Coming Soon...

Kontris IV was a peaceful world; long had it been since the constant war that rages across the Imperium touched its shores. Its citizens lived their lives, paid their tithes, and went around in ignorance at the horrors that sat in the darkness just out of sight.

Kontris IV's time of peace is about to come to an end. The first battles will not be epic clashes of giant armies across once verdant plains but small clashes of men against what were once men but have been perverted into tools.

Tools of the great devourer.

Lemnos: The Final Purging

The Farseer looked across the ugly human garbage heap that was the ruin of their filthy city. How they constantly managed to defile every place they touched always amazed him anew. Only the Orks were worse and one could forgive them; they were trapped in their natures but the Mon Keigh claimed to be nobler creatures. They set a low bar and constantly failed to reach it.

Much Eldar blood would be spilled today, mingling with the humans but this it what it took to get them to put enough of their hapless troops to prevent the followers of the eight fold path to gain the prize they sought on this world then so be it. Their clumsy war machines stumbled forth to meet the sleek elder knights and the battle began...










The Eldar fled back to the webway. The Imperial Fist commander grunted in frustration. "Filthy Xenos!," he spat. This wretched planet had been liberated at last but the cost to the chapter had been extremely high both in personnel and lost relics. The loss of the Sicaran and the gear of the fallen was especially galling; knowing that foul traitors were using it to repair their own kit. He turned back to the ruins of the city and area where the Black Legion had been seeking some arcane artifact. The mechanicum had detected something buried beneath the surface of the world and at this time were assembling a structure; it's purpose not yet clear. Whether designed to excavate the site or defend it from the Black Legion's return he was unsure, but he would not leave until he was satisfied with their answer.

Much Later...

Galak Tor and his men ripped into the last guardians standing between him and the Xenos witch farseer. Alien blood splattered across his black armor, adorned on the surface with centuries of fetishes and trophies from conquests and notable battles. Below was a patchwork of bits and pieces salvaged from a hundred battles. Little of his original armor remained. His men were the same. Much of their repairs had come from their battle decades ago on Lemnos when they had stripped the loyalists remnant sons of Dorn's carcasses bare.

Even as they turned to gun him down, the Farseer stared at them with his arms crossed. Even with his face hidden behind his ornate helm Galak could feel its contempt. Galak sneered and raised his weapon (he had soiled his sword with enough alien blood) when the Farseer made the faintest of gestures with one of its fingers.

Shirken disks ripped into Galak and his men, each round finding hidden weak spots in their armor and cutting deep into their transhuman bodies. Galak himself was paralyzed but the blows had been arranged to cut him down in such a way that he fell to his knees. The Farseer walked over and whispered to him, "You are unworthy but it pleases me to tell you this. The seeds of your death were planted decades ago on the world we chased you from."

Fury filled Galak but as he tried to speak only blood foamed from his lips. The Farseer continued, "I needed only to Guide my warrior in the right place at the right time." The Farseer turned as Galak slumped onto his side, his vision fading for the last time. The last thing he hears was the foul alien continuing to prattle on, "Now the children of Alaitoc will not suffer from the raid you lead that severs the wraithbone spine. Now the maiden world of Kaelas Mithras will not suffer the corruption you bring to it as you burn its lands and slaughter its people. Now my own craftworld will not have cry for the sons and daughters you consign to she who thirsts. Enjoy your damnation. You have well earned it."