Imperial Literature

And the tide of death sweeps onwards.

Darkness in the Warp, a shadow rising that drove the psykers insane with dreams of clicking claws and scraping chitin, a shadow that slashed through the cobweb-thin strands of fellowship between the worlds of humanity. In the true darkness of the void, the ships are coming, great gliding crustaceans of yellowed ivory trawling through the black desert between the stars, always seeking and moving.

Always hungry.

But before the Hive rose like a trillion-strong swarm of hideous wasps, before a name was forged from the remains of a dead and broken world, before even the twisting tendrils of a mind too vast and slow to comprehend first touched the realm of men and began to drain it dry…

A world fell to the horde, a world of raging oceans and deadly predators that knew not that they were only prey, a world that christened the death that would soon threaten every world of humanity. Tyran was consumed by the darkness of the Swarm and although the world was forgotten in the grim feast that still continues to this day, for a thousand men and women, it was home.

This is Tyran’s last day.

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