The Fall of Izalith
For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Holy Terra. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting corpse writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.
Yet, in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the Daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomicon, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor’s will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defense forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, to name but a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threats from xenos, heretics, mutants – or worse.
To be alive in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imagineable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be remembered. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
Yet there are those who rise above the teeming masses, rejecting the conformity and servility of mankind. The ignorant call them Heretics, lost, and damned – but they know themselves as the Disciples of the Dark Gods.