so took a hit. His vision blurred as he staggered back, towards the tunnel wall catching himself on the cold, hard surface painted with blood running from his tattered body. He sat their watching the battle, but got himself back up and pounded a couple more Dark Eldar Warriors to the ground with his powerfist, but he was too weak. He fell to the ground once more. Too weak to stand up he crawled towards his radio, which had fallen on the ground.

He attempted to call for reinforcements, but the concrete walls blocked the signal. He watched his men being slaughtered helplessly just before he fell through the weakened cave floor. He blacked out on impact…

He awoke with sudden abruptness from hearing the screams and howls of torture from his platoon that had been slaughtered over and over again. He fumbled around with the med kit tell and he found some bandages and covered his main wounds. He tried once more to radio, but as before the signals could not escape through the thick concrete. Strong enough to walk, he slowly got up and stumbled through the completely dark tunnel, unaware that he was walking towards the eternal doom of his life.

The memories of being tortured by the Dark Eldar grew greater and greater as he kept stumbling through the tunnel. His memories kept running through his brain. He fell down on his knee’s covering his ears as the painful sensations were racking through his body. He imagined the torture and pain that was soon to come. Although they were only thoughts, they were about to become real. He looked up, and saw the Dark Eldar Lord, laughing and smiling at the Conwards eternal torture…

Then, he woke up. It was just a dream. Sweating, and breathing heavily, he couldn’t get back to sleep. It was now only 3 Hours before he had to leave. He sat in bed, not being able to fall asleep. Again, the same thoughts went through his head as before. Finally deciding that he probably wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, he got out of bed and started packing his supplies and getting ready. After he was set, he set all his supplies by the door of his room, ready to go.

He went outside to take a walk in the chilly night. As he walked, he looked up at the sky, and saw all the other stars, moons, and planets sparkling in the night sky. It was amazing, until the thought came to him that he was soon to leave. He thought about all his friends that he had, and that they would be lost after he left. And, then, the daunting thought came to him. What if he died.

As he got back to his room, he started to hear the sounds of other troops getting ready to go. He got the few belongings that he was taking, and his supplies. Walking down to main area, he met up with his bud, Tom. His real name was Thomas, but everyone called him Tom. Conward saw Tom shaking. He was nervous, and scared, and all he could do was guess what was going to happen.

Sergeant Conward readied his platoon, as they filed into the briefing room to be informed of the mission in greater detail by the Commanding Officer.

The room was filled with talking, as the soldiers conversed with each other curiously, until all fell silent when the Commanding Officer took his place towards the front of the room.

“We are sending 5 companies to scout the planet, that we think is controlled by the Dark Eldar. Company 1 will be positioned in sector 1.0, Company 2 in sector 3.0, Company 3 in sector 6.0, Company 4 in sector 9.0, and Company 5 in sector 12.0. When we land, it will be dark for hours before daylight comes, hopefully making it more safely. The planet is covered in many abandoned buildings, factories, and tunnels, so I’m warning you to be careful and take many precautions. If you are ever encounter a small amount of enemy forces, then attack. We will get to you as soon as possible if you need any reinforcements. Artillery support is provided only when necessary, because we want to be as quiet as possible. Retreat only if neccesary. Any questions?” There were no questions, so with a satisfied look, he ordered the different Companies to their ship.

Sergeant Conward of Company 1 boarded the ship along with his platoon. After riding for an hour or so, he ordered his company onto their designated Lander.

“Get buckled up; prepare for landing. This is our sector!” He yelled loud enough for everyone to hear. His company, and the other companies loaded up in their Landers.

“Engine?”

“Ready.”

“Shields?”

“Ready.”

“Weapon systems?”

“Ready. All systems look good to go.”

The Lander was released from the ship. The engines blasted furiously to maintain stability. A clear shield went around the ship filled with electrical currents. They were zooming towards the planet, but slowed before they hit the ground. Conward stood ready to unload out of the ship and to get into position to scout their area. They all unloaded, and slowly moved across rough ground. They then saw a tunnel. Already, he had a sense of fear as they crept towards the opening of the dark tunnel.

“Get your flashlights on, men!” he told his platoon. Then, abruptly, bright flashes of light filled the tunnel – just like it had in his dream. Just as that happened, a flood of thoughts entered his mind. Will I die? What will happen? Is what happened in my dream actually going to happen?

After the light had disappeared, 3 members had vanished. That’s it, he thought, I must order a retreat. But then, he remembered that he was told only to retreat if necessary. What would the Commanding Officer think of me if I ordered a retreat just because of a dream? Conward didn’t know what to do.

“Retreat.” Conward finally said. His platoon was in astonishment.

“But, we have orders to only retreat if necessary,” a Guardsmen replied.

“I don’t care, just retreat!” Conward then said again.

“But…”

“Now!” Conward said angrily. “Do you want to die, or not?” With that, they started falling back. As they were slowly moving backwards, Conward heard footsteps.
“Wait! Hold your positions! I heard something.” Conward said just loud enough for his company to hear. All went silent, as they listened. Just as they had emerged from the cave, a powerful bolt of dark energy found its way into the back of guardsmen. Totally dismantled, the Guardsmen begged for help. The only thing they could do however, was shoot him. He was too badly injured, and being caught alive by the Dark Eldar was certain death and pain. After that, more shots fired.

“Return fire!” Conward commanded. “We need artillery support! ASAP!” Conward messaged to the ship in orbit above the planet.”

“It’ll be 10 minutes, Sergeant; you’ll have to hold out tell then.”

Conward then saw something he dreaded. Tom had been stabbed to death. Conward ran towards him, almost in tears. He had been stabbed and shot at least 20 times. Conward then angrily took his powersword and Bolt pistol and turned around to face a Haemonculus. Its eyes wide and red, mouth in a smile as it held two sharp scythes in its hands.

Conward slashed his powersword in the direction of the Haemonculus only to miss. The Haemonculus had incredible speed. Dodging Conwards attack, it used its scythes and sliced open Conwards side as fresh blood spilled out of the wound. Conward screamed in agony, pleasing the Haemonculus, which then launched another attack towards Conward, which bounced off Conwards armour.

Conward then viciously attacked back with a series of attacks from his powersword, finally taking down the Haemonculus.

Then, above roared the engines of the attack ship above.

“Fall back to cover!” Conward commanded. “We got artillery support! Fall back to cover!” he repeated once more.

The rest of the platoon that had survived ran to the safety of their Lander as furious explosions, and racks of fire pounded the Dark Eldar behind them.

They took off in the Lander and joined up with the rest of the companies on the ship which had already finished their scout mission.

Finally, they were safe…

The War of the Beard raged for nearly a thousand years both sides hrefused to give in and the battles were bloody, the climax of the war was the Battle of Three Towers at the elven city of Tor Alessi; it was here that the elven Phoenix King Caledor II was slain by the dwarven High King Gotrek Starbreaker. Gotrek took the Phoenix Crown as compensation for the loss of life and the insult his people has suffered, he then secreted himself inside the walls of the dwarven capital of Karaz-a-Karak. The new Phoenix King was forced to retire from the Old World with his race to defend from yet another Druchii raid under the Witch King, leaving the dwarfs the rulers of the Old World – until the Time of Woe for the sturdy beings.

But not all elves followed their king’s orders, many had become too entwined with the Old World and when the order came the hrefused to return and instead fled into the depth of the ancient forest known as Athel Loren. They abandoned the ways of the Asur and instead lived in harmony with the wood which was in fact alive, the denizens of the wood were spirits and ancient beings; many embraced the elves and enjoyed the improved protection they elves gave. Others were not quite so inclined to share and many became hateful towards the elves, who now bore the name Asrai, and shunned them. Problems hit the Asrai and their companions of the wood, including a betrayal of many of the woodland spirits leading into a bloody period of their time; and their first true dealings with humankind in the form of Bretonnians. Once again elven kind faced their once allies – now enemies – in the form of dwarfs. In the Imperial year of 1350, a one Grungni Goldfinder led an expedition into the woods from the Grey Mountains; he was repulsed by the combined forces of elf and spirit before Grungni was finally slain. This battle is well recorded in the dwarven Dammaz Kron and by the elven mages, with many grudges being written in dwarven book that day. And all know dwarfs never forget grudges.

For the umpteenth time in the past hour Algrim Forkbeard glanced down at the receding mists of the Grey Mountains and wondered if their approach had been noticed. It wasn’t as if a marching column of dwarfs was a thing that could easily be hidden or move swiftly and the march though the winter snow didn’t help. But Algrim thanked the gods that the mountain mist gave good cover for his approach. Look forward down the mountain path again Algrim spied a dwarf running back up towards him, one of his scouts. As the ranger reached his lord Algrim waited a few minutes to allow the dwarf to get his breath back.

“Greetings Lord Algrim.” said his scout rather formerly.

“Greetings Ungrun. What word of the path head?” replied Algrim.

“It looks good m’lord. We made it to the forest edge with no sign of the elgi, Skalf even managed to enter a few feet into it’s edge without any danger. I think we will be undetected, m’lord.”

“Good, good. How much further is it to travel?” Algrim asked, behind him the column of dwarfs had stopped; many reaching for ale or pipes in the brief break they had.

“About three miles sire, a few hours travel at best.” answered his scout. Scratching his beard thoughtfully Algrim looked once more down into the mist, even now small patches opened within its dense form revealing the high, white snow capped tree tops of the wood known as Athel Loren.

“Then we will camp here tonight. On the morrow we shall march into the elgi home and right the wrongs done unto us.” he finally said with a firm belief stamped into his words. “You and your rangers are to spread out along this road, I don’t want any surprises tonight.” Nodding the scout quickly bowed and once again took off down the mountain path, from their hiding places two more rangers slipped out into the light and followed. T isn’t right a dwarf liking above ground more than below Algrim thought with a shake of his head, then turning to the musician to his right he issued the order to break for camp to be passed quietly down the ranks. With once last look at the hidden wood he turned and marched his way back up the sloping path to choose the best place for his tent.

* * * *

Norreisa slowly walked through the trees that lay spread out in the sacred grove, her long thin fingers delicately trembled along the rough bark of the great wooden giants. Even with her eyes shut she could walk through the tangled mess of roots with ease and without fear of catching one of them, as well as her eyes being closed her breathing was deep and slow. It was as if she was sleep walking. Under the shut lids of her eyes a slight glow could be seen, Norreisa wasn’t asleep but was communicating with her very surroundings – the wood. She was a spellweaver of the Kel-Isha kindred and here in the sacred Glade of Woe she felt what the wood felt; each movement and each drop of snow, the time of years past, she knew where her kind were and where the spirits of the forest dwelt. She felt the great Oak of Ages where her lady and liege now slept through the winter, she could feel them inside its massive trunk and the guards outside. The sensations were as if they were her own, it was like she was the forest then suddenly something changed. Out on the borders of the wood near the Grey Mountains she felt something, something that didn’t belong there. It was only for a fleeting moment and wasn’t long enough to see what the being was but she felt something of a black cloud gathering and she began to concentrate on the area near to Pine Crags more.

If something was there she would find it.

* * * *

Before morning had truly broken the dwarf army was on the move, the lazy, pale smoke of their nights camp site drifted off into the cold winter wind. It took just over an hour but as the sloping pathway split one leading further down the Grey Mountains the other led to the eastern most entrance of Athel Loren and this is where Algrim Forkbeard now stood, glaring down at the large trees as if daring the inhabitants to appear. With a contemptuous snort Algrim began the walk down the slope towards Ungrun and his rangers waiting at the entrance of the wood, their crossbows raised and loaded. Beside Algrim was his army, over two hundred and fifty dwarfs; each one clad in heavy plated armour bearing a shield and either an axe or hammer. Knowing where he was going Algrim had ensued the use of any missile weapon other than that of the rangers, without clear flatlands he doubted they’d be worth it. Instead he had invested that money in armouring his clansmen, as well as the revered longbeards. These ancient warriors marched without word unless it was to complain about much more or stronger or greater something was back in their time, whilst he dared not voice it Algrim was slightly annoyed with the grumbling of these older beings – but was happy to have their experience and axes with him. He himself was the single most heavily armoured dwarf present, plates of heavily engraved and worked gromril encompassed his sturdy form; runes of his peoples so called magic were etched into its surface making it more than capable of withstanding a blow from a troll. In his mail clad hands he held his family’s heirloom the Axe of Dali, a weapon so old it hailed from the time when elf and dwarf traded in friendship but during the War of Vengeance it had earned the name of Elgi Drung – or Elf Vanquisher – and no elf who faced the dwarf wielding it had lived. A flash of a bright colour drew Algrim’s eyes to the right and he had almost forgotten about the beings who wandered in a loose group away from the army, slayers. The dishonoured dwarfs had heard of his plans and joined in hopes of repaying debts or finding death, either way the dwarf lord was glad they were there – it meant any large beast they encountered would have it’s hands full. Then finally there was his bodyguard, a small detachment of hammerers; the best fighters of the dwarven race. Their stoic forms marched in perfect unison and even in their heavy armour they were more than a match for almost anything they should meet in the woods.

As the column reached the bottom of the slope Ungrun left his group of rangers and approached Algrim,

“Good day sire. There has been nothing yet, no sign or sound of anything alive has been heard all day.” he reported

“Good. Then lets not waste what little time we may have. Shall we?” With that Algrim gestured forward for Ungrun and his scouts to take point, the lightly armoured dwarfs moved quickly into the undergrowth and entered the woods; their almost silent movements were followed by the thumping of two hundred and fifty sturdy dwarven boots upon the twig covered floor. Upon entering under the arching branches it was as if they had entered an entirely new world, all round them was dark – even the dwarven underground eyesight failed to penetrate the gloom very far but from what they could see they wasn’t quite so sure they wanted too. All round them were trunks of trees that rose high into the darkened canopy, the circular wooden columns were bigger than many of the stone versions that supported the roof back home in their underground city. The branches of the oversized trees stretched over the floor and intertwined with one another so much it was impossible to tell which branch belonged to which tree, others drooped close to the floor like age had caught up with them. From the floor great roots burst from the snowy ground like a sea creature rising from the waves for air before they dove right back into the hardened earth, from places all around the great wooden giants the creatures of the forest froze at the new comers. Small animals froze in the process of digging their winter provisions up in fear of these new creatures coming to thieve their stash, others looked upon them from high above; beady red eyes glinted out of the darkness before vanishing but what unnerved the dwarfs the most was the sound. Or the lack there of. Not a single sound came from the forest, it was as if death held its home there, many quickly found themselves wondering the intelligence of the campaign.

Algrim felt the same as his men but he had sworn to wipe out the grudges in the Dammaz Kron or die trying, thinking fast he muttered about the dark and as if he had been slapped across the face his head stopped dead. Turning to the hammerers beside him;

“Get the lanterns out. That should help.” And maybe it’ll help morale Algrim thought to himself. Moments later the order had been passed down the line and each regiment of dwarfs were bringing out lanterns of all shapes and sizes, some were closed boxes in which a candle was housed, some were little more then a candle sat atop of a flat sheet of metal but some were the rare and ancient glow globes. These gems were etched with runes that would give off a light, they were the same type of stones that lit the passage ways inside a dwarven city and it was rare to see any – let alone the amount Algrim’s group had – outside a dwarven city. The darkness receded quickly leaving a large area of light encompassing the dwarven contingent so much for stealth thought Algrim as he decided they had enough light and once more took up the march, the rangers pushing on slightly in front but close enough to be seen by the closest dwarf. The dwarfs had entered Athel Loren.

* * * *

The trees felt a presence, the wood was ancient and sentient; even the small sprites that made their home within the bark of the great oaks and elms knew there was something there. Something that harmed them before, something that would harm them again. An enemy.

Norreisa’s eyes shot open as she released herself from the spell and the wood, the thing she had spotted before turned out to be more than one; in fact it turned out to be several hundred. Panic gripped her as she quickly slipped between the roots of the trees and made towards the gathering of mages. Many turned with startled or puzzled looked written upon their faces as the young spellweaver entered the hall without ceremony.

“My Lord Arhuan, there is a force that has entered the wood. They entered the eastern entrance at the Pine Crags. .” Norreisa breathed, more of the mages wore puzzled looks at her command. It was spellweaver Arhuan who approached her;

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice as smooth and soft as a babbling brook.

“Yes M’lord, the bearded ones have entered our realms once more. Nearly two hundred of them and they are heading towards the Kings Glade as we speak.” retorted Norreisa, her words drew gasps from many of the mages present; others snorted. One stood up from the back;

“And how do you know this?” he snorted in disbelief

“From the forest. I was communicating with it when I felt something, it was only briefly but it didn’t belong. Then I took a closer look and discovered a war host had entered our realms. I don’t believe they have gotten far but it’s only a matter of time…” she said before her heckler interrupted her

“If this is true then why have none of the spirits or waywatchers appeared to us? Why is it only you know?” he challenged. Norreisa was about to reply when Arhuan stepped in once more;

“Now Lusean, calm down.” then turning to Norreisa, “He does have a point though, we have heard nothing of this. Would not the dryads have appeared?” As she opened her mouth to speak Arhuan raised his hand and stalled her , “But we cannot ignore this. Lusean and myself will go and see if what you say is true, Oceion here will send a waywatcher to check with their own eyes. We shall not be caught unaware.” Norreisa nodded and watched as the mages split off to do their duty, with a sigh she sat down and prayed to Isha that the dwarfs would never find the Kings Glade.

* * * *

High above the ground a dark shadow moved along the branches, speed was at the essence but even as fast as it was it was nought but a blur among the blackness. Ythil swept quickly over the branches, so quickly in fact his feet barely graced the wood before they were onto the next. Ever since his old friend Oceion had told him of a threat to the forest no less than an hour ago did Ythil move swifter than a great eagle in flight as he sprinted across the trees of Loren, for anything to get this far into the woods undetected was near unheard of but with it being winter the forest was slow and weary. In this season it was up to the elven people to protect their home and the forest from such things but this was the first time for a long while that anything had gotten beyond a few hundred yards into the woodland. Deftly he leapt from his branch with nothing but a squeak of wood and caught a dangling vine mid flight , using his momentum he swung himself over the path way and onto the branches leading towards the Pine Crags; he was moving across the branches again before he had even landed silently among the animals there. He was but another shadow.

Ythil dropped to the forest floor as he reached the Pine Crags forest edge and it appeared the spellweaver was correct. They did have company. Expertly he ran his fingers over the floor, the footprints were dwarven; the heavy tread and short step was a give away and it appeared there was more than one. Well over ten score Ythil thought and heading towards the kings Glade as said. Standing erect he pursed his lips and gave three short sharp blasts, moments later a small grey bird drifted down from the treetops and landed upon the waywatchers out stretched hand. Raising the bird to his lips he softly began to whisper something into its ears then with a flick of his wrist and a single caw the bird was gone, Ythil watched for as long as possible then turned and began to follow the tracks of the dwarfs.

* * * *

Algrim muttered as he adjusted himself within his armour as best he could, despite it being the depths of winter the amount of armour he wore was stifling and the trees about him seemed to just swallow the cool air. For over an hour now they had wandered in near dark apart from the occasional flash of sunlight that spilled from a gap in the canopy, not that he minded the darkness but this wasn’t like the cool caverns of the mountains. Not at all, this was a darkness that swallowed all and help things; things that hid and things that hadn’t seen a creature other than an elf in centuries. It was these Algrim was wary of, more than once he had spotted a number of red eyes peering back out the darkness at him only for them to disappear whenever the light was shone that way. Around him his army marched in near silence, only the occasional chatter drifted forward before it was swallowed by the closed air; there was now noise but it was less animal like and sounded more like a voice. “Go back. You’re not welcome here.” Algrim thought he could hear it say, and he wasn’t alone for many of the dwarfs in the ranks had heard the same.

Just as he thought he was going mad Ungrun came jogging towards him, with a bow he met his lord;

“Hail sire. A couple more hundred yards ahead of us is a glade. It’s open to the skies and there’s no trees. I’ve had a quick look and could see no danger, might I suggest we rest there for a moment m’lord?” offered Algrim’s master scout. Nodding thoughtfully Algrim approved of Ungrun’s forethought and agreed, within moments the formation was moving again. They entered the glade and Algrim saw that Ungrun’s assessment was correct, there was no danger. Slowly the units began to break up and many moved into small groups, the noise of ale barrels being cracked open and the smell of pipes being lit assaulted his ears and nostrils; the smell and sound drew a smile to his worn face. Turning to his guard he nodded to them to join in, all but two immediately floated towards the ale and pipe weed. Algrim stood studying the patch of open ground they stood in. On all sides the thick trunks of the trees had formed a perfect circle, not a single tree stood within the glade, not even a sapling; this was something that concerned Algrim. Even above him the perfect circle of the canopy did little to alleviate the feeling that was beginning to muster in his breast, frowning he looked down at the floor and kicked the snow covering the ground. The rock hard earth jarred his foot earning itself a muttered curse from Algrim. The frozen ground was packed with leaves under the snow and thick bladed grass; nothing special. Maybe I am being a bit paranoid thought Algrim and with a little huff he turned and joined his fellow dwarfs near the fire they had somehow managed to light.

The noise of their drinking grew until they forgot where they were, the ale sloshed about in wooden tankards and great rings of thick grey smoke were puffed out as each dwarf tried to outdo the previous one. Algrim was half way through a tale involving his grandfather and a dragon when a moaning swept through the clearing upon the wind, instantly all froze as the noise rolled around them like thunder pealing across a stormy sky. Then as quickly as it came it went. A silence had now descended upon the dwarfs, occasionally punctuated by a cough here or there but it was utterly shattered by Ungrun.

“Sire! Sire!” he bellowed, kicking up sods of snow as he rushed across the white covered floor.

“What? What is it Ungrun?” Algrim tried not to sound desperate but wasn’t quite sure he managed it.

“It’s Morgrim sire.” Then at the questioning look upon his masters face he added, “He’s gone. Vanished.” Algrim was taken back by the news, he stood there staring stupefied at the ranger;

“Show me.” was all he could mutter before he followed the scout to the edge of the forest where Morgrim had been stationed. Lying there in the grass was a tankard, the alcoholic contents had stained the pure white ground a pale brown colour but of the owner there was no sign; only the dwarfs heavy prints marred the snow and there was no sign of blood. Algrim frowned as he surveyed the scene, his eyes scanned the floor looking for anything then he scanned the tree line. Turning to Ungrun;

“Make three search parties, you have an hour then we leave with or without him. The elgi will just pay more.” he said through gritted teeth, taking one last look at the trees he stormed back towards the mass of dwarfs barking orders. Behind him Ungrun began to form the search parties, three dwarfs in each – one with a light, one with a crossbow and one with his weapon drawn; each was to stay within sight of the other parties at all times. With that the three groups ploughed back into the enclosing darkness of the forest.

As they entered the gloom once more the bright lights of their lanterns seemed to shrink, the pool of light barely enough to encompass the three dwarfs in each party. Their harsh voices called for their comrade only for the sound to be returned or swallowed by the wooden jungle, but no sign of the ranger or his capturer. For an hour they bellowed and moved as far as they dared into the thicket of the wood but their searches came up empty; finally with one sorrow filled look Ungrun scanned the track they had left some hours ago and stepped back into the glade.

High above the edge of the glade a shadow sat watching with keen eyes, his eyes danced from group of dwarf to group of dwarf; counting and calculating their numbers and strength. A noise beside him drew his gaze, a bound being with a face full of hair screamed uselessly into the gag across his mouth; anger blazed in his slate grey eyes.

“Shush dwarf. You will die soon enough. But not before you have proven your worth.” uttered the shadow in a silky voice, then returning his gaze back to the glade he watched as they packed up and left; entering the Forest of Loren even deeper. Not for long he thought. As the last dwarf left the glade Ythil stood and looked at the captured dwarf; with a smile upon his lips he kicked him off the branch they he was perched upon.

Every Orkoid, from the lowliest Squig to the Mightiest Warboss, generates Waaagh energy. As such, the larger the Ork population in a given area, the stronger the Waaagh becomes. The amount exuded by each Orkoid is not constant; it varies between the sub-species, and with the state of the individual in question. An Ork releases more when it is excited, for example during combat. Also the bigger and more important the Ork, the more Waaagh it produces. The Orks’ hierarchical system is based on this, as each Ork can subconsciously feel the Waaagh field of others, and sense who is in charge.

As well as forming a basis for their hierarchy, the Waaagh affects Orks in several other ways. Physiologically speaking, the Waaagh has a significant effect on the Orkoid race. As field strength increases, the Waaagh accelerates the Orks’ biological processes, leading to an increase in size and muscle mass. Additionally, psychological changes lead to an enhancement of the Orks’ natural aggressive qualities. These effects have been observed in both an individual and group setting. For example, a large community of Orks constantly embroiled in warfare will produce a significantly larger amount of Waaagh than a smaller, more isolated tribe. As such, Orks in the larger community will be bigger and much more aggressive than those in the smaller one. Similarly an individual Ork who fights regularly will be bigger and more aggressive then one who does not. A Greenskin who has achieved feats of Orky valour in battle, or who is preparing to challenge a superior for leadership, will likely have an inflated belief in himself. He will therefore increase in size as he is producing more Waaagh energy.

Orkoids reproduce via spores, upon which the Waaagh can have vast influence. If these spores fall near a large Ork settlement (hence near a strong psychic field) they are unlikely to develop into mature Orkoids, regardless of the suitability of the conditions. This has the effect of ensuring the Orks maintain a suitable population density. Conversely, if a spore falls in and area with a weak or non-existent psychic field, it is far more likely to enter the incubation phase of Ork reproduction.

Within each spore resides the entire Orkoid genome. As such, an individual spore, regardless of its source, can become any of the Orkoid subspecies. The developmental route each spore takes is largely determined by the Waaagh. A weak field will promote the incubation of simple Orkoids (see appendix), which pave the way for a larger Orkoid society by providing food and increasing the strength of the Waaagh field. As the field increases in strength, the ratio of complex to simple Orkoids increases. Sudden changes in the psychic field during incubation have been noted to result in a partially mature Orkoid being scrapped and a new one incubated in its place. This system ensures that by the time the Orks emerge, there is a sufficient foundation upon which they can build a community. It can be said that the Waaagh creates a balancing effect on the spore reproductive system. It encourages spore development up to a point, after which it inhibits all further incubation in order to avoid overcrowding of the Ork populace.

It should be noted that the beliefs of an Ork (or Ork community) can alter the way in which certain aspects of the Waaagh manifest themselves. One example of this involves the Clan system, in which Orks with similar ideologies group together. Members of the Bad Moons Clan display accelerated growth of their teeth, which could be caused by the Ork belief that their teeth should grow faster because they are Bad Moons. Similarly the Goff clan, in which the primary driving force is hand to hand combat, tend to be larger than other Orks. This could be a manifestation of the fact that they believe hand to hand fighting is the best form of combat, so they increase their muscle mass in order to excel at it. One area in the fluff that may cast doubt on this theory lies with the Death Skulls. These Orks daub themselves with blue paint in order to bring luck during battle and the subsequent looting. I am unaware of any fluff that actually states they benefit from this, despite the fact they believe themselves to be luckier than other Orks.

This “belief” theory also applies to Ork technology. An Imperial scholar has theorised that the Waaagh provides the Orks with a form of Telekinesis, allowing them to successfully operate mechanically unsound weapons simply by believing they will work. The theory suggests that an Ork who believes his weapon should fire causes the Waaagh to manifest itself telekinetically in order to allow the weapon to function. In the hands of a Human, Ork weapons do not work at all, yet Orks use them almost constantly with no maintenance whatsoever. The Orkish belief (regarding vehicles) that “Red wunz go fasta” lends support to this theory. Despite the fact that red paint should not affect the maximum velocity of an Ork vehicle, those with red paint schemes do indeed travel faster than comparable, yet differently coloured, vehicles. Many Imperial scholars now doubt the validity of these claims, stating that captured Ork technology is likely too badly damaged to be reliably tested, or utterly incomprehensible to anyone save its creators. As such, Humans cannot accurately test such technology, meaning conclusions drawn from previous tests are unreliable and should be disregarded. These arguments do nothing to explain the additional speed a red paint job grants an Ork vehicle however.

The Waaagh has a distinct effect on Ork migration. Occasionally an ambitious Ork Warboss will develop a desire for conquest and will attempt to increase his standing by uniting nearby Ork tribes (often through open warfare). He will therefore increase in muscle mass and generate more Waaagh. As the Warboss increases in size and importance he will attract a large band of follower thanks to the Waaagh energy he is creating. When sufficient numbers of Orks have gathered under the Warboss’ banner, they all set off on a mass migration aboard any space worthy ship they possess. These migrations, aptly named “Waaaghs” after the power from which they draw their impetus, have been know to decimate entire systems and occasionally set a mighty Warboss up as a ruler of an Ork empire.

As well as its varied effects on the Orkoid race, the Waaagh can be drawn upon by certain members of Ork Society. These Orks are known as Wyrdboyz, and are considered by many to be comparable to the psychers of other races. The Waaagh energy from which the Wyrdboyz draw their power is not inhabited by the daemonic entities of the Immaterium. As such, a Wyrdboy drawing on the power of the Waaagh is in no danger of daemonic possession, but tapping such a vast reserve of energy is hardly risk free. If a Wyrdboy loses control of the flow of he may absorb too much. The resultant release of energy has unfortunate consequences for both the Wyrdboy and any Orks nearby. Most Wyrdboyz avoid battle and its associated risks, but some become corrupted by the powers they wield and actively seek out combat. Many Warbosses consider a Wyrdboy’s abilities too useful to be left out of the fight, and will often force an unwilling Wyrdboy to accompany him to battle. As is the trend with many other subsets of the Oddboyz, Wyrdboyz are rarely seen in tribes above the “feral” level of Ork Technology.

In summary, I can say that all Orkoids create a background field of psychic energy, known as the Waaagh. This psionic field influences every part of the Ork culture, including their physiological, psychological, technological, reproductive and migratory behaviour. The Ork Wyrdboyz can draw upon this energy in order to cast devastating powers, but by doing so run the risk of triggering an explosive auto-cephalectomy. Without such an energy field, Ork civilisation as it currently exists would not be possible. The all-encompassing nature of the Waaagh supports the theory that Orks are a product of design rather than evolution.
Appendix

Simple Orkoid – Squig (all varieties), Snotling and Gretchin

Complex Orkoids – Orks and Squiggoths

“Nervos belli, pecuniam infinitam”
“The sinews of war are unlimited money” – Marcus Tullius Cicero 106-43 BCE

In the nightmare universe of Warhammer 40K we focus primarily of the military endeavors of the many races which struggle with each other for dominance over the galaxy. The very foundation of this struggle, however, is a basic struggle for survival. Every race fundamentally needs to procure enough food and materials to be able to provide the basic requirements for life for the members of their race before they can look to the provisioning of their militaries. For some races, the struggle for survival is all that matters. The Tyranid race has no concept of money, trade, or production and in fact has no concept of what an economy is, nor do they require it. As a unified collective under the Hive Mind, the only concern of the Tyranid race is to find biological matter and consume it, a compulsion that has become so strong it has driven them across the vast gulfs between galaxies and stars. The Necrons and their C’tan masters have long lost the need for an economy as every living Necrontyr was transformed into a warrior of living metal, their struggle for the provisions of life are long over. Their C’tan overlords seek only to consume the electro-magnetic energy of the sentient races of the galaxy, and as such they produce nothing and have no need or want of an economy. The other major races in the year 40,000, humanity, the Tau, the Orks, and the Eldar, all seek to procure a sustained living from the worlds and natural resources of the galaxy and as such they each have systems of production and distribution of goods, and therefore they each have economies although all are very different from each other. The military might of each of these races is entirely dependent on their ability to produce the machines and tools of war. In fact, the war for the galaxy is the war for the resources of the galaxy which are required for these races to expand their populations and survive. As a war for survival, the battle for the galaxy is primarily an economic one, and so an understanding of the economies of the galaxy is important in understanding how each race wages their wars. This paper will describe the economic strategies followed by four of the six major races of the Warhammer 40K world.

The Imperium

The sheer economic power of the great Imperium of Man is unrivaled in all the galaxy. On a million worlds, countless farms and factories produce the lifeblood of humanity, but the economic behemoth that is the Imperium is utterly complex and inefficient. Nearly every planet is expected to contribute to the defense of the realms of man in some way, no matter how small. The twin juggernauts of the Imperial Guard and the Imperial Fleet require mind bogglingly large amounts of fuel, food, ammunition, weapons, money, raw materials, and manpower to continue operation, and these requirements increase exponentially in times of war. Even the fearsome Adeptus Astartes are entirely dependent on the factories of the Imperium to provide them with ships and equipment, without which they would be worthless. In addition to the fighting forces of man, the massive beaurocracy has its own requirements. With such vast amounts of resources produced and distributed, the Imperium of Man performs economic miracles on a daily basis, as sometimes the Imperium cannot even describe how their economy manages to function, only that it does. This is the legacy of Malcador, the Emperor’s regent and the first Master of the Administratum, probably the greatest organizational mind ever to exist.

Although very complex, there is a specific design behind the Emperor’s economy. The Imperial economy functions on four distinct levels. The first and most basic level is the planetary level. Every world in the Imperium is ruled by a planetary governor, a single autocrat who has free reign to rule their feifdom as they please. In return for the right to rule their planet, they must obey and enforce Imperial law, protect their planet from the enemies of the Emperor, and most importantly meet their Imperial Tithe requirements. The Imperial Tithe is different for every world, and could include anything from raw funds to food to weapons to starships and repair facilities, and is paid to the Officio Munitorium wing of the Administratum. How they choose to carry out these duties is, in general, left entirely up to the planetary governor and their extended family, called the Imperial House. With this type of organization, the economic systems of most planets are determined by the ancient pre-Imperial culture of the world and the direction of the Imperial House. However, the economic goals of certain worlds produces a predilection for a certain type of economy.

Agri-worlds that specialize in grains and vegetables have a tendency to follow a feudalistic type of economy, where large tracts of land are owned and managed by noble families and the land is worked by serfs or slave labor. These land owning families pay their tithes to the Imperial House who then uses that for their own costs, funding the PDF, and to pay the Imperial Tithes expected of them. Any crops not taken for the Imperial Tithe are the property of the noble families and are free to be sold or traded at their will. Many planets in the Imperium largely consist of vast oceans that teem with sea life, and as land is at a premium they are commonly used as agri-worlds. Vast fleets of fishing vessels roam the seas catching and processing any edible sea life they can, filling their holds before going back to port. Many times these fleets are owned and run by noble houses and crewed by serfs or slaves as on farming worlds, but they are also commonly owned and operated by various historical clans and tribes, or operated by guilds under contract to the Imperial House. They pay their tithes to the Imperial House and what is left is theirs to sell or trade with as they please. Still, on other sea worlds the Imperial House owns all of the vessels and controls the entire economy of the planet. Meat is a valuable commodity in the Imperium, and on some planets a kilogram of meat can cost a fortune and only the wealthiest Imperial citizens can afford it. Meats are gathered from two kinds of planets, safari worlds and herd worlds. Safari worlds are largely undeveloped worlds teeming with life where individual trappers or groups of organized hunters hunt animals for food and any other valuables that can be extracted from them. Some animal skins or teeth or organs have special properties that make them quite valuable. Hunters on these worlds are fairly clannish but infighting is rare. The Imperial House on these planets generally function as either merchants, purchasing all the meat gathered by the hunters and selling them to other worlds, or as facilitators, organizing grand meets where hunters and merchants can get together and haggle and then taxing the transactions. Because of the unpredictability of production of safari worlds, Imperial Tithes are generally very low. Herd worlds are planets given entirely over to vast herds of meat beasts such as cattle or buffalo, or even gigantic sauropods. Many of these worlds are feral worlds with low technology levels that are dependent entirely on cattle culture, and others are significantly more high-tech utilizing walking robots to herd and protect their beasts. Even in the most technologically advanced herd worlds, social organization is based around clans and tribes, with each clan owning their own herds and periodically raiding the herds of other tribes to expand their own. The Imperial House on these planets commonly acts as merchants, purchasing or trading for cattle that they then sell and tithe, and acting as peace brokers between the clans.

Mining worlds are vital to the Imperium as vast amounts of metals are required for warships and munitions. The Administratum is very hands on with its mining worlds, as many of them are airless rocks and all mining worlds require strict organization of resources and rationing to function. Mining worlds have massive mining facilities and produce raw metals in vast quantities that require a constant stream of ships to carry to other planets to be refined and utilized. The Imperial Tithe on these worlds is severe, many times consisting of the entire production value of the planet. Mining worlds are very strictly communist with the Imperial House controlling every aspect of life, workers being little more than slaves receiving the provisions of survival for labor. What little ore mining worlds are left with after the required Tithe is sold to nearby worlds in return for food, air, water, equipment, weaponry, and slaves and servitors as mining is dangerous work.

The majority of the worlds of the Imperium are civilized worlds and these vary as widely in social structure and economic organization as they do in culture. Each of these worlds have their own mining and agricultural operations, and unlike many worlds they refine their own natural resources and turn them into finished product. The Imperial House on these worlds either owns all of the means of production and rules the process in a communistic fashion, or owns and operates their own facilities for producing what is required of them in their Tithe. Most civilized worlds use a capitalistic economy, where businesses, farms, mines, and factories are owned by families, houses, or guilds. They pay taxes to the Imperial House and the rest is theirs to trade or sell at will. A very few civilized worlds operate under a type of socialism, although this has little bearing on the economic organization of the world. The means of production are still privately owned and the Imperial House takes what they need for the tithe through taxes. Although in the strictest sense it is illegal, many planetary governors utilize the mutant population of their planets as cheap or forced labor, isolating them in slums and ghettos and working them much harder than the rest of the population. The civilized worlds are the backbone of the Emperor’s economy as they require very little in the way of resources from off world and yet produce more than enough to pay their required tithes and provide for sufficient development. Another boon they provide is the foundation for the mercantilism and free trade of the Imperium that encourages development, increases quality of life, and provides vital commerce for taxation by the Imperium.

Prison worlds are run entirely by the Administratum and have no ruling families to oversee them. Instead penal worlds are ruled by an Administratum agent called a Warden, who with their staff presides over even the minutest aspect of life on the planet. Prison planets are almost entirely populated by convicted criminals, all for minor crimes as those who commit any serious offence in the Imperium are put to death. These prisoners are used as forced labor, working fields, mining raw materials and refining them, producing technical equpment and weaponry for use by the armed forces of the Imperium. Life as a prisoner is rough and dangerous, because many times the most valuable resource on a penal world is the prisoners themselves. Prisoners are used in medical experiments, forced into military service, given over to the Adeptus Mechanicus to become servitors, or sold as slaves. The entirety of a penal world is offered up to the Officio Munitorium, so the Tithe does not apply. The cheap labor and products are vital to the Imperial war effort and penal colonies serve another purpose. Many penal colonies have been created on new nearly uninhabitable worlds as the first step of the Imperium’s colonization strategy.

The lynchpin of the Imperial economy are the hive worlds. Inhabited by hundreds of billions of imperial citizens, the raw manufacturing power of a hive world is incredible. Most commonly a hive world has already been stripped of natural resources and so everything that a hive world utilizes is brought in from nearby worlds. Food is brought in and sold from agri-worlds. Raw materials are brought in from mining worlds and then used to construct the many tools and machines necessary for the Imperium. The economies of such worlds are the most complex of any world in the Imperium. Normally it takes the form of a feudal system, created by a hierarchy of contracts and subcontracts. A good example of the economy of a hive world is Necromunda. The society of Necromunda is organized around several houses. The world of Necromunda is controlled by the Imperial House Helmawr, who is responsible for enforcing law and providing the heavy tithe exacted from all hive worlds. Their tithe consists of money, conscripts for Imperial Guard and Imperial Navy service, and vast quantities of weaponry, vehicles, and ammunition for the Imperial military. House Helmawr acquires what they need for themselves and for the tithe through contract with the noble houses of Necromunda: the Greim, the Ulanti, the Ty, the Ran Lo, the Catallus, and the Ko’Iron. These noble houses are financiers and merchants, who make their money by making loans and investments in the lesser houses, importing food, water, air, and fuel and selling them to the lesser houses, and trading all across the sector. The lesser houses of Necromunda; Cawdor, Escher, Goliath, Van Saar, Orlock, and Delaque, are under contract to the noble houses to provide certain materials for them in return for payment. The economic battle upward for these lesser houses is an impossible one as their contracts with the noble houses run them at a deficit, and so warfare between the houses is clandestine but ever-present.

There are some worlds that are separated from the Imperial economy. Cardinal worlds, Space Marine home worlds, Inquisition strongholds, and listening posts are all directly under Imperial control and their contribution is not an economic one. The populations of Cardinal Worlds are entirely devoted to the praise of the Emperor and the maintenance of the shrines and cathedrals on the world. They are funded by mandatory contributions made by pilgrims and further supported by the Eccesiarchy using funds raised on other worlds. Space Marine homeworlds are mostly feral worlds and are left to fend for themselves, producing nothing for the Imperium other than recruits for the Space Marine chapter that makes its home there. Inquisition fortresses are funded by tithes directed by the Officio Munitorium, and listening posts are largely the wards of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Forge worlds are the colonized worlds of the Priesthood of Mars and as such are a separate empire unto themselves, but the forge worlds have a major part to play in the Imperium. The Adeptus Mechanicus is a separate empire from the Imperium and as such is only allowed to trade with the Administratum. Rogue traders have license to trade on forge worlds, but all other Imperial merchant families are forbidden. As a part of the ancient treaty between the Emperor and Mars the Imperium provides the forge worlds with food, water and raw materials, and in return the Adepts of Mars provide machines, ships, and tanks to the Imperium and provide the Techpriests needed to maintain and operate these machines. Forge worlds are organized by beaurocracy, and at the head is a single techpriest who rules over the planet as autocrat. As they are united by their goals, a forge world is best described as a communist economy as there is no currency and techpriests and servitors alike are paid in rations.

The next step up is the sector and sub-sector level. The large scale organization of the Imperium is very feudal, with certain worlds owing fealty to other worlds of the Imperium. Sub-sectors are organized around a vital planet, usually a hiveworld, and the other worlds in the sub-sector are subservient to the major world. The Imperial House of the hub world has some control over the worlds in its sub-sector, but only militarily in organizing the defense of the sub-sector against invaders and pirates. The prominent merchant families of the area are normally based on the hub-world and then send their fleets of merchant vessels from planet to planet all throughout the sector. Merchant houses gain the right to trade on the various worlds of the Imperium through treaty and although their network of treaties stays largely inside their sector, primarily because of the limitations of warp travel, those houses prominent enough to sign contracts with the Navis Nobilite will forge treaties with worlds outside of their sector. These merchants are lifeblood of the Imperium, carrying vital supplies such as food and water to hive worlds that require it and then carrying technical equipment and other goods to agri and civilized worlds, all for profit of course. As a part of their treaties though, they are under the fealty of the sector-lord and can be pressed into service of the sector fleet in times of dire need.

The highest level or organization are the five major segmentum that comprise the Imperium. Although these are largely concerned with military organization, it is here that the buck stops. The Imperial Tithe eventually finds its way to each of the segmentum hubs; Terra, Hydraphur, Cypra Mundi, Bakka, and Kar Dunaish. The Imperial Houses of each of these planets are the lords of the entire segmentum, with the exception of Mars because that is an Adeptus Mechanicus world. Each segmentum is largely independent and the Imperialis Command Decoriatum determine how the Imperial Tithes are to be utilized and distributed. Of course a portion of these Tithes are bound for Terra, but the vast majority of it stays in segmentum. Understanding the Imperial economy at this level would be impossible, as each segmentum contains hundreds of thousands of worlds all interconnected by a web of ancient trade treaties and merchant trade routes.

Eldar

The Eldar are an ancient and complex race, and although similar in appearance to a human, their desires and motivations are entirely beyond human comprehension. The Eldar race has divided themselves into three major cultures in the wake of the fall of their civilization, and each follows a different economic and social organization.

The Craftworlds were originally space borne factory complexes, created as the Eldar culture was approaching its fall by a conservative sect of Eldar. The Craftworlds have kept the same economic organization for ten thousand years, as the way of the Craftworld is a moral imperative for the Eldar who live within them. Craftworlds are organized around the truest form of communism, much like the Kibbutzim that existed in early 20th century Palestine. All property is held in common, and even children are raised in a crèche not knowing who their parents are. The Eldar of the Craft have no currency and when they do trade with aliens, rogue traders, or other craftworlds, they do so on the basis of equivalent trade based on need. The majority of the population of a craftworld is devoted to basic labor in manufacturing and producing food, and they rotate their jobs periodically so that all the Eldar don’t specialize in one function and fall to the Eldar’s predilection to obsession with perfecting that one duty. For the most part, however, Craftworlds are self-sufficient and produce what they need for their own survival themselves, distributing it equally without internal trade.

The Dark Eldar follow the ways of the Eldar race at the time of the fall, and they are feudal and capitalist, however their entire economy is driven by their pursuit of pleasure and power. The entire foundation and focus of the Dark Eldar economy is slavery. The slaves that the Dark Kin take in raids are used for the manufacturing of the tools of war required for their raids, and the raw materials for the construction of these weapons are also acquired on raids from any of the races in the galaxy, including their food. As they steal what they need to live, most of their slaves are used for pleasure, and are considered like cattle. Slaves are traded mostly to seal pacts between Kabals and Wych Cults, Haemonculi, Hellions, and Mandrakes, or alliances with other Kabals in the Dark City. Those that have outlived their usefulness in workshops are tortured, their souls eaten, or slaughtered in gladiatorial pits for amusement and political pandering.

Exodites have chosen to follow a simpler way of life than other Eldar, avoiding Slaanesh by returning to the ways of their race long before the fall. Exodites have a cattle-culture and every facet of their lives has to do with herding and caring for their food beasts. They have reverted back to a barter economy, where food is traded to craftsmen for their skills and products. The simplicity of their economy is a cornerstone of their society as they believe that complexity would lead to damnation and the victory of The Great Enemy.

Tau

Tau society is focused around a strict caste system and directed by their Etherial caste towards a higher philosophical goal. In itself, the Tau are very communist, having no currency and distributing resources created by the Earth Caste to the members of the other castes as they are needed. The Earth Caste is entirely responsible for the food and equipment that the Tau need to survive, and the production of trade goods that they use to solidify relations with other races. The Air caste is responsible for moving goods from planet to planet, and the Water caste is responsible for brokering trade agreements with other races. Such trade is always done on the basis of equal trade and sometimes based on necessity, but the Tau will commonly trade even if they don’t require anything simply to establish relations with neighboring cultures. Much of their resources go as payment to mercenaries in their hire such as the Kroot and the Nicassar or the Demiurg.

Orks

For a race commonly called simple and blunt, the Orkoids have a fairly complex economic structure, but it is colored by the Ork’s bluntness and warlike psychology. The basic form of currency for the Orks is an Ork’s tooth. However, unlike the Imperial Credit, the Ork Toof doesn’t denote any particular economic vaule, but rather it is a coup point. It is assumed by Orks that teeth are acquired by killing another Ork and prying their tusks out of their corpse, or perhaps overpowering another Ork and prying them out while they’re still alive. Tusks are a sign of an Ork’s virility as a fighter and no Ork would willingly remove their own tusks. In a society that values strength and martial prowess above all else, proof of ones own skill in battle is as good as currency. The more Teef an Ork has the more social clout they have and the more feared they become. Starting a good sized collection of Teef is a good way for any Ork to work their way up the social latter, from Boy to Nob, and Nob to Boss. Were all Orks equally intent on combat then Teef would simply be a decoration, but some Orks focus their attentions elsewhere. Mekboyz, Mad Doks, and Weirdboyz all provide vital services to Ork warbands, but their services are not free. These specialist Orks provide their services to any Ork that has enough Teef to pique their interest.

Teef are just one of the many things that Orks use for trade. Orks that have been isolated from any races but Orks for a long time tend to only have Teef to trade, but when they have it the technology or other races is far more valuable to any Ork. Orks commonly loot the battlefield, taking wrecked enemy vehicles and discarded weaponry. However Ork pride, or sometimes Ork intelligence prevents them from making use of much of this equipment as it is. Much of this looted equipment finds itself in the hands of a Mekboy who will perform custom conversions for a price, usually spare parts, other weaponry, or Teef. Once a group of Orks manages to get off world and ships of their own Teef are no longer the main currency and they generally switch over to a more direct barter economy, but Teef are still used as coinage when equivalent trades are difficult to make.

As an Ork Waaaaaagh spreads and conquers worlds, they invariably enslave the populations they conquer, using them in the same manner that they would use gretchin. Although a horde of Orks can conquer a planet, their sensibilities do not lie in administration and husbandry. Human slaves are doomed under Ork rule. Orks will force their slaves to make weapons and wargear for them, fix and create vehicles, or even build starships, but like grotz Orks will often eat their slaves or kill them just for a laugh. For the period that they are alive, though, slaves will be bartered as well, just like Gretchen slaves are bartered when no other slaves are available.

It is quite an irony that as an Ork culture evolves from feral savagery into space travel and galactic imperialism their economic system becomes increasingly less complex. Feral Orks, which are normally small in number and technologically simple, follow what would be as close as you could call Orky Communism, creating according to the needs of the Ork colony and sharing. As the society grows larger and becomes more advanced they develop into a type of tribal capitalism, and eventually a full free market economy. The most technologically advanced Orks, ones with starships, and the most socially complex, the Ork empire, eventually base their economy on piracy and slave taking and minimalize their use of currency in favor of pure bartering. However, as the Orks lack the administration and organization skill required to base their economy on large scale agriculture and industry and organize a governed economy, piracy and slave raiding become the only viable economic options. This is the exact opposite of the economy of the Imperium. Whereas humans must have an economy so they can wage war, Orks must wage war so they can have an economy.

He was last seen by his legion during the Feast of the Emperor’s Ascension, where it is said that Russ climbed onto the oak table on which he duelled the Emperor at their first meeting to give a speech, but froze. After a long silence, where it appeared that he was overcome with a vision, Leman Russ fell to his knees, then turned and issued hushed instructions to his most faithful retainers. He simply announced to his loyal brothers that he would be leaving, but would return “for the final battle, for the Wolftime”. He then vanished, taking all but one of his retinue with him; the youngest member, Bjorn.

For seven years after Leman Russ departed for parts unknown, many believing him to have travelled to the Eye of Terror, his place was set at the banquet table as his Legion eagerly awaited his return; but it never came. After those long seven years, the wolf lords of the space wolves elected Bjorn, the one remaining member of Russ’ retinue, as the new great wolf of the chapter. Bjorn decided if Russ was not going to return to his chapter, then his chapter would seek him out; this beginning the first of many great hunts. These hunts recovered many relics, including the Primarch’s suit of armour, but none have come close to locating their leader or those that had gone with him.

Bjorn further gained renown on the planet Algol Nine, when he saved the planetary governor from sacrifice to the demon Thran’saba. This event is depicted upon the banner which proudly hangs atop his dreadnought armour that he was later interred inside after receiving grievous wounds from the traitor Primarch Magnus the Red during one of the great hunts. After being fatally wounded Bjorn spends the next five hundred years at the forefront of Space Wolves battles as a dreadnought before drifting a deep slumber that eventually claimed all of the dreadnoughts of the space wolves.

Bjorn the Venerable

Of all of Bjorn’s deeds and service to the Imperium, none are better known to any of the servants of the Imperium that have met or seen Bjorn than his defence of the Fang, the mighty monastery on the space wolves Homeworld of Fenris, against the traitor legion of the thousand sons. The attack itself was the revenge Magnus, for it was the space wolves who had destroyed his world of Prospero just before the Horus Heresy. The attack on the Fang was personally led by Magnus the Red, after he and his legion had carefully manoeuvred the bulk of the space wolves away from their home in pursuit of a distraction force that had been meant to leave Fenris almost completely defenceless.

The Defence of the Fang

Great Wolf Harek Ironhelm sought for many years to bring Magnus to battle. Several times Magnus appeared to him as a vision among the ruins of devastated cities and taunted the great wolf for his inability to stop him. After many fruitless efforts to catch up with the raiders Harek became obsessed, and took to searching worlds along the edge of the Eye of Terror itself. Eventually he found what he believed to be the thousand sons’ secret base on Gangava and launched a full-scale attack against it. In this he was deceived; Gangava was held by a strong garrison of chaos force allied to Magnus but these were a distraction.

Even as Harek attacked Gangava, the fleet of the thousand sons and their chaotic levies appeared in orbit over Fenris. The Fang was held by a skeleton force of space wolves and their thralls. For forty days and forty nights the thousand sons assaulted the citadel. Bjorn the Fell-handed, most ancient of the space wolves dreadnoughts, was woken from his long sleep and took charge of the defence. Under Bjorn’s direction the space wolves fell back to the innermost chambers of the Fang, collapsing the tunnels as they went. Simultaneously, a force of scouts, under the command of Haakon Blackwing, managed to escape from the citadel and take ship to Gangava, bringing word of the siege to Harek. Harek was overcome with fury and shame at his folly and immediately ordered the chapter’s fleet to Fenris, bringing the entire fury of the Space Wolves with him.

As Harek’s fleet arrived in the system, Harek coordinated an attack with Bjorn and the surviving defenders of the Fang before launching and assault to carve out the heart of the thousand sons siege, an assault that the great wolf led personally. On the slopes of the Fang itself, Harek led the space wolves he had taken into the rear of the thousand sons forces while Bjorn led the defenders against the front of the thousand sons attack in a pincer that caught the traitor legion off guard. As Harek’s forces and Bjorn’s forces slowly linked up and began to route the thousand sons, Harek faced off against the evil Primarch himself.

For all Harek’s ability and prowess in combat, he was merely a marine fighting a Primarch that had been forced to embrace the powers of chaos. Magnus was too strong for him and slew Harek, but not before taking a terrible wound himself from Bjorn as the ancient dreadnought surged from his own fighting to help Harek; coming to late to save the great wolf but personally dealing the blow that saw the leader of the thousand sons forced to leave the planet. Caught between two forces and left without a leader, the thousand sons were forced to retreat from Fenris; though some of them do linger on the world and several have been discovered over time.

Bjorn the Legend

Were it not for the actions taken by Bjorn during the initial siege, the world of Fenris would have been lost to the space wolves and the revenge of the thousand sons would have been complete. Bjorn’s stalwart denial of the space wolves worst enemy earned him eternal respect amongst all of the space marine chapters, even the respect of the dark angels, long time rivals of the space wolves.

Bjorn continues to sleep bellow the Fang with the other venerable dreadnoughts, the space wolves will not wake him up for any trivial reason. However he has been known to awaken himself upon rare occasions, between battles he is a renowned storyteller, well versed in the sagas of Leman Russ and he enjoys testing the Wolf Priests. It is rumoured that he is left in his slumber upon his own request, his reason’s being known only by him though if anything it is because he does not wish to walk in an Imperium that has fallen so far from the one he knew ten millennia ago.