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Conquest General Poetry Thread

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Hello everybody

In these troubled times I thought we could do with a brighten-the-mind-thread, so welcome to the Conquest General Poetry Thread. This is the place where everyone can freely post their limericks, sonnets, serpentine verses and all manner of poetry, from small rhymes to grand epics, pertaining to 40k in general and Conquest in particular. I hope I won't be alone in posting stuff on this thread, but if so then that's fine. Hope you enjoy and feel free to post or comment as much as you like! :)

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I'll get us started with a small circular thing I did back when the Necrons were about to awake upon the release of Legions of Death. It's a reimagining of the thoughts and mind of the average Necron soldier, who in its hopeless futility longs for a true death.



The Cerebral Circle



In endless rows of death we lie
beneath the earth and starry sky
all dreaming of a chance to die
and so the flow of time runs by


Awake he said, and so we must
arise from eons’ caging dust,
but all our hopes gone in a gust
Instead we pierce the earthy crust


Impervious, we march for doom
beneath the earth the undead loom
and shadows soon, in dim lit gloom,
a dance enact within our tomb


And so, we come into the day
all dreams of rest are blown away
but now’s the time, beware! my prey
I cannot die, so I must play



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For the sake of keeping similar things together, I'll leave this here since it kinda (sort-of) fits with the theme of the thread:


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This one is called "The Emperor Gives Me My Final Command". Strictly speaking it is not a Conquest poem as such, since it deals with what happened over the course of a few minutes back in the 31st millennium, but I hope you'll enjoy it just the same :)

The poem is set at the height of the Horus Heresy, and it offers a different take on everything that happened from the moment Malcador the Sigillite, First Lord and Regent of Terra, entered the throne room with Rogal Dorn, answering their summons by the Emperor, till Malcador sits down on the Golden Throne in the Emperor's stead.

Malcador does not speak, but the reader still gains every insight into what transpires through him, both in terms of what he sees and hears, but also what goes on in his mind as his fate is finally sealed..



The Emperor Gives Me My Final Command

“This was my gift. My most brilliant scheme.

Now lies a passage where daemons they scream.

Cursed be Chaos! Those foul ideas, fie!

Who stands between them and all mankind – I!”



“Rogal, my son! Please enter, come in!

Malcador, First Lord! Free of all sin.

Both are most loyal and I love you well

Long it has been sure, but now I will tell

Why I you summoned so urgent tonight;

First Lord, approach now while I spread some light

Behold you this mountain of pure solid gold!

It shines very pleasant, now, First Lord be bold:”


“Take up my seat here, atop on the throne.

Gold for a friend – ah those seeds I have sown –

My great golden men here will watch over thee,

While you keep our gates barred to the crimson sea.”


And with that, he gave me my final command

My fate then thus sealed with a flick of his hand:

“My own Malcador. My true Sigillite.

Sit there, atop all, exalted in height.

This now is your task – it was not meant for you

But sit up here now – oh if only you knew

The pain I’ve endured, oh, through thousands of years

You’ll soon know such pure pain; you’ll face your worst fears.”



“My friend Malcador – how pale you now seem

Most loyal of all men – just sit there and dream;

That job was for Magnus, but Tzeentch in cruel spite

Grew jealous of me and my glorious might

Accursed foul things! I hate how they laugh!

But foremost I hate how they’re part of me, half.

Now Magnus is gone, yes, but you are here still

Sit down up there True One, and dream of free will.”


But what could I do?

I had to obey him

And climb up those gold stairs – I could not betray him

Innumerate things I have seen in my time,

But never I saw a machine so sublime.


I finally sat down atop on the throne

The first thing I heard was the snap of a bone –

My backbone had broken so crushed by the weight;

A vortex engulfed me with laughter and hate

My fate had been sealed by the whim of my Lord

I played as his hand on his giant chessboard

But now as I sit here, to darkness I’m drawn;

I realise – I merely played as a pawn


                                                                                                  July 3, 2016

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Great job.  The whole story of Magnus, The Emperor, Malcador  and the Golden Throne is one of my favorite parts of the entire Heresy narrative.  Magnus in particular I think is such a great character.  I can't wait to read those two heresy stories Graham McNeill is working on for him.  Also it's pretty awesome that they are bringing him back into the 40k narrative for the war game.

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Back in the beginning of April, when the Planetfall cycle was reaching its final stages and Wrath of the Crusaders was about to be released, I did two short pieces pertaining to a jolly chap, who has since become my favorite Space Marine warlord, aka Chaplain Mavros.

The first one, presented below, was a petrarchan-styled sonnet (though in tetrameter) titled The Coming of Mavros. It revolves around this idea I had back then that of all the warlords introduced in the Planetfall cycle – Mavros would, beyond any doubt, be the most powerful. Whether it turned out thus or not, here it is.



The Coming of Mavros


Change was looming, dread and vile

his coming would be very soon,

and all was black and all was bile;

pale sat the silent frozen moon,

long every man his breath held back

and then, a burning flash arose:

ill willed, brainwashed Templars Black –

nigh all opponents feared and froze.


Make ready, he will make all kneel

a herald of the blackest doom;

vile Skeletor of mindless zeal; 

rage runs with rampant rabid gloom:

on Sacaellum he will win

soon Helbreckt's henchman grins his grin



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An humble contribution to current meta. ^^


Not so fast little bird


With wings and feathers,

The patron of all eagles,

To join the fray is eager.

"Let's attack from all angles!

For our journey is swift

And our battle starts in a drift"


"Sure thing!" answers an helldrake,

From a teleportarium emerging in a quake.

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The second piece on Chaplain Mavros and the Black Templars is the less serious of the two..

It features the Marines' psychotic zealotry both in their battle cry/doctrine and in their fanatic devotion to the Emperor. The poem is set on Sacaellum with Mavros standing before a detachment of Sword Brethren Black Templars, and battles between the other factions raging in front of them; Mavros gives his men a sort of brief pep-talk before they all join the battle..



On the Eve of Battle


Now my Templar kin, I say

We will rise and slay this day

Feast on battle, death and gore

Called to fight the Emperor’s war


Look at all those foolish devils

See that serf of Khorne, he revels

In the fight – he’ll soon be gone

Let the killing go on and on!


What is that – a green-skin truck?

Painted blue for schmuckish luck.

Ha! They’re fun, those silly Orks

Soon they’ll die like doggerel dorks


Look! An Archon - she looks smart

Let’s carve out that xenos’ heart!

Look at us, we’re mankind’s heroes

Those we fight are hopeless zeroes!


Ah, another Elf with wings

What’s those hoary words she sings?

Send them fleeing, filled with shame!

Back the gate from whence they came


Have no pity, compassion’s a lie!

Have no fear we all must die!

No remorse! we’re build to kill!

Skillfully, foes blood we spill!


Templars by the Emperor’s hand

Sent by Helbrecht – here we stand

We are Death’s own godly design

The burning flames that shine divine

Now on to Saint Camila’s Shrine!


                                                          Revised 12.03.2016

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moar like conquest ballads amirite?



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The Warlord Tribute. Originally it was called something like "Twenty Warlords - Twenty Tributes", back when only twenty warlords had been released, Archon Salaine Morn being the latest at the time if I remember correct.

A week ago I did a complete revision and added all of the other warlords, so now everyone has a tribute stanza of sorts, 31 warlords in total.

I was slightly inebriated when I wrote Anrakyr's, but the next day I thought I'd leave just leave it as it were for the fun of it, so, I hope you'll enjoy them and the season's greetings indeed to everyone!



The Warlord Tribute


Cato counts his assets
Like a Scrooge in space
Then, another kill nets
And laughs up in your face
He grinds his teeth at xenos; and wipes out their whole race


Eldorath the Starbane
Sees opponents stuck
Proud and strong yet so vain
Arrogant as fuock
Lost a hand to Necrons; that really was tough luck


A certain jungle Death World
Fosters hardened guards
To fight its devils uncurled
And never yield few yards
That Straken can be quite tough; if right he plays his cards


Now there’s a Tau Commander
Who likes to boost her crews
And though some folk may gander
Because she sings the blues
They might avoid detection; those XV-22s


Oh Zarathur is deadly
And though he loves to sing
A cacophonic medley
Great pain to all these bring
Each time he leads an army; each swing, they really sting


Some will take you downstairs
Invade your deepest dreams
And turn them into nightmares
To feed on fear and screams:
Kith enjoys her dark den; where pain forever teems


How now Nazdreg old chum?
Fancy a good fight?
Sound the charge and war-drum
‘Unmies die tonight!
Have your nobs wreak havoc; unleash the green-skinned plight


Look at that “Old One Eye”!
A Carnifex on raid
Heals when standing up sly
These days seldom played
Should you lose your cool bro: a monocle might aid


Ragnar, though flea-bitten,
Fiercely fights through frost
Eschews that which is written
[Guilliman get lost]
And if you him encounter; you’ll surely pay a cost


Look! A flying chipmunk!
Lord of Swooping Hawks
Though his Blade’s perhaps junk
That might be a faux...
Death, rebirth, and soaring; the opposition gawks


Aun’shi, based on King-J*ps
Bane of shields and fools
Lures foes into death-traps
Where Sniper Drones are jewels
The strike and move and come back; it’s all within the rules


Come-on now, Snotling party!

Herders make some noiz!
Zogwort’s runts are hearty
Although they’re only toyz
Da’ Stikk goes up foe’s arse; I meant to do dat, Boyz!


Herald of Behemoth
You, the Kha’la’s bane
Your Sabres cut a broad swath
Across the battle plane
“The Swarmlord’s” death is spreading; the will of all you drain


Ku’gath, Great Unclean One
Father Nurgle’s spawn
Though you often foes stun
Dirt and dung are drawn
Those daemon Heldrakes beckon; for Chaos’ filthy Pawn


And speaking of those devils:
There’s that bald-faced man!
In bodies – oh – he revels
In guardsmen’s short lifespan
Beware you fiery Daemons; to bash you is his plan


Some genes are good, but others
Your victory will thwart
Your host, Omega smothers
With genes of his own sort
Beware of this foul creature; he’ll kill you just for sport


Dull Worr’s not fond of chickens
Well, people seldom are
And though his presence sickens
His gun’s his repertoire
Make sure to end him swiftly; that nasty commissar


That Starblaze turns from IG
To form a potent pair
The Brotherhood is mighty
And those that laugh might err
He’ll use an Ion Rifle; and turn his foes to air


Ah, Ba’ar Zul the Hate-Bound
Your foes are puny prey
So welcome to this playground
Where some to Chaos sway
O' Angron’s son with pain’s crown: the world is your buffet


Archons might be mighty
(Terrors surely are)
So with an ambush nightly
Salaine will leave a scar
And still, despite The Nexus; she’s surely not sub-par


Mavros throws a mean punch
Forged of Rogal’s steel
Templars xenos’ skulls crunch
For faith and hatred kneel
Accepting any challenge; Unstoppable in zeal


Before and army gleaming
Stands an Autarch lord
With Eldritch magic streaming
along her powersword
With wisdom of the serpent; she’ll soon increase her horde


And now to warboss Gorzod
Whose mind is bolts and pins
And though his army’s quite odd
His thugs will flay foe’s skins;
He’ll commandeer your engines; and then, the waaagh! begins


Now Anrakyr is waking
And seems a little crude
He travels Traxis shaking
That poor old dude is screwed:
His diet now and ever; all awful airline food


A metal lifeform driven
By psychopathic art
To him all slaves are given
(The big one’s in a shard)
By my command all lifeformswill tear themselves apart


Oh, there’s another Bird-lord!
The silence of the storm
And howling is her war chord
While Banshees Chaos swarm
But Jainas Mor seems nerfed here – mistakes are sadly norm


Aboard the Angel’s cruiser
(Naïve to think it strong)
Green hunters spy a looser
Enjoying Chaos’ throng
Landfall, then a deep strike; that Fallen won’t live long


Vostroya’s son is rolling
Straight into jungles dense
While armoured tanks controlling;
The guardsmen’s moods are tense
And when the foes come howling; Supports are his defence


An ancient being waiting
Yet still alive somehow
Stands silent, calculating
And then he speaks his vow
I’ll soon command creation; you cannot stop me now


The Warp unleashed is scary
Now daemons all things slay
You might a few swings parry
Keep Vha’shaelhur at bay
But Daemonettes are singing; your forces move away


And last, the torture warlord
Haemonculus of pain
While you’re so shunned by our horde
Some play you still while sane
So may you find your place champ; and may the torments rain


                                                                      February 2, 2016 – Revised December 2, 2016



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Prior to Maksim's release with the Slash and Burn warpack, I wrote two poems on both him and the Vostroyans going to Nectavus VI. The first was a short one, which offered a critical view of both Maksim and the Techtriarchy, Vostroya's aristocratic rulers. The second of the two poems turned out better than the first one though, so here's the less critical piece, Vostroyan poem #2 - The Offering of the Firstborn. The Vostroyan Firstborns is an Imperial Guard regiment, by the way, that hails from the frozen, industrial world of Vostroya (hence, the icy artwork on Captain Markis for instance.)



The Offering of the Firstborn


The heat was crushing, air was damp
This jungle globe, where minds did cramp
Was very strange from where we hail
Our icy home world, cold and pale


A debt is owed; we knew that much
All Firstborns fight and die as such,
But as we waited through the night
The searchlight white filled us with fright;


For should some dark, daemonic grins
Now show themselves, then hell begins
On that cruel world, Nectavus VI
Where death and darkness all transfix



. . .



Rumor went, Astartes were
Somewhere out there, hunting cur
Moving unseen through the night
Still we clutched our rifles tight


Nerves they stirred, the trees had eyes!
The deep dark jungle filled with spies
Those awful echoes, growl on growl
And then they came, the creatures foul..


From all directions forth they hurled
It seemed we would not leave this world
Both Eldar, Necrons, Orks and Tau
Head-on into our ranks now plow


But then came Maksim riding high
Atop his armor yelling DIE!
And over us blood filled the sky
While through the dark trees death rode by:


Three by three, and four by four
Tanks rolled up our flanks to shore
Our perimeter defense;
Our last stand would be intense


We’re surrounded! Fire fools!
So we shot at all the ghouls
Slash and burn it’s all the same
Hew and stab and shoot and maim


As I write these memoirs
Back among the Halo Stars
I recall how he us led
From that hell of red and dread


Though so many comrades fell
In that bloody living hell
One among us led us free
Through that war of misery
Armor-Captain, Grigory –
Vostroya’s Firstborn’s legacy




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The first Vostroya poem I did was intended to be a sonnet of the Shakespearian variety, but I somehow never managed to figure out what to do for the last two lines, the pair. I'll post it with only twelve lines though; it's called Vostroya Has Come. It takes a critical approach to both Maksim, the Imperial Guard, and the Techtriarchy of Vostroya, and as it was the first of the two, the reader might recognise rhymes and themes used (or reused actually) in the second Vostroya poem above, while this one hints more clearly at the dark secret behind the Firstborn Regiment..


Vostroya Has Come


Fire! he cried from the top of the turret the fool
Forward! he bellowed, keep moving! Keep firing you troll!
The Guard has arrived and battalions of armor now roll
My comrades and I must serve Maksim, Vostroya’s old ghoul.
So much will be crushed thus beneath all our cold clanging steel wheels
Both wounded and fallen – our comrades and xenos alike
And scores of vile daemons – all blown apart by our strike
Like insects just squashed out below our Vostroyan boot heels
This black jungle world is a strange place compared to my home
The High Techtriarchy said we must go here to fight shame
They send us to wipe off some ancient stain on their name
And Firstborn means oath-sworn, so we must the galaxy roam 



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​I was last, yet first to know

All the truths, when lies are rife

​most are dull and pawns in life

All shall know the hammer's blow

​let us lead your panicked gaze

​push your mind and warp your wit

have you flit with fear and sit

​all alone and ache ablaze

​ride with terror, Terra falls

I am legion, we are one

​unseen we've already won

serpents coil, the hydra calls


​For the Emperor










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Just before Christmas, I did a small four-stanza 40k Christmas piece which was rather silly and I ended up putting it in the 'terrible' folder. I showed it to a fellow Conquest player the other day however, and he thought it was quite fun and argued that it should go here too so, well, better late than never I suppose :P



Christmas in the Traxis Sector

It’s that time of year, when all battles stop

People rush to Tarrus for the big toy shop

Even Worr lets up, like a jolly defector

Cause’ now it’s Christmas in the Traxis sector


First through the door, is a Daemon prince

Next some blueish chaps - look how they mince

Those Ethereals come with a danger-detector

But now there’s peace in the Traxis sector


Cato buys his own action figurine

while Old One Eye puts resources in the bean machine

Gorzod gets red toy cars he’s quite the collector

Cause’ now there’s good times in the Traxis sector


Now it’s nearly time, for the Christmas feast

And ev’ry one’s invited, both man and beast

So from me an’ Barstool, that conscientious objector

Merry Christmas to all in the Traxis sector



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In general I'm not really a fan of the traitor-legions, save perhaps for the Alpha Legion, and I most certainly don't like the Word Bearers...

Moreover, I abhor Erebus in particular due to his corruption and his incessant spreading of evil.. Granted, that is most likely a mark of good character design and/or development of his character by whatever author included him in their Horus Heresy novels. He is simply such a poisonous snake while orchestrating the corruption of Horus and others that it is almost maddening :)

So here's Erebus with his silver tongue, imagined giving an edict for all to follow Horus against the Emperor of mankind. Alas



The Edict of Erebus

But how does Chaos conjure up

Dreams that overflow the cup

Measures, thoughts and feelings that we

In slavery, are truly free?


Listen now, my brothers all

You are chosen, heed the call

Follow Lorgar, feed the waves

Power comes to those that seek

Now speak your oaths in words antique

Brave and free, no longer slaves

Hereinafter, true we shall

Stand with Blessed Lupercal!

Oaths to Terra now are null

Free from falsehoods, dim and dull


Read the words trailed on my skull!


From the ashes, rise anew

March to Terra, slay and hew

Plate adorned in crimson hue;

Fire fans and fuels the Word

Bearers now to wrath are spurred

For too long we went unheard!

Khur will not for Terra mourn;

He who scorned and left us torn

With His lies, arboreal,

Falls to Truth Primordial!


Truth has ever been with us

And soon Macragge we shall concuss;

Ultramar will burn and die

Death to Guilliman’s blue lie!

All shall fear the amber eye!


Now, to Calth, where glories await

Crimson death on blue shall rain

Red their fancy plate will stain

Now, empowered with powers arcane

Spread the Word of Chaos’ reign

With blood and pain, we’ll forge our fate


​                                                               01.28.2017



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Well, with Urien's revival in the BCL tournament it's about time he had a tribute.

By the way, did you know that Urien talks to himself? He does, which is probably okay seeing as he is so immensely old. He may be the oldest warlord in the game, perhaps even predating Szeras, though we can't know for certain.


I like to think he is even older than the Illuminor, as I think that would add nicely to the sense of beyond-ancient terror that Rakarth really ought to stand for. So, here's a tribute of sorts to our very own grand old lunatic :)



​ Eternal


     Little lazy leeched plaything

     Hurt by a cut and hurt by a flaying,

     Who lies so limb in pain tonight

     And begs for mercy, and for light

     With all its life force bare to take

     My thirst it briefly now will slake;

     It came at me with hateful eyes

     And now I must some tools devise

     This rusty needle has me fain

     When it goes pricking at the brain

     Oh plaything mine, you make me coy

     Exquisite screams are cause for joy

     And here all playthings slow are bled



     It was a carefree life I led

     When prey like this were virgin land,

     As time went by, my sculptures grand,

     And with them too my Ichor hand,

     Were famed and feared throughout the world

     My being so depraved unfurled

     And tortures filled the countless years

     I died and healed and bathed in tears

     A million playthings I bled dry;

     The Lord of all Haemonculi.

     But soon I craved much greater things

     And sought to rise on torment’s wings

     To greater heights, delights and pain

     And greater depths of skill to gain:

     My search for more has brought you here

     And now, my prey, let’s have your ear



     With ichor, all I did derange

     But I digress, a rare and strange

     Occurrence, yes, yet now I’ll change:

     From reverie to revelry,

     Away from distant devilry  

     The screaming has it out of breath

     And so, instead, it begs for death

     But death is not the point my pet

     Your flesh is clay to me, and yet

     Within my dreaded oubliette

     Such shrivelled soul, so sad, so small

     Will twist and turn and feebly fall

     The squirming souls my pleasure spur;

     Rakarth, Tormenting Connoisseur

     Now here’s a poison-laden fang



     And should another see you hang

     In tears and blood impaled by hooks,

     As true my legend goes in books:

     It is exactly how it looks

     My plaything sweet, know you’ll endure

     Millennia of pain impure

     In this dark cell, you’ll slowly burn

     It seems that all things take their turn

     I might grow bored and seek new meat

     In thousand years, your soul, excrete   

     But kill you now and halt my play?


     Oh no, your death is far






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After Nightfall


After nightfall, when hate is the norm

Follow him not for his ignorance dooms

The ugly, who’s souls are forlorn and deform.

Estranging and dotting the land with his tombs,

Raging and boiling with anger and pride

Nurglings they cackle while hatred is spread

Ignoble and savage, the rest of us cried

Gone are our Primarchs, our Emperor dead.

Hence he’ll ensure that green life turns black coal

Think on the nightfall and look to your soul

Fast it will come like a Terror and rout.

After nightfall, when hope has gone out

Lies are told, they favour the few

Leading to triumph for Chaos anew





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Ever heard of John Grammaticus? A covert agent of the secret xenos organisation known as the Cabal, John was a powerful human psyker gifted with logokine and pertuality during the Great Crusade. Before being recruited by the Cabal, John lived on Terra and once he even met the Emperor of Mankind briefly, with the Emperor suggesting they should meet again and talk. This never happened though, and soon after John was killed, then reincarnated by an Eldar Autarch and recruited by the Cabal.

Much of John's whereabouts and exploits as an agent of the Cabal during the next thousand years and the Great Crusade remain unknown.

Here is a second encounter imagined between John and the Emperor of Mankind, soon after the Emperor's return to Terra.



Below the Mountain

You sought me out John, here I am

I’m not your ordinary man

You’ve travelled long and far and wide

I’ve watched you ride the cosmic tide

And now your fate I shall decide.


This world is mine, its life; its death

It flows with time’s perpetual breath

An ancient globe; my home (and thine)

A sacred place for all mankind

And those that are to me aligned


Yet you are not to me aligned


You come alone, but you are not

Thought those you serve are but a dot

Indeed, I know of whom you serve

Though don’t be scared and do not swerve

For few exist I can’t unnerve

And you are yet in my grand plot


My early life was lived alone

So long before I claimed my throne

I watched and learned from shadows dark

And seldom sought for change to spark

My past and future soon ‘came clear

A change was needed far and near

And so, I wrought a lightning spear

That man could veer from Chaos’ sphere:

And end an age of rule unjust,

A world so marred by men of lust

I rose and ground them all to dust



Long did I toil in earthy vaults

To mould my men for grand assaults,

Within this fortress, build by knights,

The Order of the Sigillites,

I set about my grand design

A future free from things divine

Where reason rules with righteous wrath

And steer mankind in its great path



My sons will make it all come true



Meanwhile, John, do tell me this:

What is time, and toil, to peace;

Life in pain, one without cease;

Servitude where debts increase;

What are these to restful bliss?




Long you’ve been a hidden pawn

Seeking out mankind’s new dawn

First you grew and served in line;

Now you serve a flawed design

Though such pacts you should decline


Faust of old once did as much

Sold his soul and gained a crutch

Ended in a daemon’s clutch

Such is not your fate though scribe

Though you took the xenos’ bribe;

Though you’d die by my mere touch;

Though you have your race defiled;

Though to me you’re like a child;

You still have a role to fill

And your skills will serve you still

Now then, John, this is my will:


Go to those you serve and say

I shall hunt them down one day

Though that day is not today

Though they don’t to Chaos sway

They remain mere xenos prey

They may move their ilk away

From my galaxy and pray

That they've gone so far astray


That my sons won’t make them pay


Fare thee well now, John of old

Go and think on what you’ve sold

Those you serve are wholly wrong

Long they’ve schemed to no avail

Do undo the web they’ve spun

My domain outshines the sun

I perceive things they can’t know

Pure as snow in starry glow

I surpass them thousand-fold

Fare thee well now John the bold

Soon you’ll see all that must be:

I surpass all Kings of old


Like my sons surpass all gold





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[Shameless bump for the poetry thread]


In these troubled times it may be nice to remember the arts and how creative thinking enrich our lives as humans.

Poetry, I believe, is not a bad place to start.

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With the release of 8th Edition in 40K, here's the imagined account of an ancient warrior, a lament for humanity in a time long lost to Terra.




       We are His warriors.

       The finest there has ever been

       He created us

       We followed Him

       This would be His world.




       The decree was made

       Ave Imperator!

       Most flawless and sublime;

       We did as He bade

       We marched for war

       And sought out Terra’s grime


       Some acquiesced, others, did not.

       A great storm would tear all the tyrants asunder

       This world would be His

       Ursh was defeated in slaughterous thunder

       Dark was its tyrant, his being expunged.

       Gyptus surrendered as thunder swept closer

       Soon Hy Brazil into lightning storms plunged




       The Caucasus Wastes were smug in their hall

       Their infernal stronghold ran deep in the mountain

       Resisting the thunder, but soon they would fall

       We snuffed out the fountain of fire and darkness  

       Emerging from gloom in triumphant ascent


       On and on and on we went

       Trampling all who stood in His way

       Albyon fell, its tyrant was captured

       Taken to hell, his powers all spent




       Bruised and battered

       Gold amongst the dirt

       The Pan-Pacific’s gained

       Humans broken and hurt

                     All their spirits shattered

       Their frail bodies inert

       Its mad tyrant bloodstained and chained.




       Few remained now, resisting His regime

       A pathetic mob appeared and charged

       Most of them died in a thunderous roar;

       Easily, Franc fell apart at its seam,

       At Gaduare’s hilltop, we slew them by the score.




       Fulfilling His dream

       The end was coming, that final day

       Defiant, Urartu still held Him at bay

       Soon, Mount Ararat loomed on the horizon

       Like a boil emblazoned with poison

       That last, final error in the mirror

       Or so it would seem.




       The order was given

       The charge was underway

       Uphill we marched

       With purpose driven

       To purge to the last

       To destroy, in an instant

       As lightning strikes the mountain:

       We had brought the thunder

       We watched the thunder

       How they adored and wared


       They fought for Him


       They bled for Him


       They were clumsy tools


       They died for Him.

       We sought to it

       The order was given

       We ended the thunder

       In cold-blooded murder

       That daylight could break.


       We are His warriors.

       Steeped in auramite,

       Red, and daylight,

       Blessed with His gifts,

       Of greatest height and might;

       They were but a blight

       Quite brief was their plight


       Now I doubt




       Unification was achieved

       So much was accomplished

       Terra was remade

       Order reigned supreme





       I am His warrior

       Auramite and red

       Now, I look for the error in the mirror

      So infinitely subtler than before


       Blindingly blatant

       I remain immobile while I stagger.

       But my eyes