So, a few days ago I took a break from testing out the Sisters and took my Drukhari to one of my LGS, Hairy Tarantula North, for a 1000 point 40k tournament using ITC rules. As this was the first tournament I had been attending in ages, I was rather apprehensive. As it turned out, however, all of my apprehension was for nothing: with only three or four tables, the store was completely unprepared for the massive turnout they ended up recieving, and as a result spots went to the first people to arrive. Sadly, I was not one of them.
c. Inkary at https://www.artstation.com/inkary
The alarm came from out of nowhere, piercing the sweltering, monotonous gloom of the forge like hot nails through lead. Magos Kelethrex had been overseeing the creation of yet another great war machine to be birthed within the magma-filled vaults of the complex when the alarm sounded, half warbling klaxon, half wailing shriek of thousands of trapped neverborn. The sound caused the lumbering, vat-grown serfs attending Kelethrex to cover their malformed heads and moan in pain, and more than a few slipped and fell into the hot magma of the forge, screaming before the molten metal consumed them. Even worse, the half-made construct in front of Kelethrex was driven into a frenzy by the sounds, the tank-sized conglomeration of steel and flesh thrashing and flailing in the great chains that held it above the pit.
He could no longer remember how long he had been down here. It could have been a day, a month a year…time and memory had devolved into fleeting, hazy things in the wake of all of the pain, the blood, and the screaming. At least, he knew there had been pain, because his entire body throbbed with raw, incessant agony, and every time it dulled, his captor found some way to make it return, hotter and sharper than before. He knew there had been blood because he smelled its familiar copper tang, and felt it awash across his naked form. And he knew there had been screaming, because his throat was hoarse and raw. Beyond that, the details of how, why, where, when and who escaped him.
So this is just a minor update post, but I felt I just needed to gush about a few things down the pipeline, specifically as it pertains to two upcoming GW releases, both of which will be huge for armies that I play.
It felt good to be back on his command throne, Khyrus thought to himself as he eased back into glossy obsinite seat at the centre of the Talon’s bridge, welcoming the feeling of the jagged spines of the armrests digging into his palms and forearm. n the familiar gloom of the ship’s interior, he saw the dull brown orb of Hod’s Anvil on the holo-ghost before him, turning with a ponderous slowness in the void.
(artwork by Games Workshop and Fantasy Flight Games)
“The lights are wrong,” said the voice on the vox recording, his voice laced with wisps of static. “I repeat, the lights are wrong.”
The vox message then looped back on itself, as it had been doing for the past fifty-two hours. Sergeant DeSane kept it playing on his armour’s internal vox system, so that his helm’s internal sensors could keep a lock on its source, even as he backed away from the airlock door. The floors and walls of the hallway were coated in a thick rime of frost, and the doors were frozen solid, glittering with a thick patina of ice. The environmental controls of this silo had failed, it seemed, at about the same time as contact had been lost.
Hod’s Anvil: an ugly name for an equally ugly planet, Khyrus Vythorex thought to himself as he looked at the image on the ghostlight sphere at the front of his ship’s bridge. The planet on the viewer was little more than a dull brown ball practically squatting in space, its surface punctured with the grey and gunmetal flecks of forge-complexes, cities and fortress, and its oceans were a similarly faded grey in colour. Only humans could live in a place so squalid and filthy, and it did not surprise Khyrus to learn that Hod’s Anvil was home to a population numbering in the billions. There would be no shortage of captives to drag back to the Kabal, he thought wryly.