warhammersnippets

[warhammersnippets]

“Bolters? Chainswords? All fine weapons, however I wield a far more dangerous power.” From: Epistolary Librarian, MtG Trading Card

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‘Rho-mu 31?’ ‘That is our designation,’ said the Protector. ‘What, all of you?’ ‘All of us, each of us. It is all the same.’

From: Mechanicum, Graham McNeill

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I think "The task is impossible"… But I know nothing is impossible for one with sufficient faith in the glorious Omnissiah. I am honored, my lord

You are. But I have often thought honor is merely duty with a few purity seals. Do not fail.

From: Marneus Calgar (Issue 1), Kieron Gillen

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‘I had a feeling I’d be seeing you again,’ said Zeth. ‘The Cydonian Sisterhood do not forget those who insult us,’ said Remiare. ‘I’d ask how you got in here, but I have a feeling it won’t matter.’ ‘No,’ agreed Remiare. ‘It will not.’ The assassin skimmed slowly over the floor of the chamber towards Zeth, drawing a pair of exquisite golden pistols from her thigh sheaths. ‘My employer wishes this city captured intact,’ said Remiare, inloading to the noospheric map floating before Zeth. ‘So you need to stop what you are doing.’ ‘I’m not going to do that,’ stated Zeth. ‘I wasn’t asking,’ said Remiare, and shot Zeth twice in the chest.

From: Mechanicum, Graham McNeill

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“The Dark Angels struggle to reconcile their heroic nature with the violence required to suppress their secret.” From: White Dwarf January 2013

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“See that cloud that hangs around it? More than a minute in there and you’ll be bleeding out of places you didn’t even know you had.” From: Venomthrope, Magic the Gathering trading card

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His livery, whilst the blue of all witch-kin, is not the rich cobalt of the Star Dragons. It is softer, paler, more indigo than blue. I do not know you. He reaches out a hand as if to touch the psyker, but his gauntlet passes straight through. Another ghost. Another daemon. Not to be trusted. And yet… You do not know me. Are you my past? Present? Future? Despite his misgivings, Korydon takes a step closer. Time is irrelevant. Past, present, future… All these things are the same and yet different. A typical psyker response. Half riddle, half philosophy and devoid of any sense at all. Korydon’s fists curl in impotent fury. Though he cannot see it, he knows that the other figure is smiling. He does not know how he knows, but he does. Perhaps it is in the stance, in the way that the shoulders shift position, or in the way that the helmeted head twists slightly. The voice, when it returns, is filled with an emotion he does not recognise and understands even less. It is pity. For you, they are all the same, brother. With a shudder, with a jolt of awareness, Korydon wakes. He is lying on the floor of the corridor in which he fought Arion. His brother’s armour is still there; he is still naught but dust. But there is no sign of the rest of his squad. Every movement brings fresh pain. Every shred and fibre of his being screams as he moves, but he moves anyway. What else can he do?

From: Accursed Eternity (In: Architect of Fate), Sarah Cawkwell

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"Let the others bicker over their little worlds and stars. I have an empire of knowledge, and it encompasses all others.”

From: reliquary tower (40k reprint), mtg trading card

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For more than ten thousand years the living corpse of the emperor has sat immobile on the golden throne. The imperium of man is beset from every side. A million space marines, the emperor's angels of death, defend these million worlds. There is no hope. No peace. No love. In this grim darkness of the far future, there is only war. And heroes like marneus calgar fight it. From: Marneus Calgar (all issues), Kieron Gillen

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That which was, will be. That which will be, was

From: Reverberate (40k reprint), Magic The Gathering trading card

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"Laypeople interfering in the operation of the sacred mechanisms disturbs the machine spirits. In the name of the Omnissiah, refrain from any further profane acts." From: Rogue Trader, Video Game

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‘He told us?’ ‘You speak his language?’ ‘No, but Mekki…’ Her voice trailed off. Admitting that Mekki had attempted to forge a link to Fleapit’s cybernetic implants probably wasn’t a good idea, especially when talking to an inquisitor. Jeremias leant forward in his chair, the grox-leather creaking. ‘Mekki did what?’ ‘I… communicated with him,’ Mekki admitted. Jeremias’s jaw clenched at the revelation, a vein throbbing at his temple. ‘You are a psyker?’ The Martian shook his head. ‘No. It was a data-exchange, nothing more. Flegan-Pala had dropped into a hibernation cycle.’ ‘Mekki tried to wake him up,’ Talen said, jumping to his friend’s defence. Mekki nodded. ‘And in the process, I learned a little about his past. Images, that is all.’ ‘And you believed them? You believed a xenos?’ The inquisitor looked at him sadly. ‘Mekki, aliens cannot be trusted, especially a life form as devious as a Jokaero.'

From: Plague of the Nurglings, Cavan Scott

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Immortality is not quite the same as invulnerability, but it is close enough. From: Illuminor Szeras, MtG Trading card

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"The machine spirits are silenced! I cannot use my own Gifts to speak to the distant machines of my order. Oh--the crew are also dead, but the machines! Irreplaceable! Such treasures! Such tragedy! Oh, spilled oil, one must always lament over spilled oil. As the blessed canticle says. There will always be more blood, but oil is precious."

From: Marneus Calgar (issue 4), Kieron Gillen

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The Changer of Ways often sends glimpses of possible futures to his most loyal acolytes, visions that would destroy lesser minds. From: Brainstorm, MtG Trading card (40k print)

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The Khan looked hard at the figure before him. The face was at once Arvida’s and not Arvida’s, at once Magnus’ and not Magnus’. There was no primarch there, but also no mortal man. They faced one another for the space of many heartbeats, neither moving, neither speaking. (....) This was no shadow-primarch in a host shell, nor was it a flesh-changed aberration. It was something else. Something new. ‘You are not Arvida,’ the Khan said at last. The figure looked at him. ‘Not entirely.’ ‘The sickness?’ ‘Gone.’ Malcador remained defensive. ‘Do not approach him,’ he warned. ‘I am not what you intended, Sigillite,’ the flawed creation said. ‘I know what that means for you, and I am sorry. Believe me.’ Malcador looked briefly surprised, then gave a wry, defeated smile. ‘The subtlest of them all,’ he murmured. The Khan sheathed his blade, unsure whether he faced a comrade, a brother, or both. ‘What shall I call you?’ The creation looked up at the primarch and there was recognition there, a recognition that recalled the glory of the Great Crusade, a recognition that sprung from the ashes of lost Tizca. Some memories had evidently survived the process, while others were little more than half-remembered dreams. For the first time in a long time, though, there was clearly no pain, and that changed things. When he spoke, his voice was soft, assured, bipartite. ‘Know me by the name I always had,’ he said. ‘Call me Ianius

from: The Last Son of Prospero, chris wraight

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Stripped of her wargear and symbols of authority, she was clad in high boots and a black bodyglove undersuit. It clung to her figure with a tension that approached tenacity. My training had torn away the capacity to feel biological desire, but it was still pleasant to watch the ruthlessly feminine grace in the play of her muscles. She was a healthy animal in her prime – a huntress clad in black, her long hair now loose about her shoulders.

From: The Emperor's Gift, Aaron Dembski-Bowden