This place might have had a name once, Senoth thoughtto himself. No doubt it had had a thoroughly unimaginative name, like Manufactory Complex Zeta-Zeta-One, or Refractory Epsilon-Nu-Tertius, or some other dull string of numbers and letters bluntly stapled together by its Mechanicus overseers. Now it could barely be called a place at all: whatever buildings remained were hollowed out skeletons, nothing but bare girders, and collapsed, rubble-strewn floors. Everything had been caked with ash and blackened with fire. It was no doubt a similar sight all across Vigilus: the Imperial reinforcements– spearheaded by the fanatics of the Inquisition and the Adepta Sororitas– were arguably doing far more damage to the planet than the Traitor Legions and various xenos invaders had, ruthlessly scouring away even the smallest trace of heresy with overwhelming destruction. Any Traitor warbands still trapped on the planet were now fighting for their very lives against a zelous crusade intent on their execution.

Which, to an outsider, might have begged the question as to why the Thousand Sons were still here. A part of Senoth was still asking this question even as he used a light cantrip to brush a pile of rubble aside, allowing his Rubricae to march on through. Months of war had blistered the paint from their armour and covered them in a pile of ash; now they seemed to be very much a part of the ruined landscape they still marched through. And yet march they did, uncomplaining as only the dead were.

“Is it any further, Ktesis?” Senoth asked. He only now noticed how weary he sounded. After weeks of constant hit and run warfare, running retreats, and incessant skirmishes, his armour was dented and broken, his muscles ached beyond their transhuman limits, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had afforded himself some sleep. Only his constant meditations into the Enumerations had kept him stable enough to lead; in all honesty, he had not fought this hard or this long since Terra. There, he remembered, they too had fought until caked with ash, and until the sky above had become a warp-twisted nightmare.

Nearby, Ktesis was just as battered looking as he telekinetically restored a ruined wall, before calmly walking through its door. “Not much further, Magister,” the Infernal Master replied softly. “We shall be within reach of the objective soon.”

Not soon enough, Senoth thought bitterly. He and his warband had about to Vigilus and escape this hell while they still could, when a telepathic message had come, striking all their minds at once like a psionic thunderbolt and leaving them reeling. It had been sent by the Rehati, the ruling council of Sortiarus, second only in power to Magnus himself, and it gave them all a singular command: there was an asset remaining on Vigilus that the legion wanted, that the legion needed. All other concerns were secondary: this asset needed to be recovered and brought back to the Planet of Sorcerors, alive if possible. Senoth and his thrallband could not disobey even if they had wanted to: a command from the Rehati was, for all intents and purposes, a command from the Crimson King, and greater sorcerors than Senoth had suffered greatly for ignoring them.

And so Senoth and his thrallband had forgone their plans of escape, and had spent the next few weeks battling and retreating across Vigilus’ many warzones, trying their hardest to avoid the encroaching noose of the vengeful Imperials. Along the way, they had been forced to work alongside other trapped Traitor Legionnaires, often being forced to betray or be betrayed by them. They had engaged in skirmishes against whatever was left of the Genestealer Cultists infesting Dirkden Hivesprawl, forced to wade through entire tunnel sections with bolter and witchflame ablaze against hordes of xeno-infected mutants. They had been forced to fight for their lives against wandering Ork warbands, their great Waaagh now scattered by the death of their warlord. And through it all, they had been whittled down, little by little, until perhaps less than half of their original number now remained.

And throughout it all, they had had no idea what they were even looking for: the Rehati had never given a description of the asset in their message. All Senoth knew was that the asset was a person: the message had included an indelible psychic imprint for them to follow like hounds on a scent, and metaphorical image: a lightning-wreathed sword, flanked by angelic wings.

“How close is close?” Senoth asked. More so than the rest of them, Ktesis had been tracking their quarry the most effectively. Despite his loss of an eye during the campaign, the Infernal Master’s powers were as keen as ever, and he had been able to glean many insights thanks to his frequent communion with the Neverborn.

At least, his insights were far more clear, and helpful, than those of the other entity that was helping them. Perched on Ktesis’ shoulder sat a small feline creature, its tail swishing lazily left and right. Its fur was a luminous violet that seemed less and less real the more one stared at it, and it gazed at its surroundings with disinterested eyes that gleamed a shimmering, aetheric blue.

“Banded in red, green covered white, be vigilant for one fallen from knight,” the creature said, its mouth unmoving, a sibilant voice hissing into Senoth’s mind. “Green and red, and a great black pall, but gold is the most dangerous color of all.”

Senoth did not hide in irritation. “Speak in something other than riddles!” he snapped at Aenigma, not for the first time. The daemon, for its part, merely glanced in disinterest– or was it amusement? — at Senoth, and calmly licked the back of its paw.

Ktesis merely chuckled. “It is very close, Magister. It may be hidden somewhere in–“

He paused at that moment, as though suddenly hearing some invisible signal. A second later, Senoth felt it as well: an unmistakeable presence upon the aether, one that was at once blinding and horribly familiar. It was as though someone had cast a phosphorescent light down into a dark cave, blinding all who gazed upon this newfound light.

Aenigma hissed at that point, and, leaping off of Ktesis’ shoulder, suddenly grew into its true, immense size. Around him, Senoth’s brothers began to prepare spells as, before them, pillars of golden light could be seen flickering in the distance. Senoth could see golden armour shining impossibly under the sunless sky, and gilded weapons being raised.

The Custodes had found them.

*****

First and foremost, sorry for the delay, dear readers: it has been an extremely busy several months since my last post, during which not only have several major updates to 40k gone and went, but we are now on the cusp of a new edition of the game. Unfortunately, this means that my memory of this particular game maybe be a bit hazy, and so I have gone for a more narrative approach to this battle than a more concise turn-by-turn analysis. I will, however, try to be as clear on the details as possible.

For the grande finale of the game, as fate would have it, I once again ended up facing Jeremy and his noble Adeptus Custodes. By this point in the campaign, my Thousand Sons had had at least one prior game against T’au…a game which, regrettably, only went into the second turn due to both myself and my opponent having to navigate a complex scenario.

This time around, though, I was fighting Jeremy’s Custodes again, this time in a full 75 power level game. For the random scenario, we rolled Retrieval, a mission where we would both be searching for a missing courier amongst scattered mystery objectives. Quite simply, whichever one of us ended up finding and holding onto the courier at the end of the game would get 20 points, as well as an extra 10 points every time a special action was performed on an objective.

For our forces, I ended up using essentially my entire roster, as shown below:

(Note: Crusade-specific upgrades are denoted in italics)

THE CRIMSON SCRIBES (Cult of Time Battalion):

Akhenatu Senoth- Exalted Sorceror w. Disc of Tzeentch, inferno bolt pistol, Prosperine khopesh, force stave, Athenaean Scrolls, Artisan Bionics, Tzeentch’s Firestorm, Gaze of Hate, Weaver of Fates, Visions of Doom, Immaterial Echo, Rehati, Thrallmaster, Master of Lore, Warp Strider, Favoured By Fate, Flesh Sigils

Aenigma- Daemon Prince w. wings, hellforged sword, Conniving Plate, Frenzon Injector, Swelled By The Warp, Twist of Fate, Undying Form, Apex Predator

Ktesis- Infernal Master w. Umbralific Crystal, Laurels of Victory, Glamour of Tzeentch, Malefic Maelstrom, Glimpse of Eternity, Seeker After Shadows, Tactical Expertise, Blind In One Eye

Sectae Hasturos- 5 Rubric Marines w. soulreaper cannon, Icon of Flame, Sorceror w. Doombolt; Battle-Tested, Veteran Warriors

Sectae Zhamat- 5 Rubric Marines w. soulreaper cannon, Icon of Flame, Sorceror w. Temporal Surge; Battle-Tested, Veteran Warriors

Sectae Medea- 5 Rubric Marines w. warpflamers, Icon of Flame, Sorceress w. Incandaeum, Pyric Flux, and Psychic Might; Battle-Tested

The Children of T’char- 10 Tzaangor w. Tzaangor blades, brayhorn, herd banner, Bathed in Warp Essence

Brother Apophis- Chaos Contemptor Dreadnought w. multi-melta, Contemptor chainfist w. plasma blaster, Cyclone missile launcher, Elite Crew, Repair Systems, Improved Shielding

Sectae Abydos- 10 Scarab Occult Terminators w. 2 soulreaper cannons, 2 helfyre missile racks, Sorceror w. Presage & Rites of Coalescence; Battle-Tested, Grizzled, Shell-Shock

The Forgotten- Chaos Spawn w. Fleet of Foot

The Forsaken- Chaos Spawn w. Fleet of Foot, Mark of Shame

Pretty much my whole roster: a solid mass of Rubric Marines and Scarab Occult Terminators, backed up by plenty of spellcasting characters, some expendable Tzaangor and Spawn, and a nice big distraction Contemptor. By this point in the game, almost all of my units had amassed a healthy number of battle honours and other upgrades, to the point where all of my main line units had much more reliable firepower and durability, and all of my major characters had additional spells they could cast. My plan was simple: spread out as much as possible to search as many objectives as possible, try to keep the Custodes at arm’s length, and all the while bombard them with mortal wounds and with barrages of inferno bolter fire. Simple enough, but given how resilient Custodes are, this would still be fairly tricky.

Speaking of the Custodes, Jeremy ran the following:

(Some of) Jeremy’s glorious golden boys

DREAD HOST BATTALION:

Bellator Caelum- Shield Captain w. Allarus Terminator armour, balistus grenade launcher, Apollonian Spear, misericordia, Praetorian Plate, Artisan Bionics, All-Seeing Annihilator, Bane of Abominations, Flawless Bladework, Deadly Charge, Swift and Deadly, Unfazed and Undaunted

Santodes II- Blade-Champion with Inexorable Prosecution, Swift and Deadly, Martial Focus

Puella Diletrix- Knight-Centura w. Veracity, Enhanced Voidsheen Cloak, Oblivion Knight, Hunt and Purge, Rapid Prosecution, Swift and Agile

3 Custodian Guard- guardian spears, misericordia, Rapid Salvoes, Masterful Form

3 Custodian Guard- guardian spears, misericordia, Unfazed and Undaunted

5 Prosecutors

Ascharius Ferrox- Allarus Terminator w. balistus grenade launcher, guardian spear, misericordia

Joannes- Allarus Terminator w. balistus grenade launcher, guardian spear, misericordia

Santodes- Contemptor-Achilus Dreadnought w. 2 twin adrathic destructors, Achilus Dreadspear, Elite Crew, Enhanced Engines

Mercurius- Vexilus Praetor w. Allarus Terminator armour, vexilla defensor, Obliteratum, misericordia, Master of Martial Strategy, Heroic Constitution

3 Venatari Custodians- kinetic destroyers and tarsus bucklers, misericordia, 1 w. Auto-Loader

5 Witchseekers

So, plenty of bodies (or at least, “plenty” by Custodes standards, which is still a small number), all capable of shooting/stabbing my poor dusty boys off the field, and with plenty of Sisters of Silence to make my casting a lot more difficult. All in all, this was going to be anything but an easy battle.

*****

As a rough storm began to blow dust and smoke across the refinery ruins, the Thousand Sons advanced, implacable iron boots treading across the broken ground as they began their search. The Sorcerors leading these arcane automata cast their thoughts out across the Great Ocean, scrying for even the faintest trace of their quarry. Alas, the Warp proved fickle, and they could no more sense their prey’s presence than they could see him.

Even as they searched, though, the Thousand Sons did not ignore the looming threat of the Dread Host. Cawing Tzaangor surged ahead of the Rubricae, more than ready to shield their sorcerous masters with their warped flesh, while the unliving automata marched relentlessly in their wake, wordlessly loading ensorcelled rounds into rune-enscribed bolters.

On the left flank of the Thousand Sons’ advance, Brother Apophis strode forward; ten thousand years of hate still burned in his ancient reactor as he strode towards the Custodes, eager to be avenged upon the destroyers of Tizca. In his wake, Medea led her own Rubricae, ready to scour those Custodes whom Apophis did not kill with gouts of multihued warpflame.

The Custodes were not fools, however; with careful positioning, they kept out of range and line of sight of the Rubricae’s ensorcelled guns, waiting for the traitors to get closer. Among their ranks, the Sisters of Silence stood vigil, creating a baffling aura of soulless blankness with which to quell the magicks of the traitors.

Newly joined to the ranks of the Dread Host, a Blade Champion stood in their midst, quietly marking out notable enemies to end with his gilded sword. Like the Contemptor Dreadnought of this particular task force, his name was Santodes…though like that other notable brother, he had a long list of other names besides, and today he intended to earn another.

Seeing the golden host now revealing themselves, the relentless march of the Thousand Sons quickened as they sought to close the distance. The Thousand Sons formation spread out, with various Sorcerors leading their squads of Rubricae to physically search the nearby ruins for their quarry.

It was Hasturos and his squad who almost immediately saw their mark: a figure in forest-green armour, a blood-red bandana circling his bare head, standing atop a rusted rooftop, staring down at the Sons of Magnus. Somehow, the Thousand Sons had only now noticed him, despite the fact that this stranger had done seemingly nothing to hide himself.

“How curious,” the figure said, staring down at the Thousand Sons. “Are you looking for something, Sorceror? Are you lost?”

“Who–” a bewildered Hasturos began, though he stopped and composed himself. The psychic imprint that had been left by the Rehati’s message made it clear, this was the person that they had been looking for. He was quick to recognize the heraldry of the Dark Angels, though something told him that this figure was not a loyalist. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Both questions have very long answers, I assure you,” the Dark Angel replied with a smirk. “I get the impression that you came looking for me. I would ask why, but I think we can wait on all questions…” he gestured towards the not-so-distant Custodes “…until after we’ve escaped from the Emperor’s gold-plated sycophants, wouldn’t you agree?”

At the mental imperatives of their sorcerors, the Tzaangor surged ahead, screaming invocations to the Changer of Ways, while in their wake the Scarab Occult Terminators strode in perfect, inhuman unison. Senoth and and Ktesis stayed behind the great crimson wall of the Sekhmet Guard, while further to their left Aenigma stalked, its ears pricked and its nose twitching as though it smelled the spoor of the Custodians on the Warp. Its nose wrinkled at that moment, and it let out a feral hiss.

As Senoth and his fellow sorcerors tried to unleash their arcane artes upon the Talons of the Emperor, the reason for Aenigma’s distaste soon became apparent. Though the Terminators with blessed with the Glamour of Tzeentch, most of the Thousand Sons’ fizzled to nothing upon their fingertips, their mental focus dissipating as the their control unraveled.

Senoth quickly realized that there were Sisters of Silence hiding behind the ruined buildings, out of sight of their guns: scrying the battlefield, he saw a single, painful absence of space just behind the building closest to them, and knew it must be a high-ranking member of the Silent Sisterhood. Instinctively, Senoth and his brothers knew that they would have to kill these Null-Maidens first if they were to achieve victory. Just like at Tizca…

Even with their Sorcerous prowess blunted, the Thousand Sons still had plenty of guns to call upon. Striding forward, Apophis blasted away at Bellator Caelum and his Custodians, melting one of the noble warriors into auramite slag with a blast of his multi-melta. He then attempted to break into a charge– a charge that was met by a hail of high-powered bolt rounds, one of which blasted through his hull, before one of his clawed feet collapsed into a sinkhole, causing his charge to falter. Roaring Prosperine oaths, Apophis was forced to try to extricate himself, his vengeance having been momentarily denied…

Even as Apophis raged against the Custodes, Medea led her own Rubricae in a swift advance towards the Custodes lines, and saw one unit of Witchseekers in the backfield, adding to the anti-magical aura confounding the Sons of Magnus. Her face twisted in hatred at the sight of these nulls: blessing her squad with a Pyric Flux, she directed them to unleash their warpflamers upon the Untouchables. To the Prosecutors’ creditdid not make a sound even as the warpflame seared flesh and armour: all the same, within moments nothing remained of these null-maidens except floating clusters of black ash.

Even as the battle lines closed, golden light flashed at various points of the battlefield. At two separate corners, giant figures clad in ornate Allarus plate stepped forth from circles burnt in the earth, eye lenses glaring with malevolence towards the traitor Marines.

Further ahead, a pillar of light suddenly burst forth from the heavens, and three angelic figures appeared next to the Vexilus Praetor, rainbow-laden wings spread brightly. Medea could only watch in amazement as a Living Saint and her entourage appeared upon the field!

(Note: Jeremy had left his Venatarii at home, and so was forced to proxy them with Saint Celestine and her Geminae instead. I certainly wasn’t complaining, as it was an immensely cool image to have a living saint aiding the Custodes)

Finally, to the rear of the advancing host of the Thousand Sons, another golden pillar of light shone forth. From it strode a familiar sight– a great auramite giant that towered over most of the battlefield, a massive spear pointed at the Thousand Sons in a booming challenge. Santodes, Contemptor-Achilus of the Dread Host, had returned, and he was looking for vengeance upon the Sons of Magnus.

No sooner had the light died down than the Custodes were in motion, blasting into the heretics with finely-wrought guns. The newly-arrived Saint and her retinue unleashed holy flame into Medea’s squad, damaging one of them; Santodes turned his own guns upon the Scarab Occult Terminators, vaporizing one of them with its guns, while Bellator Caelum and his brothers fired into Apophis and blasted another chunk out of his armour. Finally, the two newly arrived Terminators fired upon their closest targets, with one blasting two wounds out of a mewling Spawn, while the other shattered a Rubric Marine with a direct hit.

The Knight-Centura, Puella Dilectrix, did not join in the intense firefight: rather, she climbed up onto the roof of the central hab-block, staying out of line of sight of the whizzing inferno bolts, using her very presence to quell the powers of the Thousand Sons even further.

“By His will alone!” Caelum roared as he charged into the towering form of Apophis, followed by his two loyal brethren. Against such a towering and powerful war machine as a Contemptor Dreadnought, even a Shield-Captain of the Custodes could not stand, but Caelum had not been idle during his time upon Vigilus. During the campaign he had requisitioned a great number of relics from the vaults of Terra, and now he wielded nothing less than the Apollonian Spear– the weapon once wielded by Constantin Valdor himself, and forged by the Emperor’s own hand. The dread spear flashed out, its preternaturally sharp blade tearing through reinforced ceramite as though it were made of snow. Caelum almost contemptuously sheared offall four of Apophis’ limbs in the blink of an eye, before driving the weapon straight through the Contemptor’s sarcophagus. At this, the boom of Apophis’ vox casters finally went silent, as the Dreadnought’s systems finally died out.

Elsewhere, one of the Allarus Custodians made his charge into one of the Spawn. Mirroring the success of his Shield Captain, he carved through the mewling spirit-thing without effort, before striding on through its dissipating remains to close distance with the Thousand Sons, eager to bring justice to these most vile heretics at long last.

Further on the left flank, the Saint and her entourage made it into combat with Medea and her retinue, gilded wings carrying them forth into combat. Swords of blazing fire slashed out, and two Rubricae were felled, collapsing into dust as that flaming blade carved right through them. Though Medea furiously swung back with her force stave, none of her blows could pierce the holy armour of these blessed Sisters, and slowly but surely Media and her two remaining Rubricae found themselves being forced back.

Even as the Thousand Sons found themselves being beset from all sides, thunderous footfalls could be heard from their rear as Santodes joined the fray. Reacting swiftly to the charging Dreadnought, the Scarab Occult Terminators turned in an instant and met Santodes with a wall of fire that tore chunks from his auramite armour. The sheer intensity of the Thousand Sons’ firepower slowed Santodes’ charge…just enough for the Terminators to suddenly counter attack, swarming around the Dreadnought in a perfectly coordinated strike and slashing into him with their khopeshes. Blades were driven into armour gaps, sliced through cables, and severed joints as the Terminators struck with a shocking speed and fury. Within seconds, their combined mass was enough to make Santodes topple backwards, his leg and arm actuators severed and his weapons disabled; the entomed Custodian could only spout rage as he was left staring up at the warp-ruined sky.

(Note: between Counter-attack and Wrath of the Wronged, I spent a lot of command points in this combat…and it paid off as the Scarab Occult Terminators just narrowly managed to kill Santodes before he could swing!)

With their unresisting quarry now secured, the Thousand Sons’ goal was now to ensure that the Custodes could not seize him again. As Medea and her two remaining Rubricae withdrew from combat with the Saint, Aenigma spread her wings and soared over the central building; the daemon-cat landed in a pounce before Blade Champion Santodes and his three Custodian brethren, and hissed out all of their multitudinous names in an instant as it stood to its full height. In Aenigma’s wake, the Tzaangor cawed and scrabbled up the sides of the building, vaulting onto the roof to hunt the one Null-Maiden who had been so thwarting the spells of their masters, hoping that they would be rewarded for slaying her. Further at the back of the field, Sectae Hasturos backed away from one of the recently teleported Terminators, wanting to stay out of blade reach of this golden-armoured warrior.

Finally, Ktesis took out a dark crystal from the folds of his robe and shattered it: in a sudden flicker of unlight, the Terminators disappeared from view, and reappeared closer to the Custodes lines, guns at the ready. Senoth flew next to them, ready to bolster their firepower with his sorcerous might.

Once again, bolts of arcane energy lashed out against the golden host, only to fizzle and dissipate as they ran against the anti-psychic field of the Sisters of Silence…although Aenigma did manage to curse the Custodes, reshaping their destinies with a cruelly worded Twist of Fate. And then, once again, the air filled with magical tracers and crackling spells as the Thousand Sons unleashed their firepower: two Custodians were blasted off their feet, the intense volley punching through their auramite, while another staggered as he took an arcane bolter round to the chest. Similarly, one of the Saint’s retainers was blasted from the air, and a Terminator grunted as two rounds from a soulreaper cannon punched through his armour.

Smelling the scent of a Pariah, the Tzaangor charged along the rooftop towards Puella Dilectrix, the Knight-Centura of the Sisters of Silence. Thanks to her positioning, however, the Tzaangor could only come at Puella one at a time, and the skilled warrior easily dodged and parried their blows, before cleaving the closest mutant from crown to loin with her executioner greatblade. Calmly, she took a step back, goading the mutants onwards into the narrow enscarpment where their numbers would be useless: she would be content to slay them all if they were willing to offer their lives so freely.

Elsewhere, Aenigma gave a feline howl as it charged into Santodes and the last remaining Custodian at his side. Even as the Daemon made the charge, however, there was a flash of ozone, and suddenly Bellator Caelum was standing shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, his Praetorian Plate having allowed him to make a short-range teleport to aid Santodes. Warp-borne claws flashed, parting through auramite as Aenigma dealt several grievous wounds to Santodes sending the Blade Champion staggering, but even as this happened, the golden blades of the Custodes heroes carved into Aenigma’s unreal flesh again and again despite the baffling wards in its armour, and soon its form seemed to flicker and shift as its hold on reality began to weaken.

Even with the enemy now in blade-range, Caelum knew that the heretics were merely keeping them away from their true quarry– the stranger in the livery of the First Legion, who even now was being borne away by silent Rubricae of Sectae Zhamat. The nearest Terminator seemed to sense this as well and barreled after the traitors, pulverizing one of them with a shot from his guardian spear. The Saint and her sole remaining bodyguard soared on golden wings towards the Thousand Sons’ lines, while the pair of Custodians who had helped to fell Apophis strode after Medea and her own Rubricae. Everywhere, the blades of the Custodes began to close on the Sons of Magnus, but at this point it seemed that time was running out.

Like a golden bull, the Terminator slammed into his targets, nearly knocking Rubricae over with the force of his charge. As he slashed out with his glimmering spear, however, aetheric energies sprang up between it and the Thousand Sons, causing each swing to rebound harmlessly. The Terminator swore as unholy magicks deflected his blows, Zhamat giving a dry chuckle as he and his new guest backed away from the Custodian.

Things did not go quite as well for Medea and her own group, however. The two Custodes moved in a golden blur as they charged. There was a flash of disruptor fields as guardian spears swung, and in mere seconds, both of the remaining Rubricae had been obliterated, and Medea lay in the dust, coughing blood as a spear was driven through her abdomen.

Elsewhere, the other unit of Custodes made a charge into the remaining Spawn. Once again, their golden blades flashed, and with a shriek of dissipating ectoplasm, the accursed ghost-thing vanished.

Elsewhere, Puella took a simple backward step and dropped from the top of the hab-block she was fighting on, landing in a crouch as she briefly escaped from the rabid mutant horde: though she knew she could have taken them on, it was more imperative that she follow the Thousand Sons and stop their magicks. At the same time, the sole remaining Custodian from the shield-armed group backed away at a nod from Caelum, leaving only himself and Santodes to face off against the towering form of Aenigma. With a feline snarl, Aenigma leapt, moving far faster than a creature its size had any right to. Reality seemed to blur as it moved, its claws raking across auramite, digging deep furrows into Caelum’s chestplate, drawing blood.

Caelum did not fall: the daemon had come in close enough for him get in a killing blow. With a roar, he drove the Appolonian Spear into the daemon’s chest, the ancient weapon parting and dissolving its unreal flesh like a puddle before a melta. The thing began to unravel, letting out a terrible, ear splitting screech that echoed across the battlefield…before Santodes leapt up, the Champion’s blade describing a glittering arc that parted the beast’s head from its neck. And with that, the remains of the daemon discorporated.

Free from that combat, Caelum strode forwards, spinning the Appolonian Spear in both hands, ready to take on the next challengers…and froze. The Thousand Sons’ forms were suddenly glimmering, seeming to become translucent, unreal. Even the discarded shells of their slain, and their mutant followers, were all starting to glimmer, like an rainbow oil sheen on the face of reality. He felt the tang of ozone in the air; nearby, Puella gave him a disconcerting look.

Translocation, she signed to him in thoughtmark.

“NO!” Caelum roared. He burst into a run as fast as his armoured frame could take him, Santodes and Puella sprinting at his side. Ahead, the shimmering ranks of the Scarab Occult formed a shield wall before their leader– a crimson-armoured heretic in armour reminiscent of a pharonic headdress, standing aloft a floating disk-daemon. Raising the spear, Caelum threw it in a single well-aimed cast, the ancient weapon hurtling towards the Sorceror like a golden thunderbolt. Kill the Sorceror, Caelum thought, and the translocation spell would be halted.

In the milliseconds before the Appolonian Spear struck, the Sorceror turned and gazed at Caelum, the lenses of his helm blazing with a blue inner light…and then he and the rest of the traitors vanished, the Appolonian Spear whistling through empty air.

Caelum sunk to his knees, teeth clenched. They had failed: though he knew not why the Thousand Sons had wanted this traitor, he had his suspicions: the secrets this Fallen Angel held must have been ruinous indeed. It could not be a coincidence that the traitor had been a Dark Angel, either: Caelum remembered what the Imperial Tarot had said, back in the Tower of Hegemon, before he and his sodality had departed for Vigilus:

The Knight – Palador – He stands defiant, his blade reflecting the light of a poisoned sky. An image of a knight, in armour of forest green, bedecked in a winged helm, standing tall and alone against a horde of monstrosities.

No, Caelum thought, bitterly standing up to retrieve the Spear. It was definitely NOT a coincidence. One of the Emperor’s sons had returned already; another was well on his way, for better or for worse…

RESULT: THOUSAND SONS VICTORY!

*****

After two intense rounds, the we ran out of time: the store– and with it, the last game of the Crusade league– was coming to a close, and with the objective firmly in the control of my Rubric Marines, Jeremy was content to declare my Thousand Sons the winner. Not the overall winner of the Crusade, mind: at the end of the campaign, nobody had been keeping any kind of score, and everyone had just been doing this to have fun. And this had, indeed, been the capstone to an extremely fun campaign.

In more ways than one, though, this felt like a somewhat anticlimactic game, in part because everything just went absolutely right for me from the very start. Jeremy had tried to hinder a lot of my psychic powers early on by deploying his Knight-Centura far forward, behind obscuring terrain, and indeed, his canny use of the Silent Sisters did nullify my psychic powers quite a bit. Even so, I was able to find the objective early on, and was effectively able to play keepaway for the remainder of the game; with most of his forces massively out of position, Jeremy was not able to send anything out to go and contest the objective other than a single Terminator. The fact that I played aggressively and did a lot to keep Jeremy in his own backfield meant that I was able to comfortably keep the objective under my control, and the fact that my firepower (and spellpower) was proving to be much more effective than his didn’t hurt either.

With all that being said, there were a lot of swingy (and kind of epic) moments in this game. Both of us were surprised when my Terminators actually managed to kill his charging Contemptor before it could even swing! Admittedly, it had cost a lot of command points for me to do so, and admittedly, a lot of it came down to extremely lucky rolls, but still, that had been a dangerous combat that I was extremely glad to avoid. In turn, that sudden teleport by Caelum into combat (thanks to the Praetorian Plate, which I had forgotten about) turned what I had hoped would be a one-sided fight between Aenigma and the Blade Champion into a horrible slaughter for my poor Daemon Prince. Seriously, between killing both my Contemptor and my Daemon Prince, Bellator Caelum was just murdering my larger models in this game.

Had the game gone on, then it would have been interesting to see how I fared; my Terminators were in a prime position to shoot and assault Santodes and his other heroes, most of my major spellcasters were still alive, and my Tzaangor, shockingly, were still active as well. On the flip side, however, his Venatarii, Terminators and most of his Custodian Guard were all still active, and were all still very potent melee threats. Had the game gone on, it really could have gone either way, and admittedly would have been a much more fun game. That’s not that the game itself wasn’t fun; Jeremy, as usual, was an amazing opponent, and was always a joy to play against, even in this, the last stage of the Crusade.

So, with that all over and done, and with the last embers of 9th edition fading into the background, here are my lingering thoughts on Crusade, after having gotten to finally play it:

-It did a lot to completely refocus how I typically played 40k. Because I was mindful of getting upgrades and XP for my squads, as well as of steadily growing my roster, I found myself much more focused on achieving my agendas in each mission, as well as making sure that squads that I wanted to level up managed to perform said agendas or kill enemy units. In some instances, winning the game even felt secondary (though the fact that so many missions had decent rewards for the winner meant that this didn’t happen). Because of the Administratum app from Goonhammer, I also found myself constantly tracking my Crusade roster, and planning out in advance how I wanted to level each of my units moving forward. And because of the sheer number of battle honours, relics, etc I was able to accumulate, I often felt rewarded for focusing on XP growth the way I did.

-Playing this Crusade campaign also did a lot to get me curious about a lot of the army-specific mechanics for Crusade. While the Arcane points mechanic for the Thousand Sons were, admittedly, not that exciting (not, at least, compared to the unique Crusade mechanics for Sisters of Battle and Drukhari; had I had the chance to play another Crusade in 9th, I would have loved to try either of those out), I still nonetheless found myself rigorously tracking my Arcane points and anticipating how I was ultimately going to spend them. And ultimately, I was rewarded by gaining an exceptionally powerful spell for Senoth: Visions of Doom did a lot to boost the damage potential of my army, especially when they focused fire on a single target. Largely thanks to this spell, I was able to deal with powerful, threatening units such as Hive Tyrants, Chaos Knights and Kill Rigs before they could even hit my lines.

-Crusade succeeds in giving a real sense of growth for your army…to a point. With each successive battle and level up, my units began to improve more and more steadily, to the point where I was able to field them in ways I wouldn’t be able to in regular 40k games: my Rubric Marines, for instance, were all rerolling 1st to hit and could reliably perform actions and still shoot, while my Tzaangor eventually gained a much-needed boost to their durability (albeit, for only one turn) with the Bathed in Warp Essence battle trait. On the flip side, though, battle scars rarely became an issue for me, as I (1) usually had the requisition needed to get rid of battle scars, (2) was able to select ones that would not impact my units meaningfully, or (3) had battle scars units that I could afford to leave them on, such as Spawn or Tzaangor. By the end of the crusade, Senoth was a super-powered Sorceror on par with Ahriman, most of my Rubricae, Terminators and Rubricae were more elite than before, my chaff units were still fairly average, and Ktesis…was blind in one eye. From a gaming perspective, this was great for me: from a storytelling perspective, it felt like maybe one or two of my units had made a long journey to gain awesome power, but that was it.

-While Crusade was generally a positive experience for me, there were still more than a few negatives. In particular, I found that it exacerbated one aspect of 9th edition that was already problematic, namely the need for bookkeeping. Near the end of the game, I had so many upgrades on so many of my units that I was constantly forgetting a lot of them; there was many a game when I looked back and realized that I had been forgetting to use an upgrade that I had earned two or three games ago. This was on top having to keep track of which spells did what, how many command points I had, how many Ritual points I had, which Cabbalistic Rituals did what, what my stratagems did, etc. It was impossible to keep track of it all, and speaks increasingly to the need for things to be toned down significantly in 10th edition.

-There are also definite balance issues with 9th edition Crusade: on the one hand, you can gain upgrades that are fun and characterful for your units as they progress…but on the flipside, those upgrades can be quite powerful, and can accumulate quite a lot over time. Case in point, by the end of the campaign Senoth comfortably able to cast 4 or 5 spells a turn and was something of a beatstick in melee at that, to say nothing of almost all my squads being able to comfortably able to reroll 1s in shooting while performing actions. I also saw just how overpowered a lot of my opponents’ units ended up getting, up to and including an Ultramarines Librarian with more powers and relics than I could count, a Beastboss on Squigasaur who was immune to psychic powers and could ignore invulnerable saves, shooty units that were able to casually ignore cover, melee units that could advance and charge further and…well, everything about Bellator Caelum, who became the single most undefeated model for the entirety of the Crusade.

-In what I would call an issue with 9th edition in general instead of specifically Crusade, often the rules would change far too often during the Crusade itself for players to keep track of. Midway through the campaign, for instance, the Armour of Contempt rules dropped, and during that time, unique rules and rules changes were constantly being made to the game, often forcing players to amend significant portions of their roster to compensate. It was an often confusing and sometimes frustrating state of affairs, but I think I might be better off expanding more on this in a future article on the end of 9th edition and the advent of 10th.

And finally

-This is less an issue with Crusade and more with how I had been timing things, but I found in general that I was running out of time in a lot of my games. As I usually arrived at the store at 6 after work and it closed at 9, I usually had 3 hours to play a full game: not only did I end up not finishing many games, but I found myself racing against the clock more as the points levels ended up going higher. It didn’t help that in a lot of my games, my opponent and I were usually exploring Crusade scenarios and rules for the first time, which often slowed the games down.

In spite of all of the issues I have mentioned above, I still had an incredibly fun time playing Crusade. It had swiftly become my favorite way of playing 40k, and one that I would eagerly play again. That being said, it is also a game mode that requires time commitment from all players engaged, and unfortunately is not nearly as easy to get into as the Matched Play version of the game. With 10th edition now right around the corner, I can only watch carefully to see how Crusade gets changed, whether any of the above mentioned balance issues get evened out, and above all, whether or not the player experience will be altered or improved.

The gateway shone, bathing the surrounding cityscape in a twisting, squirming kaleidescope of colors that were not colors. It had taken much for Senoth to cast this gateway: much sacrifice of innocents, of his own brothers, and the casting had even forced him to part with sacred knowledge that by rights should have been preserved back on Sortiarus. But it was the only way to escape from the closing noose of the Imperial armies, to escape that accursed planet without having to run the iron cordon of the Imperial Navy. All because the Despoiler had shown his true colors at last, and decided to retreat right at the moment of their victory.

All of that death, all of that irreplaceable loss…Senoth hoped it would be worth it as they rematerialized into the main sanctum of the crystal tower. And yet, as he looked at their new guest, whose eyes shot left and right with crazed energy, he suspected that hope might be in vain.

“Ah,” the stranger said at last, his power-armoured fingers drumming together manically. “Magick. So this is how you all planned to escape the Ten Thousand.” He craned his neck up to look at his new surroundings. “Where are we now, exactly?”

“That is not your concern, for the moment,” Senoth replied, slamming his staff down. “We saved you from the Custodes, and now you owe us much in return, Dark Angel. Our auguries indicated that you bore knowledge, that you might be of import to us. Therefore, before we go any further, we must know: who are you, and what are you doing here on Vigilus?”

Turning around to face Senoth, the Fallen Angel’s scarred face twisted into a rictus grin. “Ahh, names,” he chuckled. “Names tend to lose meaning after a while, Sorceror of Prospero. Once, I was an honoured battle brother of the First, and before that an honoured knight of Caliban, but now…well, there is no more legion, no more Caliban, and no more me. I’m just another ghost of what once was, in a galaxy full of ghosts. I suppose you can call me Malakh.” He paused to adjust his bandana a little. “As for why I’m here…I came at the summons of Ossean, so ask him, if you can find him at all in the anarchy of the Vhulian Swirl. No doubt reaping the rewards of his own madness, I’m sure.”

Senoth felt his grip on the staff tighten. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” he said in a low tone. “I left many good brothers behind on Vigilus. I was forced to give up written knowledge that could have one day enlightened humankind again. I sacrificed much in order to bring you, here, to my Tower….all because the skeins of fate told me you had information that was invaluable.” With a wordless cantrip, Senoth caused the end of his staff to flare with angry witchlight, while the lenses of his own helm glared more brightly. “So tell me whatever it is you know that is so invaluable, Malakh, before I cast you back down to Vigilus and let the Custodes do what they wish with you.”

To Senoth’s irritation, the Fallen Angel’s grin did now waver. Instead, he simply chuckled. “Typical Fourteenth,” Malakh said dryly. “Always so eager to show off their powers. If you insist on setting terms with me, then here are mine: I will point you towards precious lost knowledge for you to stuff in your little librariums. But in return, I need a guaruntee of safety, security and asylum in this tower of yours. Give me your word that I’ll have your protection as long as I stay here, and I will point you towards an apocrypha that your Crimson King would give his crown for.”

Mandrazura stepped forward, visibly bristling at the Fallen Angel’s tone and his lack of deference towards Magnus the Red– Senoth halted him with a gesture of his hand. “Speak then,” he said. “As lord of this tower, I will give you my word that you will have our protection if the information you give us is useful and true. If it is neither, then I will cast you out into the Empyrean myself.”

Malakh burst into a short, amused laugh, slapping his armoured knee with a dull clang. “You and I are going to get along just fine then, Sorceror,” he said. “Since I have your word, then, I happen to know the location of the Gehenna Archive.”

Silence fell over the room, as though the utterance of that name had sucked all of the oxygen out of it. The Gehenna Archive: a vast collection of human art, literature, science and philosophy dating back to before the Dark of Technology, from the depths of humankind’s murky prehistory. It had been a location that the Thousand Sons had searched tirelessly for during the Great Crusade…until they had learned, much to their sorrow, that it had been discovered, and destroyed, during a compliance action by the Emperor’s armies. To this day its loss still felt like like a knife in the heart of many a surviving legionary of the Fifteenth Legion.

“Impossible!” Hasturos hissed at long last. “The Gehenna Archive was destroyed during the Great Crusade! Our finest scryers saw the ships of the First Legion incinerate it from orbit!”

The Fallen Angel turned his smug grin towards Hasturos. “You saw what we wanted you to see,” he replied. “My gene-sire kept a great many secrets during his time. This was one of them.”

“But the Gehenna Archive, and the knowledge it contained, were consigned to destruction by the Emperor himself!” Mandrazura blurted.

At his, Malakh laughed again. “And you of all people should know, Sorceror of Prospero,” he said, “that the Emperor of Mankind is only honest when it suits him. The Gehenna Archive’s contents were removed by the order of the Lion, and then the site of the Archive was annihilated from orbit to cover up the evidence. Why the Lion wanted it, and whether or not he was truly acting within the Emperor’s auspice…who can say?”

Senoth took in a deep breath. This Fallen Angel was hard to read: his face gave nothing away, and his surface thoughts were a crazed jumble of nursery rhymes, limericks and Calibanite war songs. Either his long travels had fractured his sanity beyond repair, or he had grown really well accustomed to warding off mental intrusions. Senoth knew that, with some more intensive probing, he could sift the truth from Malakh’s mind…but given the Fallen Angel’s seemingly fragile sanity, there was a good chance that such an action might cause his mind, and the memories within it, to fragment even further.

“Very well,” Senoth said at long last. “You will guide us to the location of the Gehenna Archive, and in return, we will grant you shelter. For now.” Holding his staff in both hands now as he stood with it planted before him, Senoth straightened up. “But should you abuse our trust, Dark Angel…”

“Yes, yes, you’ll toss me to the Empyrean. You mentioned that part already,” the mad Angel snickered. “I assure you, Sorceror, you won’t regret this.”

“We will see,” Senoth said. “As to the matter of why you need protection…I assume you are hiding from the rest of your former legion?”

At this, Malakh let out another chuckle. “Worse!” he sniggered. “Oh, much worse! I’m surprised you don’t know by now!”

Beneath his helm, Senoth frowned. “Know what? Enlighten us, if you will.”

Malakh stopped laughing, and stared at Senoth in perplexity. “You mean you haven’t figured it out yet?” he asked. “First, Luthor escapes from his confinement. Then, the Lord Cypher conveniently appears when the Avenging Son returns, and makes it as far as Terra before he is forced to flee. And as of late, there have been sightings on many worlds of verdant forests appearing from out of nowhere.”

With an air of exhausted acceptance, Malakh dropped back into a spiralling chair seated at one of the ocularium’s many tables. “He is returning, Sorceror. My gene-father is returning. And when he does, nothing will protect any of us from his wrath.”