Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar - Chapter Five

V.

The rain was finally easing somewhat, though the skies remained as dour and grey as the sodden ashen earth. Garanthe removed his hat, shaking the accumulated grimy water from its surface before replacing it upon his head. He ran one hand through his short white beard and cleared his throat before addressing his team;

'Aurelius has identified our target', he began. He conjured a hololith map from a device he pulled from within the depths of his coat. The model of the nearby compound resolved before them showing towers, piping and a mass of large cargo containers and walkways. 'Here' he indicated a spot on the map, 'there is a communications array atop this structure'  the indicated building was skeletal, myriad stanchions and access ladders provided a route to the top but on the whole it was open without a great deal of cover. The surrounding towers however, granted a plethora of sniping positions.'We can tap into that relay and retrieve any messages stored.' Garanthe continued, 'Emperor willing one of them will provide a clue to Alistae Carn's location.'

'Ulo, Ulk,' he continued, 'you will head forward to the array. Scout the area and eliminate any opposition. Your objective is to secure the tower, quietly. Grummond, you will circle round to the rear by this piping. Provide them cover.' The Squat paused wringing his beard for a moment and grunted his assent.

'Dolf, you'll be with me. We will take up position by these containers. Once Ulo and Ulk have given us the all clear we will move in and I will use the data thief to access and siphon the messages. Andrukas, you will accompany us but remain by the containers in all cases, we may need you to cover our escape. We all meet back here once the data is retieved. The Inquisitor switched off the map and the grid disappeared, Aurelius, I will need you to interpret the data, so stay here with Deathshead until I return. Honoured Astartes, you will be our backup. Defend the Savant, he is vital to this operation.

'This was not the agreement' Deathshead rumbled. Even with the volume on his external helmet speakers lowered it still seemed terribly loud. 'I was promised engagement with the Xenos, yes?"

It was true, the whole reason that Garanthe had been granted use of the Deathwatch was that he had petitioned the venerated Ordos Watchmaster. Approaching the ancient warrior he had explained at length the nature of the Xenos threat, the importance of combating it and the glory that could be had. The Watchmaster's impassive face may as well have been carved from granite for all the expression he showed but he deigned to assign two Deathwatch Battle Brothers to the Inquisitor's resources. Deathshead was one, the other was back on the Fist of Makius. Brother Parius was an Ultramarine, but there was no really difference between the two Astartes. Garanthe found the Ultramarian warrior to be the more garrulous of the pair if anything and slightly more grounded, but that was about it.  In combat they were evenly matched. Garanthe had watched them duel multiple times. Parius was the more measured and practiced of the two, a steadier and more deliberate fighter. Deathshead in contrast was unpredictable and more inventive, constantly looking to unsettle and surprise Parius, to test his Battle Brother's stout defence. Together they would be a formidable foe, he had been loathe to separate them. They were born for combat, not to be idle.

'Patience, Deathshead,' he pleaded. 'I would see us avoid engagement at this early stage. This is recon and information gathering only. You are here in case things go wrong. I pray your Battle Prowess will not be required at this time'.

'Then you shall not mind if I pray for the opposite, Inquisitor. Yes?' the Marine responded with a slight incline of his head. Garanthe didn't respond, he knew it wasn't an actual question, the inquisitive inflection was just a part of the warrior's speech pattern. The Inquisitor gestured to Dolf and they both crept down the slope leading to the compound and the sea of cargo containers. The two Canid mutants darted a quick look at the Squat and darted off in the opposite direction. Aurelius stared impassively at the disappearing figures, muttering to himself as his styli scribbled and scratched, had anyone been paying attention they would have heard him say 'Be careful Simeon'

Not far away, hidden in the upper reaches of the tower of stanchions and buttresses, wary eyes scanned the approach to the Complex through a pair of mag-noculars. Javia Wren muttered to herself and adjusted the settings on the device, improving the illumination.  She could swear she had seen something, something moving, a shadow, a shape. There it was again. There was definitely something moving out there and it wasn't any native animal. She tracked the object as it ducked behind some piping and headed in her direction. The Holy Magus, he had said they would come, the infidels, the Imperium's lackeys. He had said so and so it had come to be. Of course it had, a thousand shames on her for even a moment's doubt. She lowered the Mag-nocs and reached for her Lasrifle, priming the charge. At a glance she sent Seb who had been standing patiently at her side, to signal Krysa in the opposite tower. Their ambush would be perfect. Her order's were simple; eliminate the outsiders.

She remembered the moment well. She had been summoned (telepathically - there was no need for a physical message/messenger) to stand before the Holy Magus. Javia had trembled slightly as he conferred his blessings upon her. She had listened, rapt, as he told her of the invaders that were going to come. The lapdogs of the Emperor must be destroyed, he had intoned. There had already been intruders, and though they had been dealt with, there would always be more ever more heretics, unbelievers that would never know the love of the Yellow King. More enemies looking to prevent the Yellow Day and usurp His glory. The Magus's fiery rhetoric had filled her with a righteous fury. She had been chosen, he said. Chosen to defend the Brotherhood and see the Yellow King's will done. Consumed with divine purpose and pride she had selected her team and prepared her ambush.

She snarled as she raised the rifle and sighted through the scope. The interlopers would be destroyed. Nothing would interfere with the blessed Yellow Day, nothing could be allowed to. They were too close. Every sermon from the Holy Magus was more intense, more frenzied, more righteous. The galaxy was theirs, they awaited only the divine moment to strike. Nothing could stop them, nothing could prevent their ascension. Their destiny was ordained, she would lead this ambush and become favoured in the eyes of the Yellow King. This was her moment, her time. She located her target, breathed out, and pulled the trigger.

Contrast - The Emperor's New Clothes?

Ok so i got to try out Contrast today. My main aim was experimentation as opposed to just getting something painted and the Primaris Marine was first. I'm intending to do an old school Ultramarine army so the first thing i did was try Talassar Blue over a Grey Seer undercoat. Honestly, i was underwhelmed. I found it very blotchy and once it pulled it was very difficult to work with. The fact that the undercoat was so light it really provided a lot of 'contrast' didn't help. The paint doesn't act like a normal paint. It's like a thick glaze mixed with an ink or shade. One thing i would have liked to have done was to mix it with some medium to see if i could get it to behave 

differently but alas none was available. 

I tried a variety of different techniques on the different halves of the model. One side received a carefully applied thin coat. The other side a thick one as suggested by GW. The results were disappointing. The thin side was patchy and the thick side blotchy with heavy pooling. It was here that i tried a few different things.

ONE thick coat

First i used the capillary action on a dry brush to remove some of the pooling. Contrast cannot really be manipulated once it is on the model, because of its viscosity you will just leave marks everywhere. This made things a little better but it was still pretty uneven.

One thin coat. 

Secondly i used a second coat over the first thin one in selective areas to dark the middle of some of the panels, kind of a reverse highlighting. This worked reasonably well but the paint was still really sticky to work with. Ho hum.


Next i used some Wraithbone base paint to pre-highlight areas, kind of a manual zenithal highlight. When i went back over these areas i would get a gradient, though again it was difficult to control the gradient. This worked well in some areas and not so well in others, on the helmet it was a bit of a disaster but on the arms it was pretty good and i got a blended effect.


The last thing to do was to add some shading with a successive coat of Talassar Blue. This worked OK but in general i was still left with a fairly blotchy model, especially on the shoulder pads and leg greaves. I put a lot of this down to the undercoat though, i would be interested in how a dark undercoat with a zenithal highlight would change things.

a bit let down by the Talassar Blue i decided to switch it up, i repainted the shoulderpad rims and chest eagle and Bolter in Wraithbone. I then hit the Bolter with (2nd Ed FTW) a thick coat of Blood Angels Red. This preformed more as i would have hoped. I needed to do nothing else with it. Happy with that i used Iyanden Yellow on the shoulder pad rims. This was a REVELATION. It looked great. one coat and i got a bright clear yellow. Painting yellow has officially been solved! Buoyed by this i used some Nazdreg Yellow on the chest eagle which gave me a very passable shaded golden yellow that i would have had to use multiple paints to achieve normally.

Chalking that down as a success, i used Black Templar on the ribbing between armour plates, which worked well, and Snakebite Leather on the pouches which acted more like the Talassar Blue and pulled too drastically. I tried to water down the Black Templar with water to use on the metallic sections of the Bolter and was interested to see how the water affected the paint. It doesn't really mix with it, it tried to separate from the water. Still i slapped it on and it behaved kind of OK on the model, Blood Angels Red on the eye lenses a bit of Skeleton Horde on the base and i was done with the marine. Not entirely happy but curiosity satisfied.

I then picked up a Stormcast, this time undercoated in Wraithbone. I have a Stormcast army and its not grey but it is just undercoated, could Contrast provide a quick way to get them done? I am a slow painter by nature.

First up was the purple robes that my Stormcast have, i used Shyish Purple, which was very rich if a little dark. Still, it was behaving very well on the folds of the robes and i was pleased by the possibility of future applications. I then used Black Templar on the armour, this gave me a dark grey with natural highlights on the edges where the paint pulled away. Again, i hit it with a second coat. ET VOILA! I don't think i will ever paint black armour another way. It looked superb, and it was so easy to do! This in itself made Contrast worth it to me, so it's a real shame that GW have once again failed to anticipate demand and sold out immediately. Bravo Black Templar, hope you return to availability soon.

I was nearing the end of my available time to play about with paints so decided to just hit the model with some different colours to see what happened. Apothecary White on the shield resulted in no discernible difference, the flat surface giving nowhere for the Contrast to work. Nazdreg Yellow as gold on the decoration worked though as did a brown i cannot remember the name of on the scroll. Gulliman Flesh on the face and more Nazdreg for blonde hair did the job there.


I tried Basilicum Grey and Gyrph Charger Grey on the hammer head and and trim of shield respectively, some dark red (again sorry i don't recall the name) on the haft of the hammer and Wyldwood on the leather parts and she was done. I was a lot happier with the Storm Cast than the Marine but when i picked up the Marine i did realise that, fully dried it had evened out the finish a bit, even if it was still a bit shiny for my liking.

The last thing i did was use some Athermatic Blue on the crystal at her belt, as you would expect this worked really well, looked like it was glowing. I called it a day there. Mixed results overall but a lot learned.


Final Thoughts:


Contrast is interesting. It doesn't really work like paint at all, it is a thick ink/glaze. The way it works out of the pot is something that, for the most part i really don't like, it's a real shame that there was no medium to thin it down with, i would have liked to see if it made it more workable. Never mind.


I also found that some colours worked better than others, some were a dream and others really were difficult to work with. The Talassar Blue in particular was a disappointment although i must admit that it may have been as much to do with the model, Snakebite leather was another that undewhelmed, as did Basilicum Grey. Some of the Contrast Paints are thicker than others more unwieldy and difficult to apply.

However, the gains outweigh the negatives in my opinion. Black Templar and the Yellows have changed the way i will paint those colours. Forever. I also found a few other colours that will certainly form part of my paint range in the future.


So overall, i think that Contrast is a decent addition. More experimentation is required, and i need use the medium at some point but for the most part they do what they are meant to. They certainly work on models with a lot of recesses and detail and depth more than large flat panels. Texture and intricate detail allow Contrast to to do what it does best.

The finish is also a concern with me, as with inks and heavy glazes it dries a little shiny. Not gloss exactly but still more plasticy and patchy than i would like. It is worth saying though, that a second coat and/or matt varnish can probably negate these problems. It is also worth noting that i did not use as much of the paint as i had thought i would,. it certainly goes quite a long way.

Still a lot of people will use contrast as a quick way of painting armies and for hordes and those that will only be concerned with a force that good from a distance they will certainly be a boon. For others their use will be limited but i am sure we will be finding new possibilities and potential for the range for some time yet.

Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cult War - Chapter Three

III

Sefina De'ath leaned back in the luxurious highbacked executive chair, rolled her eyes and sighed for what must have been the hundredth time. For not QUITE the hundredth time she wished she had accompanied the Inquisitor on his mission to Endomaw, hell, been sent with Wraithchild squad to hunt down the Genestealer. Anything would be preferable to this interminable mindnumbing tedium.

"Emperor Save me" she muttered for what MUST have been the hundredth time, she'd have so dearly loved to have had Ralscon back here so she could kick him in the gut again, repeatedly. She had been all too aware that he had been up to no good and concealing things but she had been astounded by the scope of his devious machinations, she was actually kind of impressed. To conceal and falsify so much data spoke of some innate talent, it was a shame that it had been so very severely misdirected.

"Damn you Ralscon " she swore, consoling herself with the fact that wherever the former Supervisor Prime had been taken it was likely to be wholly unpleasant for him. The Inquisition were not gentle to heretics. The first stage of retrieving the information was a thorough data sift. In this at least she had been able to secure assistance. Her time undercover in the Administratum had allowed her to identify the most competent and trustworthy personnel and it was no coincidence that these were those that tended not to indulge in the narcotic known as 'Emperor's Caress' that had paralysed so much of Narthley. These individuals had ceded quickly to her authority when she had brandished Garanthe's Inquisitorial sigil. All throughout the Imperium knew and feared the Emperor's Holy Inquisition even if they seldom expected to encounter them in their lifetime.

She found herself considering the drug for a moment. That it had originated in Endomaw was very clear but for what purpose? Control? It seemed likely but then why suddenly curtail the supply as they had? It made no sense. Then again it HAD reduced Narthley's readiness and productivity to practically zero. Could Endomaw be planning an attack? They were a long way away, they would see them coming well in advance and despite the increased activity in Endomaw there had been no signs of any advance or indeed any increased presence for a week or more now. It was true however that every facet of Narthley had been affected by the prolificity of the drug. Industry, security, productivity, not one element had escaped. However, the withdrawal symptoms and problenms that came with them would surely be short lived. By the time any invasion force made it's way over from Endomaw Narthley would surely be recovered. The worst addicts in the Administratum had been removed for 'processing and even now local civil enforcement operatives (those that were not also corrupted by the Narcotic) were rooting out anyone else who might be under the influence of the Emperor's Caress. This was a gargantuan task in itself for they were much reduced in manpower and Sefina was under no illusion that ALL users could be eradicated, the city would quite literally cease to function in any meaningful way. No, they must all be 'Processed' but they could not all be executed or even imprisoned. At least not till replacement workforces could be sourced. Needs dictated that she must operate in a slightly less drastic manner than usual, it chafed her that her hands were tied in this manner. There was something she was missing, what was it?

Shaking hear head as if to clear it, she returned her focus to the screen ahead of her. There were reams and reams of data to analyse and check. In the Emperor's name why had the Inquisitor taken the Savant with him? Throne knew hew would have been invaluable in processing this kind of volume of information. Ideally suited to this endeavour, he would have been able to perform the task much faster than she. Sefina finished reading the latest report, made some quick notes and dismissed it before summoning what was probably the hundredth document to be examined.

Some distance away Keroi Kass crouched in the dark, trying to steady his racing pulse and panicked breathing. Nothing he could do would stop his hands shaking though, nothing except another lift. It had been over a day since his last, prised from the grip of a dead man, a man he had killed, all for the Emperor's caress, and that was just one paltry tab, barely enough for a lift at all. Still, it was better than nothing he had told himself as he rifled his victims pockets whilst swallowing the yellow pill.

Now he was deep in the throes of withdrawal again, the drug was proving impossible to find Morgal lay dead behind him in the alley, strangely contorted, his twisted body testament to Leroi's desperation. Morgal was no easy target and had put up quite the struggle, borne out by the shallow stab wound to Keroi's side, but in the end he had fallen victim to his own blade. Keroi had thought Morgal was holding out on him but a frenzied search of his corpse had yielded nothing. If Morgal didn't have anyone no one did, you could be sure of that. Still, he had had a nice coat and Morgal's blade was now Keroi's, to the victor the spoils and all that. Along with a stab wound to the abdomen of course. Thing was, Keroi barely felt it, only the agonising, insufferable emptiness from his need for another lift.

He pressed himself further into the shadows as figures passed by. Black Jacks. They were hunting people down, dragging them off the streets. No one knew why. He'd even had a few friends taken recently. OK, friends might be pushing it, and acquaintances would be kind. People he knew then. Still, there was no denying that something was going down, something BIG. They wouldn't take Keroi Kass though, nuh uh, not without a fight. Keroi shook his head vigorously as the denial went through his mind. Drops of ash laden rain fell from his hair splashing into the greyish puddles below. If there was one constant on Worth it was that damnable ash. Yeah, they wouldn't take Keroi, he was free and had a knife and even a nice coat that he had liberated from Morgal to boot. No actual boots mind you, Morgal's had alas, been far too small. A real shame because the hole in Keroi's let the ashwater in.

Keroi giggled a little at his internal monologue, he needed another Lift! What was he going to to do? He scratched subconsciously at his chest, there had been an itch developing there for a while, it was getting more and more irritating and persistent. He chalked it up to just another withdrawal symptom. Maybe it was time to go back to normal drugs like Lho, Kick and Freez.

No nothing, NOTHING compared to a Lift, he needed more Emperor's Caress. Soon the Black Jacks would leave this area and then he could make for a safe place. Maybe Gyrnt's, that old bastard would put him up for sure, wouldn't refuse old 'KK'. It might take a few coins, but he could shiv someone for those easy enough. Money was actually worth something again these days now the Caress had dried up. Rain continued to drip from the rooftops overhead running down his face in violet grey streaks. Presently the enforcement officers left the area. Keroi pulled his stolen coat tight around himself with one hand and with Margal's knife in the other crossed the ashrain covered street and headed towards Gyrnt's place, there was sure to be a mark on the way, maybe even one with the right sized feet.

Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar - Chapter Four

IV

The Ashrain was also falling in Endomaw. Worth was a small enough celestial body that it often witnessed uniform weather patterns. Though it was devoid of oceans, there were small bodies of water and these were absorbed into Ashclouds that then deposited precipitation much as any normal atmosphere, the difference being that the rain was grimy and noticeably violet-grey in hue. The rain had saturated the ground here and turned the Ash and dirt into a sucking quagmire that was difficult to traverse and nigh on impossible to clean off, the stuff dried like plascrete.

Inquisitor Simeon Garanthe hated it. He hated this entire world, it was a miserable ash covered excuse of a planet useful from a meteorological perspective only. It was a surprise to him that the Imperium had bothered settling it at all. A largely automated mining operation would surely have sufficed, there was no merit in populating the small planet that he could see. Throne, he had seen larger and more bountiful moons. Why choose Worth over one of the other more appealing planets in the system? Then again, those planets had their own problems, or so he had heard.

It was certainly testament to the enduring Spirit of Man that some form of measurable life had been eked out on the Emperor Forsaken world. That in itself was laudable, he supposed. Something to be admired, even if the endeavour was woefully misjudged in his opinion. Even in the hardiest and most inhospitable of environs, Mankind managed to endure.

For the umpteenth time, Garanthe pulled his boots from the cloying muck and turned to look at the rest of his team. The constant patter of Ashraindrops on his wide brimmed hat irked him to no end and he was gratified to see his discomfort mirrored in his compatriots. Then again it was difficult to discern much from the expressions of Ulk and Ulo, they always looked miserable. The two Canid mutant brothers looked up at him but were difficult to read, largely lacking any human facial features. They were however, utterly loyal and surprisingly accurate marksmen. Also, although bipedal, they were astonishingly nimble and their diminutive stature meant they were ideally suited for infiltration and stealth missions such as this one. The pair looked suitably bedraggled and Garanthe took this to mean they shared in his discomfort. One of them (he could never tell which) shook his head violently , sending droplets of grey water flying everywhere.

Behind them was Aurelius. The savant seemed entirely unperturbed by the relentless Ashrainfall. In fact, if anything he seemed amused, muttering to himself even as the greyish droplets hung from his nose. His ever-active scribing attachments whirred and scratched as they recorded his observations, some obscure tech-sorcery protecting the writings from being spoiled by the Ashrain.

Next was Dolf Luminak, he had been a Sergeant of the Cadian Guard, now he had no rank, no regiment. He had been part of Garanthe's retinue for a long time now, had the scars to prove it. The grizzled veteran locked determined flinty eyes with Garanthe for a moment before looking away and spitting bodily into the muck on the floor, a clear sign that he was aggrieved.

Behind the ex-guardsman stood an entirely different figure. Andrukas Kurr; Imperial Crusader. Cloaked and carrying a massive sword. His armour gleamed under the heavy dark cloak. The Crusader may not have been a subtle figure but his martial prowess was unquestioned. That was why he was here. Heavy back up., battle armour and all.

As was the behemoth behind him. Utterly dwarfing Andrukas, the hulking figure of the Deathwatch Space Marine would have seemed comically oversized were it not for the palatable threat that exuded from the giant superhuman clad in black Power Armour. He was the very vision of death, destruction incarnate. It was perhaps fitting then, that the warriors name had only been given as Death's Head. Garanthe knew not if this was a given name or some other form of designation only that it suited perfectly. Besides, the taciturn Space Marine had not deigned to divulge further information on the subject. This was hardly a surprise. The Adeptus Astartes were an insular bunch at the best of times. Especially outside of their own chapter. The Deathwatch, being made up of Marines from many chapters, were even more so. Garanthe wasn't even sure which Chapter Death's Head had come from, the silver Grinning Skull on a horizontally halved field of green and yellow was entirely unfamiliar to him and he prided himself on knowing the majority of the deployed Astartes Chapters. Again, Death's Head had offered no information on the subject and would not tolerate questioning on the matter. Garanthe technically had the authority to demand answers should he wish but could see little point in antagonising the warrior. 

Now the Space Marine's eye lenses glowed like coal embers in the gloom. Even if the Inquisitor had been able to see his face, Space Marines were remarkably expressionless beings. Besides, he was unlikely to be bothered by something as trivial as the rain. Space Marines weren't bothered by anything. Garanthe had seen one have his firing arm blown clean off once, the Marine had simply retrieved his weapon from his disembodied arm and carried on firing as if nothing had happened. Space Marines were hard to kill, let alone faze. It was why they were such effective killing machines.

The last member of the group however, could not have been more miserable. Scowling at the tip of an unlit soggy pipe as if his fury alone could cause it to spontaneously ignite, Grummond Drankensson was not having a good time. His beard was sodden an d drooped mournfully and every time he tilted his head to empty one ear of Ashrainwater the other would fill, which contributed no end to his general misery. Still, he was a stout and doughty warrior, invaluable when things came down to a fight. Which they almost always did

That wasn't the intention here though, This was a raid, nothing more, to be accomplished as quickly and quietly as possible. in and out, no 'complications'. From the information that they had at their disposal Aurelius had identified a communication array that they could access that was on the outskirts of Endomaw mine. From this they hoped to secure information that would lead to Alistae Carn's location. The data thief device that Aurelius held would leech the messages stored from the array. With luck they information they needed would be contained within.

Garanthe was convinced Carn was their best hope for uncovering and defeating the Xenos cult that he now knew had infested Worth and Endomaw was the source, the heart of the canker. He could have just obliterated Worth, as an Inquisitor the resources he could call on were almost limitless and he had access to devastating assets that scant few in the Imperium could command. He could have turned the whole ball of ash and rock into nothing more than a cloud of debris, but he didn't know how far the cult had spread in the Celias system and besides, there WERE innocents on Worth, as wretched as they might be. There was a time that this wouldn't have mattered, not factored into his thinking at all, but things were different now. Ever since Hylios. Ever since then and forever more.

And again there was Carn. Garanthe had kept it to himself but the coded message was impossibly, addressed to him PERSONALLY even though the recording had been made long before he had arrived. The full message had been Ferrum Cordis liberativ me Rex Flava. Iron Heart, Save me from the Yellow King.

NO ONE knew him as Iron Heart, new that his cardiac system was artificial, that his heart was a mechanical replacement. None, not one of his team, not even Aurelius knew of the wound he had taken nearly half a century ago which had destroyed his heart, leading to the surgery and the augmetic implant which kept him alive and resulted in him being known as Interrogator Iron Heart. It was a name he had not even been known by for at least thirty years. It was a name none in his retinue knew, there were perhaps half a dozen alive who might, assuming they remembered. Carn though, Carn had known. How?  Was he psychic? If so that would mean the Ordo Malleus might become involved, the last thing Garanthe wanted was to deal with those damned Witch Hunters. No, Garanthe suspected something else, something divine. 

As a High Ranking Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos he was privy to many secrets that would drive the average man utterly and irrevocably insane. One of these was the true nature of the Emperor, a withered husk imprisoned within the Golden Throne protecting all of Humanity with his awesome incomparable psychic might. Yet, despite knowing that the Master of Mankind was a being of flesh, Garanthe was still utterly convinced of the Emperor's divinity. 

The Astronomican? a Beacon cutting across the galaxy to guide Mankind through the Warp? The work of a God. Providing aegis for the entire of the Human race with nothing but his mind, safeguarding them from the predations of the creatures of the Warp? Only possible by a God. There was no question at all, not in his eyes. The Immortal God Emperor of Man, Blessed be his name, protected all, saw all, knew all.  Thus he suspected that Alistae Carn was more than just Psychic. could he be a conduit for the Emperor? An instrument of His will? Garanthe had to find out. At any cost.

Not so far away, a trio of cultists in mining suits skulked, safely out of sight in the skeletal innards of a quiescent Boring station. Kyrsa was at the front, crouched, steadying herself with one hand as the other raised a set of Mag-nocs to her eyes. Despite the device's enhanced optics and magnification the rain interfered with her view, diminishing visibility considerably. She cursed vehemently and adjusted the settings, to no avail. No, wait, was that a flash? She refocused and scrutinised the area where she had thought the glint of light had come from. There was definitely something moving. She lowered the goggles and grunted a command at the cultist to her left, he stopped checking his rifle and slung it over his shoulder before descending via a stanchion and disappearing out of sight. The other behind her remained, she could hear his breathing even over the constant downpour. Kyrsa ignored him and activated the short range comm on her suit. She rasped curt instructions and shut the link off, confident that the information would be relayed as needed. Still crouched, she reached for her long rifle, checking the chamber and firing mechanism were free and unspoilt. The intruders had come, just as the Holy Magus had said they would, Glory be to the Yellow King. She would make them regret ever setting foot in Endomaw. Nothing would stop the Yellow day. 

Brotherhood of the Yellow King : Cultwar - Chapter Two

II:

Sergeant Jerord McKernze, commander of 'Wrathchild' Militarum Terminus Stormtrooper squad, in service of the Emperor's most Holy Inquisition, held his right hand up in a closed fist, bringing his squad to an immediate halt. Well disciplined and drilled, his team waited with bated breath for their commander's next signal. Jerord strained his ears, he'd heard something, he could swear he had. Now all he heard was the dripping of water somewhere and the sound of operating machinery in the distance. The Stromtrooper Sergeant thought he'd heard a shuffling nearby, the telltale clack of claws on a hard surface. Their quarry, the Genestealer.

Still, he had to confess, his senses were not exactly reliable at the moment, his mind could be playing tricks on him. Sweat dripped down his face, and it wasn't because of the temperature, no, this was a cold sweat, born of dread. A quick check of the sensor built into his suits wrist revealed no sign of anything, no betrayal of any presence other than his squad. They were just as strung out as he, twitchy and exhausted. They were being hunted.

They had started with a full squad of ten but now they were down to just over half of that number. Four troopers gone in just two attacks, one ten hours ago and one three hours ago. Three dead and one missing, presumed dead. Or worse. Their quarry had been lightning fast, presenting them only the most fleeting of targets and their reactionary fire had been rushed and inaccurate despite their pedigree as troopers. They had begun 15 hours ago as the hunters, and had become the prey. Then again McKernze considered, had they ever truly been the hunters at all?

It had been Millins the first time, a blur, a yellow blur, followed by an arc of bright crimson as the Genestealer had ripped him apart, cutting him open from groin to shoulder, ragged wet meat falling to the floor as the creature darted behind some stanchions and disappeared back into the shadows as swiftly as it had emerged. The squad had lit it's path up with Hellgun fire but had hit nothing, the Genestealer had already gone, leaving what had used to be Millins scattered over the floor in piles of bloody meat.

The second time Valetin had been taken. They had progressed to the higher levels of the docking port and the temperature had dropped, they were checking an open hangar, empty save a small utility pod and some cargo crates that it had been moving. the wind at that altitude whipped across the floor and made the hauling chains chime hauntingly. From out of the hanger entrance they could see much of Narthley laid out before them, paralysed and peaceful. Nonetheless they remained on high alert, vigilant and guarded.

It had made no difference, the Xenos had erupted from nothingless, murdered Kincade, grabbed Valetin and propelled itself at a speed no living thing should be able to manage towards the edge of the hanger before leaping onto the exterior of the dock and disappearing. Gobbs had the misfortune to be in its way. There was no spray of blood this time, only a bloodcurdling scream that eventually faded as the trooper was hurled into the air and fell out of sight.

Down to six now, they continued to track the Xenos through the upper levels of the port. Well, track wasn't quite the right word, thought McKernze sardonically, more like stumble about aimlessly till another of them died. He chastised himself for his attitude, mentally sentencing himself to penance later. If there was a later.

He lowered his hand satisfied that his ears had been deceived. The next search area was a large Storage Bay similar to the one where they had started the search.. The way that the containers were arranged made for three paths through to the rear of the bay. His scanner indicated an abundance of  of turns and alcoves in the arrangement of the containers, plenty of spaces for a predator to hide, plenty of choke points and kill zones. It was less than ideal but he had been instructed to find and kill the Xenos and that was exactly what he was going to do. Or die trying.

With two fingered signals he sent Langers and M'obe left and Signhet and Jarazis right. This left him and Ayris to take the central path. McKernze was fine with this, Jheeta Ayris was a strong and reliable soldier, as tough as they came and there was no-one he would rather have watching his back. He glanced back at her and she shot him a wry grin and wink that said 'after you Sarge' before returning to scanning her surroundings.

The feed in his helmet crackled and hissed. At this height the atmospherics of Worth affected communications equipment, although not critically. The separated squad progressed through the bay, navigating the labyrinth of containers stacked high and haphazardly, checking their corners and angles as they went. They were exhausted but they were model soldiers, the best of their kind. The Inquisition would expect nothing less, would ACCEPT nothing less. Only the most elite and pure of heart got to serve in the Emperor's Holy Inquisition.

The Stormtrooper Squad had traversed around two thirds of the length of the Cargo Bay without incident when McKernze's comm crackled into life. A panicked yell followed by the "FSSHK" of a burst of Hellgun fire. M'obe's voice hissed through, "Contact! Contact!" he screamed, his rich Varusian accent distorted further still by the squealing interference. Wordlessly McKernze, broke into a sprint, knowing Ayris would be just behind him. Left, "FSSHK!" Left, "FSSHK, FSSHK" right, and another FSSHK! followed by an unearthly bestial scream , left, right to the other end of the bay and then left, left, right to double back down to M'obe and Langer's position. The comm had gone dead and the only sound was the pounding of boots and the pack on their backs.

Rounding one last corner, McKernze saw M'obe standing against a container, grinning inanely even as his rifle was held ready. Langers was in the shadows, prodding something with his Hellgun. McKernze stopped and took in the scene, Ayris was seconds behind him.

Report! The sergeant barked, he was in no mood for this, M'obe snapped to attention and indicated with his rifle at Langers.

"it's.. it's some kind of scavanger sir" his hard constanants clacking in the Varusian manner. "Emperor above, I thought it was the..." suddenly his face vanished, replaced by a fountain of gore. He didn't even have the time to scream, his head just disappeared mid sentence. The ragged stump of his neck and lower jaw pulsed with the motions of speech but the rest of him wasn't there to form the words. His body toppled to the side and McKernze was already lifting his Hellgun as the Genestealer pounced on Langers who was mid turn. The Stormtrooper was eviscerated almost immediately,  the creature's razor sharp talons making a mockery of his carapace armour. Unlike M'obe, Langers DID scream as he died. Mckerze fired, but the Genestealer had already gone and his shots merely cut Langers' corpse to ribbons, steaming offal falling to the ground in bloody chunks.

The Genestealer scaled the wall of the container and launched it self at McKernze while he was still firing. He would surely have been killed but something slammed bodily into him, hurling him to the side. His finger was still on the trigger of his Hellgun, fire stitching its way across the container behind Langers' remains as McKernze fell. The impact as he hit the hard floor jarred the gun from his grasp, the rifle skittering across the floor into the shadows. He turned the fall into a combat roll and came up on one knee to see Ayris grappling with the beast. Actually grappling with it. He had known she was strong but her desperation lent her reserves of strength beyond normal human endurance. Even so it was only a matter of moments before she was overpowered and even now, Mckernze watched as she was borne to the floor, the Genestealer's claws flashing in the gloom.

McKernze acted without thinking, years of training resulting in honed reactions and instinct. In one smooth motion he pulled his laspistol from its holster and fired. Two handed, for better stability, two quick shots, best for accuracy, textbook battle action. The two shots slammed into the Genestealer as it retched hot bile at the stricken Ayris, desperately trying to hold the monster at bay.  McKernze's practised shots threw it off just enough that the liquid spattered over the floor by the side of Ayris' head rather than her face.

In all the years Jerord McKernze had served with Jheeta Ayris he had never heard her scream. Until now. As the bile spattered on the ground it splashed up and droplets hit her cheek, even without the sizzling sound and smell of burning flesh, detectable even from afar, McKerze would have known it was acid from her anguished cry. The bile ate into the decking and her cheek, and her resistance began to waver. McKernze thumbed the power setting on his pistol and drained the pack in one final shot.

The bolt of energy seared a hole into the Genestealer's torso as it sank a claw into Ayris' shoulder.
Wounded at last, it recoiled and screeched, ceasing its assault on the fading Ayris and glaring malevolently at McKernze. The Stormtrooper Sergeant knew his life was measured in scant seconds and prepared to die for his Emperor, when suddenly a volley of Hellgun fire erupted around the Genestealer as Singhet and Jarazis arrived, firing from the hip as they took in the scene. Had they taken a more measured approach they may well have killed the beast but as it was they wounded it enough to deter it from it's attack on McKernze and it fled, leaping impossibly fast and impossibly high above the containers into the darkness,  a trail of glowing ichor left in its wake. The entire assault had taken under a minute. In that time two more of his squad were dead and another incapacitated.

Mckernze threw away the smoking Laspistol, it's power relays were fused and the pack connector port and casing would need replacing, it was useless. He raced over to Ayris, lying unconscious in a pool of her own blood. Kneeling beside her he pulled the saviour kit from his suit webbing. Jarazis and Singhet were scanning the area, Hellguns raised ready to fire. McKernze assessed Ayris' injuries with a practised eye. Her left shoulder was more or less gone, ripped to slivers of meat and splintered bone. The Genestealer's claws had cleaved through the armour like it was tissue and torn the joint below to ribbons, McKernze was astonished that her arm was even still attached. He pushed her ravaged shoulder back together as much as he could and pulled the coagulant/wound packing foam cannister from the saviour kit. Designed to pack wounds and literally hold soldiers together on the front line till proper treatment could be obtained, even this basic aid was beyond the reach of most rank and file guardsmen. Holding flesh together with one hand, he deployed the foam with the other, the foam solidified and constricted as it contacted the flesh, knitting the wound together as it snaked into the muscles and blood vessels, stopping the loss of blood. It wouldn't heal the injury (privately McKernze thought the damage irreprible and thought it likely that Ayuris would lose the arm entirely) but it would keep her from bleeding out. Indentured to the Inquisition she would enjoy better treatment than most were they able to get her to medical facilities. Should the wound be too severe and the Limb unsalvageable then she would be granted a high function bionic replacement, service to the Holy Inquisition came with many priveledges.

Her life saved, at least for now, McKernze turned his attention to her secondary injuries. Her combat suit was rent and torn, bloody gashes testament to her herculean feat of holding the Genestealer at bay. The worst two of these he used the foam on but many of the lacerations he was able to treat with Synth Skin, a plastic flesh that he could use to dress the injuries. This done he turned his attention to her face, turning her head he could see where the acidic secretion from the Genestealer had done it's terrible work. Jheeta Ayris had never been a typically beautiful woman but her squat freckled face and upturned button nose had a definite charm. Now the right side of her face was a ravaged ruin, Skin eaten away and cheek muscles exposed and heavily damaged. He covered the ragged mess with a layer of Synth Skin, likely the resultant scarring would be permanent. Ayris stirred as the cooling spray contacted and tightened on her ruined face. Her eyes flickered and opened and she attempted to focus on McKernze.

"Did, did we get it?" that was Ayris, always about the mission. McKernze looked down, and started to put the cannisters back in the Saviour Kit. Valetin had been the squad Medic and she was gone. Like the rest of his squad he only had basic life saving treatment and access to the most rudimentary of items. Ayris couldn't be treated here.

"not quite," he admitted. "It's wounded though, bleeding, don't worry, we'll finish it off soon. Lie still, you've lost a lot of blood"

He busied himself putting the Saviour kit back into it's webbing. Ayris closed her eyes again.

"You saved me" he murmured.

Ayris didn't open her eyes but managed a half smile, the plastic flesh on her cheek crinkling unconvincingly,

"Of course I did Sarge, you're the Sarge. I'm not being left to get...." she faded out and her features went slack. Her chest still rose and fell, she was merely asleep.

McKernze looked at her for a moment and came to a decision. He stood and addressed Jarazis;

"Get her out of here, double time. Back to the Elevator. Take her down and get her some treatment. Signhet will cover you." He began to remove his armour and combat suit.

Jarazis hesitated, Markon Jarazis was one of the most loyal soldiers Mckernze had ever served with, it wouldn't be easy to get him to go. "and you Sarge? Please don't tell me you are going to do what I think you are. You're coming with us right?"

McKernze stooped, retrieving a Hellgun, he wasn't sure whose. Grabbing spare power packs he removed the webbing from his combat suit and wrapped it round his torso. Grenades, ammo, flares, everything useful was stowed.

"I'm going after it Markon, you can't stop me. That Bastard has killed over half my squad and I want revenge. Either I die or it does. He hefted the Hellgun and checked the charge, repriming the load. "It's wounded and it's bleeding." He stooped next to the creature's pooled ichor and dipped the hellgun barrel into it cautiously. Satisfied that it was non corrosive he shouldered his weapon, scooped some up and smeared it over his torso and arms. He also covered his face and forehead. There was no guarantee that the Genestealer hunted by scent but McKernze would take any advantage he could get. It was unlikely that the Genestealer was still nearby, they had hurt it. It was probably off somewhere licking it's wounds. McKernze would put it down, He would track its trail of blood and end the beast once and for all.

"If  it's bleeding I can find it, I can kill it. I WILL kill it, Emperor willing. Or it will kill me," He Shrugged, "It's that simple Markon, as I say, you can't stop me. Get the hell out of here, Save Jheeta. That's an order"

Jarazis met his gaze, saluted. He reached behind him and produced a large blade in it's scabbard. It was a Tanith Warblade, 'Straight Silver' they called it. He had been given it years ago. McKernze didn't know exactly what he had done to receive such a gift but it must have been absolutely monumental. He had served besides the Tanith and knew full well how much the blades meant to the Ghosts. They would literally rather lose an arm than part with them. Jarazis had never divulged the details, he was not one for recounting exploits. He has simply said that it was given to him as tribute and that the man that had given him it didn't need it. McKernze had no idea what circumstances would lead to such a situation but respected Jarazis's privacy. Now Markon Jarazis extended the knife to him hilt first in it's scabbard.

"Do me a favour Sir, Stick this in the bastard, for Langers, for Valetin, for Gobbs and M'obe and Millins and Kincade. Stick him with it good. You can give it back after." McKernze took the knife reverently and attached it to his belt, it was more like a short sword than a typical issue combat knife. He knelt and picked up Ayris gently, Signhet looked on, Hellgun still aimed, he was taking no chances. Jarazis took  Ayris from his Sergeant. He was a big man and cradled the unconscious soldier in one meaty arm, saluting again with the other before turning round and heading back the way they had come. McKerze retuned the salute and, checking his equipment one more time, set off in the opposite direction, the Hunter once again.

Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Cultwar. Chapter One.

I: 

The Ulysses class bulk cargo hauler Thrace's Arrow lumbered through space much like the millennia extinct cetacean that it resembled had journeyed Ancient Holy Terra's long since evaporated oceans. No one would describe the vessel as elegant or graceful. No, utilitarian would be a better term, it was designed for one thing and it did it adequately, though it was in ill repair and ancient. Blocky, grey and slow, it made its way for Celias IV, its holds laden with ore and a small amount of other assorted materials  from Worth. However this was not it's only cargo. 

In the deep dark spaces of hold Six-Beta Kappa-Four-Three, inside a weathered container the twin of which languished back on Worth, the Genestealer waited. Suspended upside down in the nondescript crate, it slept, its alien metabolism lowered to near undetectable levels, expending as little energy as possible.  

Nonetheless, even in this dormant state it was aware, aware of it's surroundings, aware of the psychic urges from its Patriarch back in Endomaw. It was aware of the hybrid cult members that had infiltrated the vessel and of course it was aware of the ever present Tyranid Hive Mind, so very far away but always inexorably on the move, drawn to fresh feeding grounds as its Hive Fleets devoured planet after planet, system after system, sector after sector, in a never ending attempt to quell the insatiable hunger of the Tyranid race.

Suddenly it was aware of something else. An increased level of alarm amongst the freighter's crew, human and Hybrid alike. Rising fear and panic, a warning signal from its Brood Brothers. Then it was aware of a sudden acceleration from the Hauler, the whine of the engines as they strove to supply the additional thrust being demanded of them. The juddering of the hull as it protested against extra forces it was never designed to endure.

The Genestealer began to unfold itself, pumping adrenal fluids to its extremities and bringing itself to full alertness, preparing to react quickly if needed. It swayed slightly as the vessel was rocked by an impact, then another. The whine from the engines became a scream as the ship attempted maneuvers and velocities far beyond its intended limits. The creature hissed and dropped lithely to the floor, almost silent. It tensed, straining to discern what was going on outside the confines of it's container. The crate was secure and locked but the Genestealer's razor sharp claws would be able to tear through the metal casing of the container in seconds if needed.

Suddenly the container rocked violently as the hull was torn asunder. The superstructure was ripped apart and laser fire lanced into its inner workings. The Genestealer was aware of the rush of decompression and the squeal of twisted metal, it was aware of the swiftly hushed screams of the crew as they were sucked into the cold vacuum of space, an environment it could easily survive. The creature was aware of the tortured terminal scream of the engines as they went into a catastrophic overload, damaged beyond any hope of salvation. Aware of the roar of plasma fire surging through the ship as something critical gave way.

Then it was aware of nothing at all as it was utterly obliterated in the searing white hot blast of a critical level plasma engine explosion.

Far away, though perhaps not in the terms of void combat, Alexys Servil Tayn grunted with mild satisfaction as the hulking freighter simply disappeared in an blinding ball of plasma. Even though the display screens around her dimmed automatically, Tayn still narrowed her eyes at the sudden flash. As the explosion dissipated, leaving just metallic fragments as a cloud of fine debris, she unclasped her hands from behind her back and with a tight smile turned to congratulate her crew on the kill.

Well, at least those crew that were human.  Many of the menials onboard the Strike Interceptor she commanded were mind scrubbed servitors, half human cyborgs that were programmed with just enough information to perform their assigned tasks. Those that still had faces stared blankly at their instruments, performing minor adjustments as needed by the thousand to keep the ship operational and running smoothly.

Still, as she turned Tayn caught a few human expressions, mostly satisfaction and pride. Gleams in eyes here and there, Most noticeably on Shais Jaroslav, her first officer and lover. The gleam in Shais' eyes spread to her ebony round face and burst out in that smile that Tayn found so very appealing. She fought to keep her own smile from showing and instead focussed on bestowing her praise upon the crew as a whole, using the ships address system to do so. And it was praise well earned, given the speed that they had reacted to the Inquisitor's signal, identified, hunted down and eliminated the target. Everything had performed admirably, not least the aged vessel itself.

The Strike Interceptor was called Fist of Makius, a sleek lethal predator of a vessel. Old and of a design not exactly of the typical Imperial style. It was more streamlined, with fins akin to an aquatic hunter, its engines were spread around the hull rather than clustered at the back which gave it a unique and at times hazardous level of maneuverability and temperamental handling. Tayn had been its master for 35 Terran Solar Years. Of course those units of time could mean little when the vagaries of the Warp were factored but in any case, she knew the ship and knew it well, even if she didn't know who 'Makius' was, or particularly care.

No, the ship worked and performed as she desired and that was all that really mattered to her. She wasn't one to get sentimental about such things, being an entirely pragmatic woman, who dealt with facts and cold hard data rather than emotions and feelings. For years she had operated the ship as a hunter, taking bounties and settling feuds. Running escort to convoys and any other work she could get. The ship's appearance had largely kept it out of Imperial service with none wanting to associate with such an unusual and exotic looking vessel, but there was always someone looking to hire a vessel even if they regarded the unorthodox Strike Cruiser with suspicion or disdain.  This had not bothered Tayn in the slightest, she knew the truth even if she was one of the only ones who did. Few others knew how she had become Shipmaster and from where the vessel originated and those that did not only ever asked her once, for her steely glare brooked no further enquiry on the subject. Fist of Makius therefore remained an enigma. Dark and mysterious as the depths of space itself, and just as quietly dangerous.

It was this that had attracted Inquisitor Garanthe to the vessel in the first place. Tayn let her mind drift back to the memory. Five years ago she had been escorting a Merchantman Convoy that was making a supply run through the Danoiris Belt, an area of space thick with nebulae and asteroids. The asteroids in the area churned up the gases of the nebula leading to each piece of space rock being surrounded by eddies and a bright corona of disturbed gas. Some would have found it beautiful. She had not. Tayn had simply considered it an annoyance, the phenomenon cast false sensor echoes and made the Belt a prime spot for an ambush.

And so it had proved, approximately half way through the belt the convoy had been attacked by xenos Pirates, their jagged yet elegant vessels scything through the gases and seeming to appear out of nowhere. One of the leading vessels of the convoy was crippled in seconds, it's minimal shielding flaring before the follow up shots ripped through the hull, spilling gasses and corpses into the void. However, the Pirates were not looking to destroy the vessel, only disable it, and as it span, powerless and  out of control, the raider ceased fire and slowed for boarding and capture.

Fist of Makius' retribution was swift; with her armament being almost entirely forward facing, she bore down upon the Raider vessel and obliterated it with a punishing volley of fire. But the Pirates were in number.

Realizing that the convoy had protection, the three other raiders halted their predation of the other Merchant ships and focussed upon the Interceptor. Their exotic weaponry lanced at the Fist of Makius and under the combined volley the shields buckled. The Interceptor was designed for combat under evasive maneuvers and to be hard to hit. She was not designed to repel firepower of that magnitude and she had been caught cold, exulting in the kill.

Tayn was no novice ship commander though and took steps to ensure her ship's survival. Gambling that her foe valued the contents of the Merchant Vessels highly, she pulled the Interceptor behind one of the ships and, though fire lanced after her, it ceased as she reached the lee of the vessel. However, the Pirate Vessels were agile and deadly and sought to outmaneuver and surround the Fist of Makius, harrying it and managing to strike it a few more times, punishing it's weakened shields yet further though they could not land a telling or penetrating blow. Tayn had never been prone to desperation but even she was growing worried at the odds that she was facing.

She decided to use the environment to her advantage, with curt commands she ordered the ship into one of the pockets of gas, gambling that the nebula would hide her ship. It was an extreme risk, there could have been anything in there, another Raiding party could have been concealed within and she would have not known until she was right on top of them. Fortune favoured her though and as two vessels followed her in, the third doubled back to attack the convoy once again, the transport ship's meagre defensive turrets swiftly silenced by the exotic weaponry. Panicked messages spilled onto the bridge as the convoy begged for help from the raiders. Tayn ordered the communications cut, silencing their pleas. Inside she seethed, not at any real empathy for the convoy but for the fact that she had had to abandon it, albeit temporarily, she had pride in her reputation.

Tayn was jolted from her reverie as Alberto Gaijin her communications officer, hailed her from the other side of the bridge. She listened to his report and strode to the command throne, the prosthetic on her left leg clacking against the polished floor as she did so. Ensconcing herself within the hard metal device she felt the sockets on her neck and wrists open and connect to the mechandrites that snaked up from the throne. Thus linked she was able to connect on the ship in a much more intimate fashion, feeling it's indominable machine spirit. Tayn may not have been an overly sympathetic person but even she acknowledged the awesome presence that was Fist of Makius. That was not all she was privy to though, through the neural connections in the throne she was linked to all the different areas of the ship, receiving information from Engineering, which informed her that the engines had been pushed beyond normal limits and would require minor repairs, weapons bays (engaging in post combat canticles of reloading and cleansing), in fact every department, simultaneously and constantly updated. She was aware of the navigator, holed up in her chamber, not needed to pathfind through the Warp at the moment and performing some inscrutable form of meditation. Satisfied that all was well on her ship she mentally opened the link that pulsed, indicating a message coming in on a secure channel.

Tayn accessed the communique with a thought, as she had suspected it was a recorded message, a pointed yet polite request for an update on the situation from the Inquisitor. With a sequence of thoughts Tayn submitted a reply, confirming the kill and advising of the minor repairs that needed to be completed before they could return. she wondered how his own mission of infiltrating Endomaw was proceeding and enquired as much. Though the Inquisitor was in no way obliged to divulge, Tayn was direct and didn't care much for etiquette or politics, something he found laudable, he would likely answer. She signed off with the standard 'The Emperor Protects' and dispatched the message with a thought. There would be a delay before the information was received and by then the Fist of Makius could be well on its way. With any luck she would be in a position to aid the Inquisitor should his mssion have not been as straightforward as hers.

Brotherhood of the Yellow King: Talons and Chains

Supervisor Prime Pascal Ralscon was a mess of chemical highs and lows. Anxiety and adrenaline warred with the dopamine and endorphins coursing through his nervous system, each competing for the position of most prominent effect. Sometimes his eyes would glaze, other times he would jerk uncontrollably in a myoclonic fashion.

He’d just received notification that the Imperial inspection party had finally docked. A full four days behind schedule. He’d been running round like an Ash Wulf making sure everything was presentable and they had the gall to turn up late! Typical of the bureaucracy of the Imperium, still, it had been extra time to get important things done.

Getting things done had been a major problem lately however. Supply of ‘Emperor’s Caress’ had dried up in the last week or so, none of his normal dealers were answering his pleas for more of the narcotic. He’d asked his senior staff that he knew indulged in the drug, only to be told that they too were unable to obtain any. He’d even resorted to performing a ‘search and seize’ operation in a desperate attempt to procure another fix. This had yielded but a dozen pills (even though he knew that at least 75% of his workforce were users). and he knew deep down that his façade of relentless authority was fooling no one. Deprived of the release granted by Emperor’s Caress, productivity was at an all time low. Narthley at large had gone from being sedated to utterly paralysed as the supply of the drug had dwindled. Manufactorums were quiescent, Administratums such as the one he was in had massive backlogs which he had elected to conceal rather than deal with.

And there was only so much that he could hide! He’d deleted, manipulated and concealed as many files and communiques as he could with varying levels of success. He cajoled, threatened and ordered as many complicit staff as he could. The Administratum operated with only the thinnest veneer of efficiency and decorum and Ralscon was terrified that the inspection team would penetrate the veil all too easily. He’d used the extra four days as best he could but he still feared the façade and his efforts would prove inefficient. Even as he looked about all he saw was sullen, lifeless workers in the throes of withdrawal. He was doomed.

He’d swallowed a couple of his last pills upon being informed that the lander had touched down, he had only another two left. Two more pills and therefore only one more lift. He toyed with these last pair in his pocket, nervously fidgeting as he awaited the team. He was running scenarios and ways he could shift blame through his brain, his weaselly survival instincts coming to the fore. He’d happily throw any of his subordinates under the wheels of the Imperial machine if it would cast suspicion somewhere other than on him. He nervously looked at the chronometer, it had already been ten minutes, the drugs would be wearing off soon, the lifts wore off much quicker these days.

Presently the doors opened and the two workers he had sent to ‘escort’ the inspection team returned . Ralscon could just about discern the automatic pistols they concealed, hopefully his guests were not so observant. It would be an act of utter stupidity and desperation but in a worst case scenario he was prepared to resort to violence to save his hide. He even had a small 'Snubstub' Revolver hidden in his waistband should the unthinkable happen. After all, the Imperium did not forgive mistakes or poor performance. The two men stepped to the side allowing their charges to pass. A wizened savant emerged from the shadows, stooped and muttering to himself, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. He was ancient and his face was lined and dusty. He wore a russet robe of roughly hewn fabric that looked horrendously itchy. Various attachments and accoutrements adorned his being, giving him the impression of a crustacean in it’s shell. Despite his obvious advanced age the Savant seemed vital and hale, just preoccupied.

Behind him was a tall woman, veiled yet with a bearing of pomp and distinction. She held herself regally and wore a corseted bodice and a long flowing cloak over a tunic with dark jodhpurs and knee high boots. Raslcon eyed her warily, she looked like she could spring into action at any moment. her poise was positively predatory. She said nothing and just stepped to the side as the last of the team stepped through the door.

Ralscon had to choke back a laugh and disguise it as clearing his throat. His close brush with impropriety could have been forgiven however, as one of the most ridiculous figures he had ever seen stepped through the portal. Wearing a short duster coat and flared slacks and sporting a wide brimmed hat, he was comically absurd to the extreme. He slouched with an insouciance which didn’t help his diminutive stature and oafish appearance. He glanced about himself casually before stuffing his hands in his pockets and leaning forward. A thin cheroot extruded from his lips.

"Well, he said, with a pronounced drawl", and Ralscon again had to choke back his mirth, "let’s get this show on the road shall we?"

Ralscon spent the next couple of hours showing the group around, he was deliberately superficial and vague during the tour and glossed over much, doing his best to make everything seem as normal and efficient as possible. For his part the Inspector didn’t seem all that bothered, though the Savant, who had introduced himself as Aurelius Leuker in a twittering and distracted introduction, took copious notes, stylus attachments writing simultaneously whilst the Savant himself tapped figures into a battered datapad. All the while the Savant was muttering to himself, seemingly oblivious to the actual people round him so absorbed was he in capturing information, not a single facet, an iota of input was missed. Ralscon privately feared the detail that was being recorded, hoping that nothing incriminatory was captured.

The tall veiled woman had said nothing as she stalked, which perturbed Ralscon greatly, he could not get a bearing on her. She was inscrutable, was she a noble, an observer, a bodyguard? The uncertainty was in no way helped by her dogged silence. In contrast her cheroot toting colleague was garrulous to the extreme, though not particularly interrogative. Nonetheless, Ralscon actually had to check himself several times to stop from revealing information that he had intended to remain a secret. Sometimes the tentacles pulsed uncomfortably to warn him just in time, there was something unmistakably awry about all of this. .

After a general overview of the facilities during which some inane pleasantries platitudes and general enquiries were exchanged (and no doubt logged by the Savant) The group repaired to a conference lounge where refreshments and drinks were served. It was the most opulent room in the entire complex and Ralscon had made sure every comfort was available. Banal conversation (the veiled woman excepted) ensued and Ralscon found himself drifting off when the Inspector, who had eventually introduced himself as Simeon Garanthe, asked;

“well this ahl seems fhine and dhandy (The man’s drawled Low Gothic was beginning to rankle at Ralscon something fierce and he’d had to ask for repetition more than once) but what about that Carn fellow? We intercepted a transmission from him on the way here, he seemed mighty worried about something but the signal cut out. Now we hear he reappeared a while after? And all this after he was pronounced killed in a shuttle crash? I’d be obliged if you could clear things up for me. Just for the record of course”

Ralscon blinked a couple of times and leaned forward slowly. He was experiencing withdrawal from the Emperor's Caress and his responses were retarded. He pawed at the rune that activated the Hololith display in the middle of the table. With a judder the Hololith flickered into life, before settling into a crystal clear image showing the Aquila and Chain. Ralscon swallowed hard at the sight of the sigil before keying in the necessary commands to locate the file in question. The Tentacles pulsed a warning at him but he ignored them. He needed another lift! Everything was conspiring against him. Why now?

"Well," he began hesitantly, "we were initially informed that Prefect Alistae Carn was killed en-route to Endomaw Mine as part of a shuttle accident. He had been headed there to investigate circumstances surrounding Pallas Larkarsky, an Adept Second Class that had visited the mine previously. Larkarsky’s behaviour became.. aberrant following his visit and his reports were erratic".

He paused and took a sip of his drink, his mouth was growing dry, another symptom of withdrawal. His hands trembled slightly and he placed them on the surface of the table in front of him to steady them. 

"Carn filed some basic reports and left. He stopped at Hyrk Asylum to interview Larkarsky again but the Adept turned out to already be dead by his own hand, an unfortunate result of his psychosis we believe. Carn was on his way to Endomaw when his shuttle was destroyed in a targeting accident. Apparently the shuttle pilot transmitted the incorrect identification signal and was erroneously identified as hostile. A search was made by authorities at Endowmaw but the shuttle was completely destroyed and no survivors were found. I filed Carn as deceased myself. 

"Thirteen days later we received THIS", he thumbed a rune and the video sprang to life. The assembly watched the video in silence. The room darkened automatically for more comfortable viewing and the soft glow of the hololith cast a wan light on the features of those present. Ralscon glanced around occasionally to judge the reactions of the others; The Savant was utterly absorbed, mechandrites and styluses scribbling away furiously. Ralscon could not penetrate the veil the woman wore, he could barely make out any features at all let alone an expression, he was stuck again by her oddness, the sense of wrongness that emanated from her. It was unsettling. Garanthe seemed bored if anything, languidly chewing on something whilst slouched in his chair. He seemed to be paying the recording only the barest of attention and looked very much as if he would rather be somewhere else. Ralscon started to consider if he might be able to make some sort of deal to curtail the investigation.

Still the tentacles pulsed weakly, they were trying to warn him of something. Blinking, Ralscon realized the recording was nearing it's end. He frowned and activated a switch in front of him, summoning the two armed menials under the pretense of requesting more drinks. He hoped that no one noticed that one of them stayed behind. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about all of this, emphasized by the pressure from the tentacles. He moved one hand from the desk, slipping it into his pocket and toying with the two small yellow round pills, turning them over between thumb and forefinger, it was comforting, reassuring. He longed to take them, to feel the Caress once more. He suddenly noticed that the recording had stopped and that Garanthe had said something, he blinked, tried to focus, bring his mind back to the present. He'd drifted off, he attempted to clear his head. It was difficult. He just wanted to take the pills. Just one more lift.

…om Prefect Carn?" Ralscon scowled, he'd missed the start of the question. His mind desperately rallied, attempted to re constitute the entire statement. He chewed his lip, pretending to consider the question. Sadly his mind came to the conclusion that it wasn't one that needed consideration and he flushed rudely.

"No, nothing at all. The words came in a torrent, trying to make up for his delay in answering. The shipment arrived two days ago and that is all we have had from Endomaw since the recording, Carn never arrived. I was going to contact them to let them know we had received the cargo."

And the shipment, what happened to it? Something had changed, his gaze was piercing, his manner less languid, the drawl practically gone. The gentle pressure from the Tentacles began to build, becoming a piercing pain. Something was terribly wrong. He winced, pulling his hand from his pocket to cradle his temples, barely managing to loosen the pills from his grasp in time. He reached for his drink, his hand shaking uncontrollably.

"I....I can't, I sent it on! I... It..." No, something was pressing against the Tentacles,. It hurt no less, but something else was definitely there, something was invading his mind! "I, no... I... NO!!!!"

He stood up, his actions not his own. He pulled the snub pistol from his belt but even as it cleared his waistband pain blossomed in his ample gut. He dropped the gun and looked down dumbly as red spread across his belly, sticky and wet. As he fell back off the seat to tumble painfully to the floor he saw the guard in the room toppling like a felled tree, a neat smoking hole in his forehead. The door slid open but no one entered. Another shot echoed and Ralscon knew that it had come from within the room not outside. It was the veiled woman, it had to be, he could see Garanthe totally motionless out of the corner of his eye.

Throne, it hurt! Lying on his back he became acutely aware of just how quickly the blood was leaving his ruptured abdomen, running over his hands as he tried desperately to staunch the flow. He sensed movement from behind the table, heard the scratch and scratch of Aurelius Leuker's styluses. He gave up trying to stem the flow of blood and feverishly rummaged in his tunic pocket for the Emperor's Caress. He managed to pull them out between blood slicked fingers and was about to swallow them when a foot savagely stamped down on his wrist, pinning his arm to the floor . He wept, partly from the fresh pain of splintered bone and partly from the loss of the pills which rolled away, tantalizingly out of his reach, yellow spattered with sticky red.

A gloved hand reached down to pick up the crimson coated tablets. Rising again, Garanthe examined the pills with shrewd eyes. he prodded at them, smearing the sticky blood and taking note of the emblem emblazoned on the tablets. He addressed the veiled woman who's name was apparently Sefina, still sitting in the chair. she nodded slightly and stood, making her way round the table to where Ralscon lay. She touched a device on her arm and the veil shimmered and disappeared. Ralscon blanched. It was the same dark skinned woman that had contacted him about the rise in activity at Endomaw! He had seen her about, here and there, performing menial tasks, delivering reports. She was a spy, a mole! What was she doing here? What was going on? Ralscon started to suspect that he was in big trouble.

Sefina (Ralscon had no idea if that was the name she had been using originally - he had never bothered to find out) studied the pills in Garanthes's hand.

"That's them, she confirmed. They've all been taking them, it's rife." She said the last word with a dripping scorn dismissively gesturing outside the room.

"We'll take care of them shortly" Garanthe assured her, "I suspect the whole facility will be a loss. We need to find out just how far this canker has spread. Get him up."

Sefina stooped and hauled Ralscon to his feet, shoving him roughly into a chair . Ralscon yelped as he was jerked back to full wakefulness. Simeon Garanthe strode over, standing beside Sefina who sat demurely on the desk. Ralscon had never thought her a creature of grace but there was an undeniable elegance and poise in her repose.

"Now", he started, "I have some questions for you Supervisor Ralscon and I want you to think very carefully how you answer." Ralscon didn't reply, instead gazing dumbly at the hole in his abdomen. Garanthe leant forward and slapped Ralscon,across the face. Hard. "Pay attention sir! I would recommend that you measure my words, and yours, with great care."

"Why, who are you? I've done nothing wrong!" Ralson babbled. He was panicking now. Woozy through loss of blood, he was losing lucidity, though pain fought to keep him conscious. Desperation leant him temporary focus. "This is meant to be a routine investigation a check into what hap..." he stopped abruptly as Garanthe bought a small holoicon out from one of his inner coat pockets. It was a Sigil all knew and feared, a stylised 'I' emblazoned with a skull. "Oh Shit." He finished lamely.

"Oh shit indeed Supervisor Ralscon. As I'm sure you now understand, I am an agent of The Emperor's Holy Inquisition and you have fallen under my scrutiny. You will live to wish you never had. Now. These drugs. What are they? Where have they come from?"

Ralscon just blinked. His mind was fraying, and his addled brain was slowly but surely rejecting the reality around him. A swift jab from Garanthe to his wound bought him agonisingly back to the present.

"Aaagh! They just.... appeared." He mumbled brokenly. "I was approached by a Pilgrim outside the building, they were free. He said it was the Emperor's Caress, that it would bring us closer to Him. It felt good, like being touched by the Emperor Himself." The Tentacles pulsed, but they were losing their grip, he felt his mind clearing. Sefina's brow was furrowed and her eyes closed. Ralscon suspected that she was the cause of this sudden relief. A single tear slipped from his right eye as the tentacles finally let go and faded. Realisation and horror flooded in as Eagles Talons gripped tight in their place. But there was no pain, The pain was gone.

What have I done? He gasped. Tears ran freely down his face as he sobbed. He started babbling then, telling of his meetings with shady figures, the favours they asked, what he had done to accommodate them. He confessed all. The Savant furiously scribbled throughout, recording his treason word for word. Ralscon divulged names, positions, secret file references, everything. It was as if a floodgate had been opened and he could not stop himself, even as his lifeblood oozed slowly from his ruptured gut. Sefina's eyes were no longer screwed shut but she was staring at him intently, her gaze boring into his soul. He knew he was being psychically coerced and he didn't care. He confessed, in detail and at length. Eventually he was done, drained and growing pale from blood loss. Garanthe looked at him and leant over till he was scant inches from Ralscon's face.

And the shipment? You haven't mentioned the shipment Supervisor Prime, what happened to it? Ralscon squirmed under the Inquisitor's scrutiny. he noticed that he couldn't feel his legs, that couldn't be good. Blood continued to leak from his belly, though the flow was weak. He whimpered pathetically.

"It's gone! I... I sent it on! Well, no, I did instruct them to open one first, the other has left, bound for Celias IV. But I instructed them to open one, I wanted to know what it was. What glory Carn was so excited by. It would have been released afterward! But I haven't heard back yet, they were...." His voice tailed off and his head slumped as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Garanthe looked at Sefina and nodded. She leant forward and jammed an injector into Ralscon's gut. the flow of blood stopped and he started violently.

"What? Wh....?" His eyes focused and widened as realisation of his predicament hit him again, the stimulant granting him unwanted clarity.

The Inquisitor leaned back and stood up.

"Your men are dead Supervisor Ralscon. You have allowed, through a mix of gross stupidity and ignorance, a Xenos threat most foul to take root here and those containers held something more deadly than you can possibly imagine, a creature unlike anything you have ever experienced. We shall have to hunt it down and kill it. The other container will need to be intercepted before it reaches Celias IV lest it reaches there and spreads its seed." He paused and entered instructions into a device on his wrist before continuing. "It is clear to me however that the source of the corruption is in Endomaw itself. I shall journey there immediately to investigate and cast the Emperor's light on that hellish pit of corruption. Still, something troubles me, something about....."

He whirled, and pointed at the Savant. "Replay the video, the final message from the Prefect, quickly, QUICKLY! "

The holovid duly flashed back into life and the recording played once more. Garanthe watched the entire playback silently with arms crossed his eyes narrowing in places. The recording ended and he paused, calculating something in his head. After a moment's further consideration he spoke;

"This is unexpected, most unexpected. It appears we now have a rescue mission to mount as well. Sefina, please make preparations, a small insertion team including Lt Luminak I think, we will need to be swift and silent. This will be an infiltration type Iota operation, in and out, securing one objective. Prefect Alistae Carn." He paused, "On second thoughts also utilise Asset Vermillion Angelus, some heavy presence might be required.

Ralscon was quite insensible by now. His vision was greying. He tried to speak but couldn't, his mouth forming noiseless shapes in a vain attempt at speech. Sefina asked the question he was trying to pose anyway.

"I don't see anything Inquisitor, this is just a man in the thrall of the cult is he not? A loss, why would we risk exposure to save him?"

"Look closer Sefina," Garanthe gestured at the savant, "One more time if you would Aurelius?"

The playback started once more, Ganvan Seris presently stepped back and Carn started talking and toying with the Aquila charm, absent mindedly.

"There!" Garanthe exclaimed, "do you see it?"

Sefina did not and said as much. Garanthe grunted impatiently and pointed at the display;

"The flashes, the light on the charm he is manipulating, it forms a pattern, a sequence! Basic Imperial code! Throne above how can you not see it!? It's a message, he may not even know that he is sending it, but it is a message nonetheless. In high gothic to boot." He paused, catching his breath.

"Liberativ me Rex flava . Save me from the Yellow King. I know not what the Yellow King is, though I have my suspicions, but this is actually a brave and loyal servant of the Emperor and he cries for aid! We shall not shy from this request. He stood triumphantly, regally, a complete contrast to his appearance from earlier.

"Besides," he said, "I am sure that once liberated he will prove to be an excellent source of information, certainly more than this pathetic detritus here." He indicated the now comatose Ralscon, slumped in the chair, the soft green light playing out over the pallor of his slack features. "Nonetheless, don't let him die yet, I may have more questions for him and despite his blabbering I am sure there are many more misdemeanours to uncover. I shall leave you here while I journey to Endomaw, I need you to investigate further here. Go through missed communiques and reports. I want to make sure that anything that might further our efforts has not been missed." He passed Sefina his Holo-icon.

"Take this as my authority, do whatever you need to here. Tidy this mess up. Co-ordinate with the local authorities, purge those you need to, use those you can. Call in additional resources if required, whatever you need. Cast the Emperor's light upon this nest of Corruption, purge and purify it. I expect a vast improvement and detailed report by the time I return. Aurelius, come with me, I will need you to cogitate much of the data we have already uncovered. It appears that I have an appointment with the Yellow King and I'd hate to disappoint. Endomaw awaits."

White Dwarf Review: A Brand New Beginning.

How many iterations of White Dwarf have I seen now? I'm not sure exactly but it's a LOT. From the Fat Bloke days through to the split LOTR/GW mag, through to sell-athon glossy revamp, the weekly format, and then back to this new monthly edition which has once AGAIN just been given a spruce up.  all new and shiny for 2019

Well let's have a look shall we?

The first thing that will jump out at you (if you are a subscriber that is) is the new full cover art, with the banner, price and headings all gone, in fact only the title remains and even that has been rendered in a translucent gloss effect. Quite simply it looks the nuts and I can't wait to see what other issues look like in this subscriber exclusive format.

Of course they always say that you cannot judge a mag by it's cover and the normal version of the mag looks externally very similar anyway. So it's time to turn the page.

The first thing you might notice is that the White Dwarf team is a LOT smaller, now numbering half a dozen blokes. Two of those are Photographers.

The guest editorial goes some way to explaining, saying that the magazine has moved back into the design studio. This is evident throughout the magazine as its focus has changed considerably.

Gone are the more esoteric and random features, which could turn up at any point in the mag and were frequently swapped about, this is a much more structured presentation. It's also a much more streamlined and focused one and actually if anything even more resembles it's high end peers which go for around the same price point.

As mentioned, the mag is far more structured now with each game having its own section and all the articles for that game falling within that section.  This keeps everything a bit more coherent as you are not constantly flipping through pages to find the content for your chosen game.

However, contents wise, one of the FIRST things that you will notice is that there are no new release/preorder dates or prices. Not one. You could argue that this is a good thing, after all, they took up a good  dozen pages and that is now space that can be used for articles. Besides Warhammer Community seems to have that kind of thing covered (ok not so much the prices) but the prices in WD had been noticeably inaccurate anyway. Possibly as a result of  it's three month lead time

The magazine is bookended by studio sections including the letters page and Vox Chatter along with readers models. These literally go right up to the inside of the back cover. Every bit of space is utilised although the page count is the same overall as the previous edition of the mag.

The pages feel higher quality too, glossy and thicker, the overall impression conveying a high end magazine as said before. Despite this the magazine is no thicker than before and if anything seems to have slimmed in profile though I do not have an old copy kicking about to compare it to at the moment.

So after your letters and readers models you have a nice little article from Phil Kelly where he talks about building the lore in the studio. This is the first hint of the change in course for the mag which is  only reinforced as you continue to read.

The Age of Sigmar section is next, the banner at the top of the page turning from yellow/orange to a deep crimson to mark the change. The contents of this section are laid out at the top along with a generic double picture of a Mortal Relams battle scene in what seems to add as a front page for this section. Turning the page once again you are greeted with a welcome return: Fiction in the pages of White Dwarf! This is a short tale about a Kharadon expedition that takes a turn for the worse, its a great example of a short story that ties in well to what Phil was taking about just a few pages earlier. Jervis is back after that with another four pages where he waxes lyrical regarding the FAQ process for AOS. It's good to have him back and the article is interesting and insightful.

John Bracken (so that's where he went) is up next as he presents six new missions for AOS Skirmish which has been positively forgotten about since Kill Team. I don't play it so cant say more but it's a nice chunk of rules content and not the last by a long shot.

Next up is a double spread Start Collecting box advert before we head into a modelling article on Ashqy, The Realm of Fire. There's some really great stuff here with painting ideas, conversion ideas and basing examples all designed to represent this Mortal Realm. Really great stuff and I cant wait to see more like this in the future.

Another quick double page ad for Hobby tools and paint app is next before we get a featured army, an awesome Nurgle/Skaven force with some top class conversions, lots of painting guides and insight from the creator. This large article takes us to over a third through the total page count.

Nightvault is next up, as the banner turns to green and we get four pages on the game boards and possible tactics you can utilise with the different layouts. then it's kill Team (orange topped) for four pages on a Kroot Kill Team. Six pages of illuminations takes us to the mid point in the mag and a painting article from Darren Latham, probably one of the best miniature painters there is at the moment. This looks like this may be a regular feature (it's called the Pinnacle of Painting' and once again it's four pages. It's good but doesn't really function as a guide. Golden Daemon is next. these last three pages articles have all gone back to the generic golden yellow banner.

Golden Daemon is the same as it always was, and is 8 pages. Then its the Heavy Metal Challenge. AOS themed, again same as the old. Some lovely work within though, very inspiring.

40k is next, and again its a fiction piece first, focusing on the War on Vigilus. Robin Cruddace is next, taking about 40k rules.

Then it's the PROPER return of Index Astartes as we get loads of background along with some new rules including stratagems and relics for the Imperial Fists successor chapter. This Crimson Fist theme continues through the army showcase which is just the studio army and paint splatter (still no new releases being mentioned once again you notice)

The section is rounded out by the battle report which is between Catachans and Knights against an Eldar Coalition. It's a super tactical game between two experience competitive players.  It's a good read and features old school drawn maps, giving you a good idea of what is going on. The last couple of pages are rounded out by more studio chatter.

and that's your lot! It's a noticeably different focus from previous, even though much has remained the same. It's 146 pages cover to cover and that includes:

30 Pages of Age of Sigmar
40 Pages of 40k
around 12 pages of 'other games'  ( expect this to change a lot between the myriad games that GW offer)
And the rest is Studio stuff. Golden Daemon, that kind of thing.

There are noticeably less adverts in the mag, probably about 4 of five double pages and some of the content really is very good. It's much more focused on the main principles of the hobby, Gaming, Painting and Modelling and Background.  The return of fiction pieces is a welcome return that I have long wished for and there is a noticeable increase on emphasis on DOING rather than selling (adverts notwithstanding)

Overall it's a great mag improved and while I might miss the more esoteric bits like Temporal distort for the heady nostalgia, I cannot argue that there is more worth in the content that has replaced them. The increased new rules content should also prove far more popular and is a shrewd way to increase readership.  This might just be the mightiest version of WD since the Fat Bloke days.....