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Love how it's a inspired by the old 2nd edition Grots. Only fitting given the theme of the set.

GW has a business plan centered around constantly pushing new products, regardless of lore change or model invalidation. To legends they go, which is a nice way of saying we’ll forget about those models in a few years time. The player base that used to be, pre-pandemic, is not the current player base. That’s just from my own personal experience, playing the game, going to the game store, and going to some huge events like the Las Vegas Open. It’s expanded! We’ve got a whole new generation of players that don’t have the physical and mental baggage of editions past, and lore lost. As long as people keep buying, the machine will keep churning. I’ll pour one out for the homie devastators and tacticals that are no longer here. I’m also trying to get in a Zen state about editions and changes, because hobby is supposed to be fun. Sometimes the bickering, and concern over change overwhelms what the hobby brings me personally, which is an escape from reality and a chance to hang with friends.

Yeah, the bigger issue is the "deletion waiting room" aspect of Legends. This is definitely something that happens (see Yarrick), but not a good way to treat fans and customers IMO. Referring specially to the practice of swapping units in and out of the rules with no transparency or warning based on internal sales/development timelines. It is very corporate-focused, with customers as a secondary consideration.

Brother, I don't want to sound harsh, but I believe you are coping a wee bit. People has been saying for many years now that any moment now GW were going to do a 180 and go back to the pre Primaris times, so far it has been the contrary minus recent nods here and there, but overall the course remains the same. I know it's difficult to see something you've invested time and effort into change drastically, but it's better to acknowledge it and move on than keep a fools hope in case a miracle happens.

Orange Knight’s point, and I agree, is that it would be great if the official app supported Legends models by hosting the rules and letting us add them to army lists.

What would make everything a lot better is if Games Workshop could support Legends better than they currently do. Allows us to toggle Legends units on and off in the Warhammer app so we can build lists with them more easily. Make sure the rules are better collated and laid out in the PDF, etc etc They don't have to balance or update them regularly, but they could make them easier to access and enjoy.

So, I'm clear that this is how it's all proceeding, but is it cool to have a quick meta-discussion on this before we file it away? I can sympathise with Mazer. It's hard to motivate/keep together a motley band of cutthroats and villains, especially when there's a lot of 'GM Only' knowledge being passed around. There's definitely a huge element of trust the GM. That being said, I also agree with what Lysi said earlier: If we're entertaining the concept that we all have our own goals and these might run counter to each other, then I think it's reasonable to have frustrations in-character which manifest as just bugging out of the mission, or honestly even executing other characters. Nobody wants to be that guy, but Kraggan betrayed us and we sort of let it slide, but if we let another betrayal get away with it then I think Huron will soon be replacing our management. Varne's plan was to land the Arvus, blow the dock, then get back to the Razor, which satisfies his portion of the compact IMO. Having to come up with reasons to now abandon the Arvus and to head into the sewers that don't contradict what I've already written is using up a good chunk of my dwindling mental bandwidth. The best I can do right now is getting the Arvus shot out of the sky, but we kind of already did that scene. What am I saying here? I don't know. I get it, it's hard enough at the best of times to get a party of five to stick together for 'good-aligned' goals, nevermind... this. I think we as players need to trust the GM that he has a plan for sure. I also think @Mazer Rackham if we have the freedom to backstab each other then we also need to have the freedom to abandon/kill/maim/burn our companions too (within reason). The OOC 'trust the GM' part runs counterintuitive to the IC 'I'm surrounded by liars and awful people' part sometimes. I'm very tired and waffling a bit, but it's not coming from a place of dissatisfaction, I promise - loving the game. Just hit some cognitive dissonance earlier and have been too busy to put my thoughts into words until now. Peace and love, Smeg-leg Pete

Obadiah: +As soon as we go in, every person you encounter must die,+ he voxed to Tarh. +I'm going to the Choir in the tower, I want you to check the quarters. Keep silent as long as you can, but if you must go loud, vox me so I know.+ He softly touched one armored fist to his plastron over his heart in salute. +Good luck, friend. Kill them all.+ And at that, he turned to the huge graven doors and shoved them open. The interior was the usual gaudy, gothic architecture that one would expect, dimly lit by a series of glow-globes set high on the arcing walls. A pair of humans -- a female astropath with metal banding around her soulburnt eyes and a skinny, older man in the robes of a servant -- stepped back in shock as the doors swung open, but they had no time to respond as Obi's knife caught her in the throat and Tarh's axe whirled end-over-end to embed itself in the heart of the man. The two infiltrators jogged inside and retrieved their weapons. Obi gave Tarh one last nod, then set off to find the on-duty Astropaths. He flicked on his stummer, letting the machine's soft, almost subsonic hum cancel out the sound of his footfalls as he moved up through the levels. Night had fallen, the time for repast was over, and many of the Tower's staff had, he supposed, retired for the evening; ideally, Tarh would have an easy time killing them in their sleep. The place was not empty, though. A few cherubim floated through the halls and chambers, the buzz of their gravitic motors making an odd discordance with the swish of their wings through the air. These, he ignored, and they in turn paid him no mind as well as they went about their pre-programmed behaviors. He did encounter more than a few humans, though. He found one Astropath wandering down a corridor, seemingly aimless, but it snapped to attention as he entered through a side door less than a meter from the psyker. He saw the brow crinkle in confusion as it regarded him with witch-sight. In that moment, he desperately wanted to know what kind of corruption was sensed, but the thought lasted no longer than it took for Obadiah's left fist to pulverize the man's face. He fell back from the blow, collapsing to the ground with a gurgle as he tried to pull in air through a ruined face. Obi sliced his throat and moved on. Another time he came up behind a pair of mortals. They were deep in conversation, paying little mind to what was going on about them. They wore the robes of menials, and he could tell that they were both female from the way their voices tinkled with laughter at some joke or anecdote. He stalked up behind them, his steps light and covered by the stummer, and smashed their heads together from behind. All that was left in his wake was ruined gray matter and shattered bone. Up and up and up he went, killing silently and efficiently as he went, until he finally arrived at the main Choir chamber itself. These doors did not give to a gentle push, sealed as they were, for the safety of those without. +I'm going loud,+ he sent over the vox. He hadn't heard anything from Tarh in the interim, and it was possible the mass of the structure between them was interrupting their comms, but he sent it anyway. Better safe than sorry. He sheathed Silence and took Fate's Eye in both hands, then shoulder-barged his way into the main Astropathic Choir chamber. The door resisted at first, but the mass behind it proved too great, and the locking mechanism bent and shattered to give him entry. Fortunately, the psykers within were not in the middle of a communion, so he was not exposed to any kind of warp-taint. Unfortunately, the psykers within were not in the middle of a communion, so they reacted immediately to his intrusion. He capitalized on the moment of confusion, snapping his bolter to his shoulder and letting fly. Cough, cough, cough, each suppressed round hit an Astropath. The first blew a man's head clean off, the second detonated on a woman's shoulder and detached her arm from the body, the third embedded itself in another man's midsection; when the mass-reactive exploded, it painted a good portion of the room crimson. Two others began to run and scream. Cough, said Fate's Eye, and one of them went down without a leg. He tried to bring the bolter around to another target. . . but suddenly found his arms weren't behaving. Hoarfrost, whitish-blue and crackling with power, rimed his form. He found his muscles moving in ways he did not desire, yet despite every ounce of willpower he mustered, he could not fight the voiceless commands. He dropped to his knees, laid the bolter on the ground, and lifted his helmet. One of the two remaining Astropaths strode slowly up to him. An older woman, wizened by both age and the terrible power she wielded, made her slow way to him. Leaning heavily on a cane, her bent back meant that even with him kneeling, they were virtually eye-to-eye. "I know you," she whispered. "I've seen your shadow in my dreams. Death in the dark, I was told." Her voice was thin, her whispers breathy, just as ravaged as the rest of her. She reached out a bony hand and touched his face. "You were much scarier in my dreams though. Your face is much handsomer than the skull in my dreams." He forced his face into a wide, open-mouth smile. "The skull you saw? It wasn't mine," he retorted, then spat in her face. Space Marines were notorious for their size and strength. Even outside of their armor, they were stronger than any baseline human and exceedingly difficult to kill, thanks to the various organs that were implanted in their bodies. Yet, one of these organs was often forgotten about, even by those who encountered Astartes on the regular basis, as its gift to the Space Marine did not commonly come into play. This was the Betcher's Gland, a set of additional salivary glands implanted in the lower lip and hard palette, that allowed an Astartes to literally spit acid. The aged Astropath screamed in pain as the Betcher's acid bit into the flesh of her face. The skin where acid hit sloughed away rapidly, and the woman collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain as her face dissolved. As soon as the pain hit her, her concentration was shattered and Obi found his muscles belonged to himself again. He sprang to his feet and lunged, catching the last Astropath as the young woman tried to flee past him through the main door. His hand closed around her shoulder with a semi-audible crack, and she cried out as he inadvertently crushed her scapula. He dragged her back inside the Choir, past the smoking remnants of her superior, and dumped her on the floor on the chamber. He kneeled down next to her, drew Silence from its sheath, and pressed it against her throat as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. GM ONLY:

Sapik: Sapik had been monitoring the vox while he waited in camp for the arrival of the friends. Just before news of the bulk hauler's impact hit the network, Atesh felt the most exhilarating, delicious, horrifying thrill build up and wash through him. Shortly later, he came to himself. He couldn't say he lost consciousness, exactly, but he definitely wandered from himself. He wiped black blood from his nares, changed his face rag, and looked for Rakash. Upon finding him, he exclaimed: "Rakash! Did you feel that?! Ooohhhhhhhhh all goes according to plan!"

They can call them whatever they want, but there still should be obvious kits for "Angry Rhino," "Aroused Rhino," "Rotting Rhino," "Intricately-Planned Rhino," and "Committed-to-Being-Uncommitted Rhino."

Hagga: Hagga watched with something approaching amusement as the hauler raced towards the bastion. He looked away for a moment as sudden detonations erupted at the other end of the city. Good. Varne's demolitions team had been successful. He looked back… What the…? The hauler had sailed past its intended target entirely, and was now in the process of burying itself in the heart of the city. How…? How in the name of hell had Ressokov missed so badly? And how had Ukalegon allowed it to happen? Much of the city was now being destroyed in the throes of fire or flood, including the Administratum building and the Cathedrum, but this was still a bloody disaster! The Imperials had a structurally sound fortress that the Corsairs had no weapons capable of penetrating. It would be a rally point for all the defenders still in the city, and an anvil that the Corsairs would be obliterated against once the rest of the Imperials returned - and they would be on their way very, very soon if the Provost Marshal had half a brain… Then more immediate problems broke the Executioner's train of thought. A heavy rattle and clatter against the hull, juddering their flight. Of course. The Hydra that should have been dead seconds ago still lived. “Evasive action!” he roared. “Put us down somewhere in the city, below their firing arcs!” Even in his armour, he felt the drag of the pilots’ sudden manoeuvring, and had to grab at a handhold on the internal bulkhead. “We can drop you in the city, but there's nowhere to put her down, my Lord! It's too tight between the buildings!” Hagga grimaced, switching to his vox even as he turned away to hurry to the troop bay. ++Fine. Find us a flat roof, and hover as low as you can over it for a few seconds! Then get the hell out of the city until we call for you!++ Astartes were foot soldiers. The best foot soldiers in the galaxy. If they could get on the ground, maybe he could figure out a way to turn this around. He didn't know how yet, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to give it a try! “Mourn! Kraggan!” he yelled as he reached the bay, “get ready to jump! Eska, come here! Veni, throne-damn it!”

Incredibly lame if they're really killing off the old tanks. I'd better get myself a Vindicator and Whirlwind whilst I still can- I don't personally care much for the HH Vindicator, though at the very least the HH Whirlwind looks very nice. Centurions going the way of the dodo is hardly sad (they were terrible then and they're terrible now). As for flyers, speaking as a big fan of wingy thingies (a wingnut if you will) whilst I'll be sad to see the back of some of the models, aircraft just do not work at 28mm scale. The closest they've EVER come to working was the 3.5/4th edition era where the model was on the board for precisely one turn as more of a "marker" for a strafing run than an actual gaming piece per se. Re: Legends, I'd be OK with Legends being a thing if they were handled more like an actual part of the game with proper support rather than the 40K equivalent of a "care" home where the elderly are sent to die without inconveniencing people. If Legends were treated as a full-on expansion ala the good old days of Imperial Armour or Chapter Approved (the early 2000s ones, not the "Whoops! The points costs in your Codex are now invalid!" ones of 8th and 9th) where the idea was to increase the options available to the player by adding older models and wargear options to armies, with it made extremely clear that the contents of the book are just as valid as those printed in the base Codices, that'd honestly be great. Unfortunately they're instead a dumping ground for models GW doesn't want you to use, with poorly-written rules that are never updated to work with the rest of the ruleset* and eventually are removed outright. Having additional compendiums of rules for extra options or units to avoid quadrupling the size of the base books makes perfect sense. Unfortunately, that's not what GW actually did. There is no such thing as a "baby Dreadnought". There's a "morbidly obese Dreadnought" called the Redemptor, however! *As mentioned before, I honestly find the "living ruleset" a terrible idea, as it destroys any kind of longevity for army plans and renders the printed books obsolete. And for those of us who like books and don't want everything tied into some obnoxious app-driven Internet of Things ecosystem that will inevitably stop working, be hacked or just flat-out suck, "JuSt MaKe ThE rUlEs AlL dIgItAl!!!" is NOT a good alternative.

Right gentlemen. I have had Rolos. Unfortunately, I had to obtain myself because you are all slackers, and have not given me my delicious caramel treat-tribute as is right and just as a representative and administrator of the Lord Huron, a victim of the hateful Imperium and who has been slandered by lies and disinformation to cover the incompetence of the High Lords and the Carrion King on his Throne of Fools. Anyway. Once IFF and Tro have had a chance to post, we're going to bring this into line. I am going to move everything forward so I can get the party back together and actually sort this out once and for all. I will lay some OOC narrative guidance for you here, which you should reflect in your ongoing posts. If I have discussed matters with you in PM, adhere to those agreed paths going forward. Right (cracks knuckles): We will assume that this is Landfall +1 Hour. All Players are to convene in the mercantile district. You should, in your posts mention how you have been fighting through checkpoints to rendezvous here. You will do this narratively, bearing in mind where you have come from (docks, astropath tower, yadda yadda). The Starhawk bomber will come under fire. It will be enough to make the Players within shaken, but the pilot will advise he can get you low enough. You will then, make a leap out of the Starhawk bomb-bay onto the rooftops, streets, whatever. You will not split up, and if you do, I will regroup you. Xerxes will discuss how he has been trying to infiltrate the fort (AT: sorry about missing some of your posts I meant to get back to, but as you can see, it is wayward in this ranch..!) Xerxes will describe how, he has seen a tunnel network running underneath the fortress and walls (part of that drainage system I told you all about, remember?) and Varne will back this up after he unleases the flood - he will see the water spumes from deep cisterns being flooded. Narrative gentlemen, narrative all. Someone will find a grate. I don't care who. Anyone Amphibious can then make their way through the tunnels to emerge in an underground cistern below the fort. That's where you STOP. Topside, the people who can't go into the tunnels will manage a distraction. I don't care what you do. If you can manage to capture a Rhino or Chimera off some PDF, I'll allow it. Just narrative, no numbers. Be advised gents, all this will handled narratively. I will make no calls for initiative, no maps, nothing. Adversaries: Judges, with shotguns, grenades, shock batons and shields, mastiffs, flamethrowers, chainswords. The Provost Marshal is upstairs with his bodyguard. Necro is dealing with that. Necro, it's narrative. No Init, no rolls. If all that's clear, gentlemen? Let's get it done.

Not playing HH I miss the reference slightly. I think that part of the reason for the muted response is that the writing has been on the wall for a while and this is not coming as a surprise. Since the start of 10th edition it has been clear that GW intended to cull the remaining Firstborn units. We all expected Tacticals, Devastators and VanVets to be either removed or replaced. The only question was around what would happen with vehicles. I painted up my most recent Firstborn tank less than a year ago so this is a disappointment but not an unexpected one.

GWs stocks are currently trough the roof and have been getting higher for years now, don't confuse personal distaste for something with it being unpopular, from a purely economic POW, Primaris were a resounding success.

Cardboard Deff Dreads or we riot

From my own experience (and many other people on this forum's experience apparently), the best answer for this is to stop using the newest edition of GW's rules. You will be pleasantly surprised how easy it is to keep finding people to game with. A lot of the trouble comes from allowing GW to lead us around by our noses, following whatever change they make purely for the benefit of their own KPIs, and allowing that to impact our hobby time. Break that cycle, and the enjoyment returns!

Varne Following the hurried guidance of a nearby control tower, the pilot touched them down on an elevated landing pad overlooking a pair of huge cargo vessels laden with hundreds of shipping crates. Varne stayed low within the doorframe of the cockpit, watching the exterior vid-feeds as the rear ramp slowly creaked open. The two primary locks that served as the group's targets formed a pair of rhomboid staging areas for dozens, maybe hundreds of smaller vessels, milling around under the overwatch of three squat comms towers. Each of these staging areas probed out like fingers with wide waterways into the dock districts, allowing everything from small fishing vessels to medium-sized pleasure barges to moor alongside the myriad administratum offices which lined the edge of the water. The primary lock sat almost two hundred meters from where the Arvus now idled, with the secondary lock - Varne's position - fifty meters away. The area was heaving with activity, and Varne scrutinised the displays to find any trace of Arbites or PDF. None were noticeable, but there were a number of private guards assigned to the more up-market vessels, as well as armed administratum lackeys posted to the doors of several offices. No threats. The trio of sappers dismounted the bird and quickly lost themselves within the crowd. Soon, Kade's voice came over the vox, +V1 ready.+ Several more minutes passed before Symon checked in, +V3 in position.+ Varne noticed a bead of sweat running down the pilot's forehead as another two minutes passed without word from ibn Kharan. Then, his voice in a muffled whisper, +V2 ready, it's crowded though, boss.+ The Doom Eagle blinked across an affirmation signal on their private channel, nodded to the pilot and gave her a hand signal of all fingers splayed - five minutes. She nodded in return and let out a shaky breath. Varne turned, tore down the dark tarpaulin that bisected the Arvus' cargo bay, and stepped out of the lander onto Harville's dockyards. From the commanding view afforded by the landing pad, he took as much of a running leap as his betentacled leg would allow and threw himself clear, igniting his jump pack and screaming through the air to slam into the ground several feet from the downstream gate of the secondary lock. The screaming and shouting began. Varne added to the song by lifting his autocannon skyward in one hand and letting off a cacophonous three-round burst into the clouds, the monstrous recoil bucking against his elbow. There was pandemonium. Civilians and workers, officials and press-ganged petty criminals, Varne even spotted a ministorum priest amongst the press. The multitudes swarmed from Varne's transhuman presence, trampling over each other to spill between the buildings and through doors in horror, with more than a few tumbling from the bankside and into the murky water. A brave - or foolish - office guard levelled an autopistol at the space marine and emptied the magazine against his pauldron and helmet. Varne levelled the autocannon and turned the man, and a third of the building's facade, into a crater with a single shot. Satisfied with the panic, he grunted and lumbered up to the approach wall, unhooking the demolition charge from his belt and pushing the adhesive surface into the point at which the gate met the wall of the lock chamber. Once the explosive was placed and primed, Varne stepped back. The area around him was empty of all but a single servitor, continuing to stack crates some ten feet away as the screaming and shouting continued unabated nearby. The Doom Eagle kicked his jump pack into life again and thudded onto the landing pad next to the Arvus. He turned, levelled his autocannon across the vista before him, his autosenses easily picking out the lone stationary silhouettes at their predetermined locations amidst the panic. +Your four minutes begin now, do not disappoint.+

More like they settled on a new design for rhino and are using that as the basis for updated predators/vindicators/whirlwinda/razorbacks. They might (stress might as its all rumours at this stage) only give us the new rhino and Land Raider this edition and then release the others next edition (of course they could drip feed over the edition like the assault terminators).

April Vow complete:

Flyers have never been done well or right, they don't really fit tbh (even less so than titanic units before someone wades in moaning about knights), so I can see them going for all factions.

Ukalegon The bulk hauler's rockets fired with savage force, pinning both Ukalegon and Ressokov in place. The Lamenter was grinning like a madman. This was the closest he had come to riding in a drop pod in decades, and he was enjoying every moment of it. The massive freighter careened into Bounty's upper atmosphere as a great fireball in a barely controlled descent, for the brutish slab of a ship had hardly been constructed with aerodynamics in mind. “Steady, steady…” The entire ship was shaking as they bludgeoned their way through the thickening stratosphere. GM Only: With a final nod towards Ressokov, Ukalegon opened the hatch and bailed out and jetted away from the fiery hulk and watched from afar as it smashed into Harville like the fist of an angry god.

... do we need gravis at all?

Gretchin iz ready. Well, one of them is.

Atesh Sapik: Atesh found himself riding in a hastily-armored ground vehicle with a bunch of other rebels he joined after crowing to Rakash about how well the plan went. Rakash had said something about the craft missing its target, but Atesh hadn't paid much attention. The plans of the demigods (strong-minded, but limited in scope) mattered nothing in the multitudinous skeins of fate. Not for the first time, Atesh meditated on whether fate was actually a Crow, or a spider with threads connecting all through the aether. The impromptu carrier in front of his was blown to the empyrean, having been hit by some defense (automated or other.) Atesh's carrier stopped immediately and he confusedly scrambled to the side of the street for cover. It appeared he was only a few blocks from the mercantile square he'd visited with the grinner on their first sojourn. Atesh ducked again as the carrier he'd ridden burst into flame. Apparently, the incendies he'd lovingly crafted on the ship found their way to a heat source. Shame. Thankfully, fate had saved two bottles just needing a wick and a light in his pack. Four more rebels joined him in cover; he smacked their improvised armor for their attention and motioned them to follow him. The squad backed away from the source of fire down the street opting for another way to the rendezvous. Upon rounding a corner to find a parallel route, they immediately bumped into some PDF troops who appeared to be looting a local residence. Atesh started laughing and reflexively tossed flame in their direction while his squad opened up with their lasrifles. More PDF came out of the...apparently not?...looted house, and Sapik called the most organized retreat he could. "Oh :cuss:! Not this way, NOT THIS WAYYYYY!" Atesh never saw what happened to his squad. He took winding, circuitous routes through the city running from fight to skirmish and ducking between exchanges of crossfire. He found himself following a wall that appeared to delineate the district he'd entered and stopped to catch his breath in front of a burning building. The flames calmed him, and as he stared he felt his heart begin to slow and his breath catch. He found himself with three choices to try and find his market: back the way he'd come, off to the right, or directly on. He decided to continue straight. As he took his first step, he heard a quiet but crisp snap of broken tension, and saw two small metal objects fall from a balcony. He recognized the objects' explosive nature just in time to think of an obscenity and be atomized. The end of the vision quickly brought him back to himself, and Sapik bolted down the path to the right. He burst into what appeared to be a market square being used as a forward base in the Battle of Harville. As he started to reach into the ghost realm with his hate and surprise, his emotions evaporated as he recognized the signs of the Eight on several pieces of armor. He almost sobbed, laughing in relief that he had reached the intended rendezvous.

@A.T. nicely done, we can run with that perfectly. Alright folks, with Tarh and Obi-di - Obi-dah, ObAdiah ha-ah-ah-ah life goes on...having almost completed, and AT having doled out the co-ordinates, all Mortal Players should conflab on the diversion, and Amphibious Trait Players go for a bath. Do your best to connect your narratives, gentlemen. Steal some tanks, kill some folks, RV and get ready for your narrative push. With Crux'as as anointed, he's the man in the top chair, so how he says to do it, goes. Marines, barring Necro should RV in the cistern below the fortress. Don't care how you get there, just go. Keep track of your ammo, boys.

Xerxes: The assault had come with scant warning from above and Xerxes counted himself fortunate to be within the reinforced and somewhat remote walls of the mechanicum facility as debris and fire rained down. The impact provided ample excuse to hide the true cause of power and comms failures as servitors positioned at key junctions severed the links and then moved to rejoin him - the dutiful magos responding to an attack on the city in familiar robes and clear identification. The cathedrum and mercantile districts would doubtless hold treasures amongst the twisted steel and fire and the arbites would soon enough be directed further afield... but as he moved through the streets fresh warnings flashed across the dataslates connected to the city augers - breaches and overpreasure within the drainage system beneath the city, a web of red signals that ran across his maps even as far as the fortress itself. Quickly he interfaced with the auger network degrading those warnings as best he could and spreading more false signals. The walls were breached and few would know. A coded transmission, "Target compromised, access established, co-ordinates encoded".

Tarh OCC: removed New start Walking along the inner perimeter of the ground floor he were about one third way around on the river side when he came across several storage rooms. He took a peek inside one, his Preysense mask compensating for the dark. Boxes, barrels and half empty shelves, what was inside he could not tell, but in one corner he spied a weapons rack, mostly full. If the empty slots corresponded to the guards on duty then there weren’t many left. Back in the corridor a chill begun to make itself felt, a child of the soul, for the damp cloths had mostly dried out. He did not like it. A little later he spotted a downwards leading staircase, the signs by the door spoke of maintenance. ++I’ll see if there is a way to cut the power down there, or at least draw attention away from the witches further up.++ Trading the chill of sorcery for the damp of a basement near a river was somehow comforting, as was the slight tinge of rot in the air. He speculated that the lower levels had flooded at some point and no one since had property dried them out. The fuse and power panel when he found it was dusty, tripping some fuses would impair the power nicely. With care he pulled on a few wires, a few sparks and flickers was good, but not enough. A few more and the better part of his canine of water, no doubt contaminated by the river, and the sparks shone brightly for a moment before all went dark. It took less time then he would have liked for footsteps to sound above him, someone coming to check the power. First one then two lantern shown down, of course they would come as a pair. Backing up to a wall, and hopefully outside of the coming guards line of sight, assuming they head straight for their goal and did not search, Tarh readied his Laspistol, three shots to the back each, then the axe to make sure. As plans go it worked well enough, on the first guard. The second had dropped as soon as the las-bolt flash illuminated the dark. Tarh adjusted his aim but the guard scrabbled for cover. His mistake however was to go for the vox unit on his belt, the blinking red light as clear as a signal fire to the preysense filters, and five las-bolts later the guard slumped lifeless, vox unit untouched. Heading back upstairs he tried to catch up with the Chosen, but as he neared the front entrance hall he found a door labelled ‘security’ half open to one side. Peaking insight a security desk with pict screens, and two mugs beside the stations. The source of the two guards perhaps? He tipped the mugs over, perhaps it would harm the electronics when power was returned. Two further floors up he found the first of several corpses, shrivelled old men and women, bold and eyeless. Where these the corpse gods witches? They did not look like much, an image cast in that of their god judging by what he had seen in their temples, but then it never pained to underestimate sorceress of any strip. Tarh stopped, froze, had that been a scream. He waited for a long count but no alarm rang out, and no screams echoed back. Maybe he was imagining it. By now he had noted the mark by each door that housed a corpse, the Chosen was indicating where he had been. No need retread ground, Tarh returned to the central staircase and ascended further, skipping several floors when he saw marks. The soul chill was back and stronger, while he hesitated on the threshold; it also confirmed to Tarh that there were witches left up here. He thought about waiting for the Chosen, perhaps he had overtaken him. It seemed a good thought. And yet, and yet what if he had not, and there was work left to be done. With trepidation he pushed on, hand firmly griping his pistol and axe. Soon he stopped, uncertain, ‘jumping at shadows now’ he asked himself. Reciting by rote a pray of warding, calling on the pantheon to shield him, he continued step by step. A rustle of cloth and patter of bare feet on stone was all the warning he got as another eyeless witch rushed him from a side room. Energy crudely wreathing the foes fist. A snapshot of the las-pistol went wide, there there was no distance. Tarh danced backward, badly, but glowing fits was never a good omen. A blow hit him square, and the front of his harness caught flame. A quick pull on the autogun harness freed him from it and the burning webbing. In so doing he fell backwards, axe and pistol both went flying. Despite the eyless skull the witch had no trouble seeing him as Tarh tried to create some distance, he needed his long-las now. Alas it was not the long-las, but the discarded autogun that did it in for the Astropath. The witch fire cooked of some of the ammunition and the gun shot wildly before shaking itself apart in a small explosion. So much for quite, Tarh though as he picked himself up, but the pantheon must be looking out for him tonight, for the witch had not only caused its own demise, its body had shielded Tarh from the same. Emboldened he pressed on, until sometime later, Tarh was not entirely shore how much, he came across the Chosen, standing over a dead witch. ++Any more levels to clear?++ he asked, but the Chosen shook his head. Wearily Tarh turned to head back towards the grand staircase, so many steps down and he was feeling weary and sore. Perhaps he could get a few hours rest after they crossed into the city, but first there would be another cold wet journey across the river. ‘Oh pantheon, let there be a dry bed in a safe house’ he thought, he knew it would be too much to ask for it to be warm as well.

Ukalegon Ukalegon barely spared himself a moment of grim satisfaction at the sight of the destruction of something as beautiful as an edifice to the God-Emperor as he fell through the clouds at terminal velocity. There was work to be done. He ignited his jump pack again and turned over into a steep dive, plunging near vertically down towards the heart of bastion which the bulk hauler had narrowly missed, his auto-senses firmly fixed upon the massive tower at the center of the fortress. He was going to make this a spectacle. Were it not for his Lyman’s ear and unnatural fortitude, he would have blacked out from the g-forces alone, but he was made from far sterner stuff than the average mortal, gene-forged for moments such as these. His vision narrowed as the roof of the central tower grew beneath him. He was laughing, finally pushed past the brink of reason and guilt and shame and hate as he dove through the clouds. Tracer-led fusilades of heavy bolter fire arced up towards him and he danced and barrel-rolled around them during his break-neck dive like a bird of prey. None could touch him. He was a red-and-black meteor, a ceramite falcon. He filled his hands with his chainsword and infernus pistol, and at the last possible moment, performed a forward somersault and slowed his descent, now fighting against Bounty’s massive gravity well, and leveled his sidearm at the roof, vapourizing a hole in the rockcrete beneath him in the manner of a boarding torpedo. Ukalegon landed in a cloud of choking smoke and debris and shouts of confusion and horror and pain. He rose to his full height and searched through the miasma of detritus for survivors. He was surrounded by large panes of armaglass on all sides, and he could make out the black pillar of smoke rising to the east where his chariot had crashed. The comms personnel, those not killed by the sudden and violent appearance, gawked at him, and he engulfed them in a gout of burning promethium with the wave of his hand. He was soon greeted by lasfire and he turned upon those of the Provost Marshal’s surviving bodyguards, rendering them into horrible red stains with his chainsword. By this time, the marshal, to his credit, had managed to claw his way out of the rubble and debris left by Ukalegon’s entrance, and now stood, bloody and bruised, but defiant, with his shock maul and bolt pistol in hand. The Lamenter grinned wickedly at the human and raised his chainsword in salute. “You will die for this, trai-" Ukalegon was upon him in an instant, covering the gap between them with inhuman speed, and severed the arm bearing the crackling mace at the elbow in one stroke. He felt the dull impact of a bolt round detonating against his breastplate at point-blank range, but he ignored it, dropped his infernus pistol, and grasped the marshal by his remaining wrist. He squeezed until he felt the man’s bones pop and break in his iron grip and the bolt pistol clattered ineffectually to the floor. "Not yet, Provost Marshall, not yet. First I wish for you to see what is befalling your fair city of Harville, now that the Red Corsairs have found you, and Huron Blackheart, Lord of the Maelstrom, has demanded your world be offered up in sacrifice." Ukalegon released the man's wrist, who fell to his knees in pain, cradling his broken arm in his lap. “Look out yonder, see how I have obliterated your holiest of sanctums and murdered the shrine of your God. Observe how our forces sweep through your streets, burning your good works to cinders, and how your levees burst and drown the rest. Hell has come for you, and we shall reap this world for all of its bounties." "Please… no… why…" Ukalegon reduced some of the armaglass window panes to molten slag with his pistol and smashed out the remaining material, then grabbed the provost marshal by the throat and dragged him over to the yawning, jagged opening. He stood before the precipice, and held the weakly struggling human out over the chasm. He activated his armour’s external vox projectors and amplified his voice to a terrifying roar, bellowing his defiance down at the rest of the arbites fortress. +DEFENDERS OF BOUNTY, HEED ME! HURON BLACKHEART OF THE MAELSTROM HAS COMMANDED THAT YOUR WORLD DIE! HAGGA HEART-EATER AND HIS FORCES HAVE COME FOR BOUNTY! I, UKALEGON THE BLACK, HAVE SLAIN YOUR EMPEROR'S FAVOURED DAUGHTERS FROM ORBIT AND DESTROYED HIS TEMPLE! NOW YOUR MARSHAL SHALL FEEL THE TEETH OF RETRIBUTION, AND SO TOO SHALL ALL OF YOU!+ He swept his chainsword out in an arc towards those tens of meters below who gawked up at him while he ranted at them. Through a constricted windpipe the provost marshal choked out his last words, some final curse, which was lost to Ukalegon, swept up as he was in this moment of dark glory. +BEAR WITNESS! BLOOD FOR BLOOD! VENGEANCE FOR THE FALLEN!+ The Lamenter hoisted the human up above himself and savagely buried his chainsword in his torso and with a horrible flesh-chewing racket, sawed clean through him, flesh, armour and all amid an eruption of blood and viscera which gushed over Ukalegon's armour and rained down onto the courtyard below, followed shortly thereafter by the marshall’s lower half which landed with a dull, bone-crunching splat. +YOUR DOOM IS HERE!+

I think he is asking why aren't people making a bigger stink about it, similar to how the HH community seems to have wholesale rejected the latest edition. And you are probably right. It may not seem like it to those who are especially sensitive to criticism of the new range and lore, but people have already come to terms with what is happening. I am interested to see what comes of this. GW pulled off a neat move by getting people to re-buy their Space Marine armies. Are they going to bank on people continuing to do that in the modern range, or are they expecting "firstborn" fans to buy upscaled armies for yet another game set between HH and Modern 40k? Or both? Do they expect new customers who lack a sense of nostalgia to buy upscaled Mk7 whenever that gets released? More importantly, when GW brings back these older sculpts some time in the 2030s and makes them look nicer than current Primaris models, do we get to pull an Uno Reverso and insult people who still like their lame old Primaris Marines, like the grognards they are?

Can Trokair & I get in more posts for murdering Astropaths? That's all happening 18ish hours before the sky started falling.

Hard to get excited without price and knowing in three years we will just be back here again.

Tend to agree... good point about the comms too. Even if Obi and Tarh did take out the Tower Astropaths, the Arbites Astropaths will be calling for help way before we can get in to take them out? By the way, just to be clear, I'm very confused as to what has happened and why, but I'm not cross with @Necronaut , @Mazer Rackham or anyone else? It's only a game, right? I'm just not sure where to go next in a way that makes sense, or how to now accomplish our IC goals...?

++ ALL PLAYERS MAY POST ++

Yes. However, I think that with certain actions and tempers running a little thin, we'll take a break. Play stops for now, until things can settle down.

The best I can offer is a muted mildly bothered "yay.".

Not "threw away", just "not scheduled for an imminent release". Assuming GW intend to refresh the predator, razorback, whirlwind etc. for 40k I don't expect them to release all the rhino+ kits at once. Or even all in one 3-year cycle. In the interim, while those new kits haven't even been announced, the rules go away.

Harville: The automated vessel is given the signals to veer off. When it refuses, the voice of Precinct Control tells the pilot to obey or die. When they are ignored, the Hydra opens fire. It chews the vessel as it rears up at the precinct, before passing it at blistering pace, displaying the vulnerable belly and engines. The Hydra's barrels offer another burst before ceasing, as the threat passes. None can stop the inevitable, when the cargo hauler plummets down into the town, pulverising the cathedrum in a simple swipe, and carrying on in a long trough, gouging the earth and masonry into rubble. The Sisters and Administrators don't even know what hit them. They are all instantly killed in the explosion and landfall.

Not totally unexpected, but still not great. The shorty infantry going was given, but I hoped they would have spared the vehicles. I wish that this would mean GW would take Legends more seriously and for example incorporate them into the app. And I hope this would also make people more accepting towards using the Legends. Personally I have always been fine with using them, but that is not a common attitude.

It sure looks like you have things planned out. Good for you - I think it's a very healthy approach to the hobby. As an aside: As a hobbyist who was active during 5th/6th edition and skipped most of the changes of upheavals post 8th edition, I still struggle to adapt to the 'new norm' where many kits' availability is limited and the pace of turnaround is breakneck, given my progress. Back in the day, I never struggled to get the kits I wanted and the shelf-life of products appeared to be longer (or even indefinite). Now, things are clearly different: characters locked in boxes or available later for quite ridiculous prices, discount boxes being limited runs etc. And there's this inherent pressure to this: get things now with a discount or risk missing them out entirely or having to pay full prices. I find this "new GW landscape" quite frustrating. And it's great that I'm not in the hobby loop since I find myself very prone to these kinds of addictions :D It seems we have a very similar approach to the hobby. These are my thoughts and plans, too. I'm quite happy to get the new speeder, though. *** In terms of staying on-topic within this subforum, here's some actual work in progress. The botched squad markings after my first attempt: And after an attempt to refine them without resorting to painting them from scratch: I now regret not having taken a 'before' photo of the other pads, but here are the finished ones with the chapter symbol: These are also a great example of my limited imagination/foresight. Initially, I planned to paint the blue cross on top of the yellow stripe and... it turned out the that there wasn't enough contrast between the two bright colours. That's why I decided to put more work into these and paint a purple line/border to help set the crosses of from the yellow stripe. I think I got it right in the end but, frankly, I should've thought about it beforehand.

I, bouargh, enlist for 12 MoH and for May pledge the following: - 5 Dark reapers plus their token/totem - 1 Yriel Should I work on more stuff, it will be for my plodding along vow... Pics latter.

Hagga: The Executioner frowned at the Lamenter's departing back. A courageous, but maybe foolhardy idea. He didn't want to lose one of their small complement of Astartes to something so senseless as dying in a suicidal crash, but he could hardly order his brother to do other than he wished. Maybe it would be well? Ukalegon's jump pack should allow him to escape in time, and perhaps having him there would ensure Ressokov didn't have a last minute change of heart? As the two vessels separated and continued towards the surface, Hagga stood just behind the pilots of their converted gunship, looking out between them through the armoured frontal viewport. The light from Bounty's warming sun was thoroughly obscured, blotted out by the massive lander that hung what felt like only inches above them. They descended together, the view changing from black into blue through the fiery reds and oranges of atmospheric entry. Dropping further and further, they passed through thin clouds to reveal Harville laid out ahead of them, the wide river sparkling away on their right, the brutal black bastion just visible dead ahead. Ressokov held his nerve for a few moments, but Hagga knew instinctively that he wouldn't be able to wait much longer… Several seconds passed, then the hauler shuddered almost imperceptibly. Like a beast of burden that had thrown off its yoke and stretched its aching back. “That's it. Slow us now, let them go,” he ordered softly. Another long moment passed as the hauler gradually pulled away… With a roar, the afterburners fired, suddenly blasting the larger transport forward with a huge flare, aimed squarely at the Arbites HQ like a huge bolt round. Hagga grinned. “There they go! Honour to you, Andus Ressokov, and to my brother Ukalegon! ‘On wings of fire, in blood and fury and glory…’”

https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/383296-bc-the-blackest-heart-part-ii-ic/page/70/#findComment-6168383 Edit made, cut the first paragraph and slightly edited the next two, I think the rest works fine witout contradicting IFF earlier post. Edit: erm @Mazer Rackham,not to cause a spanner, but can Tarh go with the amphibious lot? I feel that might be a better ploy to get Mithra into the games as I keep on running into situations where I need to leave her to one side. (and yes I know you pointed out that giant tortoise might be a problem minion for game play reason way back when, so that is my fault entirely). Was thinking of a quick IC post where Tarh has to get wet again (I can already hear him complaining that he will never be dry on this planet) and goes into the river/underground pipes what not that lead to the cistern. If doesn’t work for the grant scheme of the game happy to roll with the other mortals and provide big gun support from Mithra’s back.

That second deck could be for Combat Patrol as people have theorised that they're taking a leaf from spearhead when tackling CP

...and they also would have bought a lot fewer Firstborn kits between Spring 2017 and now. Some of them probably would have just ragequit or been a lot louder in their opposition to Primaris. But you see, if you turn up the heat on the boiling frog SLOWLY...

Haven't been paying attention to the Space Marine range I take it? For real though, this does seem quite on-brand for current GW- massive overfocus on form over function. Yes they look nice when built, but they can only be built in one way, are a chore to paint and they're not really suitable as gaming pieces due to all the fragile little details. Very disappointing.

That is a nice grot. The Ork side of this box looks much better from a hobby standpoint for me

I'm sorry, am I totally misunderstanding the size of this bastion or something? I'm looking at the size of it on the map, and picturing a proper Arbites Precinct House, which is a fortress that is supposed to be able to withstand a full on planetary rebellion... for months if necessary! Metres thick plascrete, lots and lots of guns, etc, etc? A handful of las and auto cannons on the Starhawk won't do jack to it? As for demo charges, even if they will penetrate (which I doubt. Again, metres thick plascrete) how do we get them across the moats and walls we can see all around the thing, which are presumably covered by the aforementioned heavy bolter emplacements which are there to cut down raging mobs potentially thousands strong, not a few squads of renegades (which is all we've got in the city?) We've got Marines, yes. 3 of us at the moment. Unless we can somehow start inside the bastion (and again, I'm not seeing how the Starhawk could survive to get us that close, it's much less manoeuvrable than the Wasp... which did get shot down?) we haven't got anything that will get us past those defences. A few HB volleys and we're all dead before we're half way across the killing field to the gate, Marine or not? Again, unless I'm missing something about the scale of the place, the freighter bomb was the only weapon we had that had a reasonably good chance of knocking out the Bastion. I just don't see where to logically go from there? [shrug]

Losing the Predators and vindicators is grim. I'm not completely surprised, I've known it was a possibility for a while, but I'm extremely disappointed if this is true regardless as I had genuinely been hoping that they'd stick around due to the ubiquity of the Rhino kit.

A lot of the primaris/firstborn always seems to come down to that there’s a lid for every pot. I love the suppressors and thought the old sang guard were goofy looking. I’m also not going to waste my time debating anyone else’s aesthetic preferences. Buy the ones you like and avoid the ones you don’t and if you hate a whole range the it’s probably time to swap factions.