Primary source is Andy Hoare's "The 13th Black Crusade". Though it should be read with extreme caution as a source of lore, because it is one. The Trove is the biggest open directory of RPG PDFs on the Internet!. The 13th Black Crusade (Warhammer Novels) [Andy Hoare, Marc Gascoigne] on echecs16.info *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. A collection of charts, maps.
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Read Download The 13th Black Crusade (Warhammer Novels) |PDF books PDF Free Download Here. The Thirteenth Black Crusade Campaign Weekend echecs16.info 2 . History records you as one of the commanders taking part in "the Thirteenth. hortor of Abaddon's Thirteenth Black Crusade. The Colours of War. These colour pages show many painted examples of the superb mimlalures thal can be used.
Would you like to tell us about a lower price? If you are a seller for this product, would you like to suggest updates through seller support? A collection of charts, maps, illustrations, and photographs complement a fascinating journey inside the Warhammer 40, world, which chronicles the last great crusade of the Chaos Warmaster Abaddon. Read more Read less. Customers who viewed this item also viewed. Page 1 of 1 Start over Page 1 of 1.
Sitting there lost in thought, the undergrowth of the glade begins to creep in on him. Thorny branches reach toward him. Strangling vines descend from the trees and gently coil around his neck. As he closes his eyes and imagines himself striking down legendary foes, conquering galaxy-spanning civilisations, or negotiating heavily favourable Warrants of Trade, the waters of the pool rise up and take the shape of whatever represents defeat for the dreamer.
Sensing something is amiss, the ensnared visitor opens his eyes and is confronted by a vision of shame and defeat just before the branches and vines rip at his esh and choke the air from his lungs. The sound of his nal scream, stied by a lack of air, is a delight to the Prince of Painful Raptures.
An incredibly small number of travellers resist the temptation to dream and are spared the torment of confronting their failings. They rise, exhausted by their trials, and pass into the sixth and nal realm that stands between them and the Palace of Pleasure.
For many, each day is a struggle to simply survive to the end of the day. Even races that do not suffer the oppressive yoke of Imperial rule are not without burdens. The Eldar, for example, must ensure that their craftworlds are supplied and ready to repel invaders, all the while haunted by the knowledge of the terrible fate that can await them should their souls fall to the Lord of Pain. Still, bodies need rest. Surely any wanderer who has made it to the last of Slaaneshs defensive rings must be weary, and especially deserving of repose, even if only for a moment.
Upon emerging from the delightful torments of the previous ve domains, anyone who could resist the seduction placed before them at this point would surely become legend. Awaiting the beleaguered traveller, say the whispers of those depraved wretches languishing in perfumed palaces and pleasure dens, is a vision of sublime peace. All struggle is surely a thing of the past. All torment a distant memory. Here is a beach of softest sand, warmed by the rays of a golden sun.
Gentle breezes push scattered clouds through a perfect azure sky. Music is carried on those same breezes, soothing the spirit.
The ground itself rises up and caresses the body of the weary wanderer. Cherubs begin to remove armour plates and burdensome belongings.
Coalescing from the salted mists of the waves that break upon the shore, gures with placid features and soothing hands approach and rub tired muscles. The memories of an arduous journey fade into nothingness. Peace is the wanderers at last. It is peace eternal if the will is not strong enough to snap consciousness back to reality.
Determination sends the placid apparitions screaming back to the seas. Resolve collects displaced armour and other possessions. Herculean effort forces the few strongest invaders to rise up and approach the nal destination. The Palace of Pleasure lies ahead, and surely any who could pass through the six trials is prepared for what awaits.
Surely his Keepers of Secrets would confront any invader that made it to the Dark Princes abode. Thick walls must surround the grounds and towers of his demesne. Slaanesh has no need of such defences, however. Any invading force, from a lone Space Marine, to legions of Bloodletters, would nd that the only guardians present would be statues of the nest alabaster and perfectly shaped trees.
Confused as these warriors might be, nothing could prepare them for the presenceof the master of the realm. As the invaders contemplate what they perceive as a lack of defence, the air stills. Unseen choirs sing, and ears weep at the unholy harmonies.
A god emerges from his palace. Striding condently toward the awestruck invaders, the Dark Prince smiles. It is enough to completely disarm any who stand in his presence. They are lost, and they care little of the fact. This, the tales say, is why there are no defensive walls or Daemonic hordes. There is simply no need.
Resistance in the face of perfection is not a possibility. What becomes of those thus ensnared is beyond speculation and more the subject of fevered dreams.
Not one soul has trod upon the grounds of the Palace of Pleasure and returned to tell the tale. Scholars of the obscene and decadent debate not only the fate of those who get this far, but even the very structure of the grounds and the palace itself.
There being no rsthand accounts, who can say for sure what form the citadel takes? Some say the palace is a single humble dwelling, making the appearance of the Lord of Obsession even more grand in comparison. Other say it is the most opulent structure ever conceived, stretching for miles in every direction, including upward. Most agree that it must be magnicent. A god of excess and perfection must have a domicile to match. If this is correct, then the spires of gold and marble surely ring an inner courtyard wherein statues of exquisite realism are placed.
These statues might be the nal form of those who succumbed to the disarming allure of Slaanesh. If so, then their faces would bear a countenance of absolute joy. These statues would capture forever the perfect moment of grace that one would surely feel in the presence of perfection. It may be that the only inhabitant of the Palace of Pleasure is Slaanesh himself.
Perhaps no Daemons of any kind are required to embellish his inner sanctum. Or it may be that the palace is lled with life, a den of iniquity where decadence unrivalled is played out eternally. It is home to Slaanesh. Servants of Sensation Can we play with him, master? He seems so unhappy. Let us help him smile. Or at least let us carve one on his face when he stops screaming. Azeila, Alluress of Slaanesh he Master of Excess is a young god, though concepts such as age or duration are difcult to apply to a being who exists outside of linear time.
Still, this youth has not impeded his efforts to swell the ranks of his mortal followers and daemonic minions, nor has it limited the numbers who have given themselves over to him completely. The forbidden experiences he offers and the secret desires he grants permission to explore have an appeal that countless billions nd irresistible.
Mortal followers can never become one with Slaanesh in the same way his Daemons can, still they throw themselves into his arms as willing servants, jealously seeking that which Daemons come by naturallyperfect unity. The eddies of the Warp and the winds that blow across the planets of realspace carry the dark promises of debased joy from the glistening lips of the Lord of Delight to the quivering ears of those all too eager to listen and obey.
Repressed mortal souls and enthusiastically lusty Daemons alike hear his perfect voice and yearn to serve him, embracing both pain and pleasure out of the desire to be bound to the service of Slaanesh, and at the same time revel in a freedom previously unknown. The following vox recordings were scene. Investigation ongoing.
Me, the nest gourmaster the hive has seen!
As much as it pains my pallet, I must record the matter for the gastronomes who attempt to follow in my footsteps. It was a normal meal, six courses in solitude to properly capture each of these favourite dishes. This time It was sublime and overwhelming.
It was beyond anything before, though my chefs insist they had followed my standard preparation dictates exactly as always. They are but ratlings, thieves all of them, and know little of proper dining.
They must have done something. The tastes I cannot imagine not experiencing them again. Recreated the courses but to no avail. I am Kellum, master gastronome, and I will prevail!
I must All is bland, no avour at all. Meals are plebeian and unworthy. I fear I may waste away should I falter.
The loss to the hive would be staggering. This duty to their delicious lord guides every decision, conscious or otherwise, of all those who seek to receive his attention.
There are a chosen few among them, though, who must be more. They must inspire others, must lead the armies of Slaanesh in battles both martial and carnal. It is upon the sensuous shoulders of the Keepers of Secrets that these tasks fall. Each Keeper of Secrets is a unique and incredibly powerful being, second only to Slaanesh himself in terms of inuence over the whims of mortals, ability to corrupt, and physical perfection.
Some are described as towering twisted bovines, often lling the role of fertility god to primitive cultures. Other legends speak of them as idealised representations of athletic prowess, appealing to those who idolise bodily grace and strength. Sketches from mad visionaries who claim to have visited the Realm of Chaos in dreams frequently render these Daemons as multi-limbed beasts whose arms end in hands and enormous claws and whose bodies bend and twist oddly, presenting curves and ridges that are best not gazed upon for too long.
No matter the form of the Keeper of Secrets, each is a deadly foe in combat and an even more dangerous foe in the battle for the soul. These Daemons know that physical pleasure has its limits.
A victim can only be pushed so far before its body becomes numb to the sensations to which it is exposed, be it a lustful caress or the pain of impalement on a claw.
It is the ability of a Keeper to nd inroads to the soul that makes it the most dangerous of foes. Even in the midst of a ght to the death, a Keepers foe may nd himself straying too close.
Thus drawn in, he may fall victim to the whispered promises of otherworldly delights and secrets of pleasures undreamt of that pass from Daemon lip to mortal ear. Intrigued for even an instant, a warrior can nd that he has lost the battle and laid down his arms without realisation. Many such are summarily beheaded or eviscerated by the Keeper.
The most promising are taken into the tender embrace of the Daemon and brought back to Slaaneshs realm, where they receive attentions of which few mortals ever dream.
Keepers also ll the role of generals of the armies of the Dark Prince. Towering above the slinking and writhing hordes of Daemonettes, Fiends and other lewd beasts, the soft esh of their seductive forms at odds with their wicked blades and other implements of war, they give pause to enemy aggressors who are both attracted to and repulsed by what they see.
The power of their intoxicating beauty has proven a more devastating weapon than artillery barrages or lascannon batteries time and again, ending many battles before they have properly begun. The indulgent decadence of the Eldar race gave rise to the Prince of Chaos, so perhaps this blasphemous idea holds true for his lesser Daemons as well.
The veracity of the idea aside, there is reason to fear the terrifying possibilityjust barely beyond reach, clawing and scratching at the ever-weakening boundaries between worlds, legions of Daemons await the moment when they can unleash themselves upon the mortal world.
Should they do so, and if Daemons are the manifested dreams and nightmares of men, then the reunion between men and the horrors their dreams have spawned is properly dreaded by most, yet yearned for by so many on both sides of the walls of reality.
The daemonic servants of Slaanesh take many forms, from the lowest Daemonettes to each singularly unique Keeper of Secrets, and all of the lasciviously enticing but horrically deadly variations in between. No matter what the appearance of the Daemon, its malevolent intent remains the samebring glorious excess in all its forms to a galaxy ready to embrace it. My own magnicent mind puzzled it out in my sleep!
It was a scent, something I must have also detected during the night, a minuscule thread of what earlier dazzled my senses.
My dreams were lled with twisting smoke that curled and embraced. It swirled around me like shadow gures, arms wide and alluring.
I now have the direction to follow. Only my masterful senses could have detected such a delicate bouquet and appreciated such a perfect avour it produced.
I must call for aid now though; my sheets have become quite torn. My struggles to solve this mystery must have been strenuous indeed. A mortal could achieve greatness worthy of notice, only to be ruined and become a mindless Chaos Spawn because the Dark Prince was in an especially wistful mood. Those that do receive the greatest gift of all, though, realise their goal of immortality and are reborn a Daemon Prince.
It is the nature of Slaanesh, however, that even this great accomplishment is more of a beginning than an end point. The newly transformed Daemon Prince must continue to push the edges of excess, must do more, must be more.
If he was rewarded for creating an elixir so sweet to the taste that its mere scent causes people to ingest ceaselessly until they drown in it willingly, he must nd a way to entice entire worlds to choose to taint their supplies of drinking water with the deadly concoction. This accomplished, he must go further with his creation, perhaps altering it to leave each victim with a yearning smile on his face.
Service is unending and eternal. Failure is as well, for spawndom or worse is always a possible punishment for disappointing Slaanesh, even for a mighty Daemon Prince.
The accomplishments a mortal must achieve to receive this blessing vary from god to god. For some, the path is straight. A follower of the brutish Khorne, for instance, must slaughter in the Blood Gods name, reaping skulls and draining blood until his god takes note. It is simple, direct, and largely the same for all who serve him.
For those who wish to enjoy the Lord of Excesss complete embrace, the path to greatness is less clear. Many avenues are open to be explored, many hidden pathways awaiting eager probing by the curious and dedicated devotee. All he must do is select one and nd a way to take it to a level of excess so sublime that Slaaneshs attention is drawn. Once he has his masters eye, he must continue to push, to break through boundaries and limitations. He must amuse the Prince of Pleasure in such a way that he is judged to be not only unique, but worthy of reward, for uniqueness alone is not enough.
The Dark Prince touches many mortals in horrifying and cruel ways, warping and twisting them into mindless, unnatural forms. While they do lead packs of lesser Daemonettes into battle at times, their true value to the Lord of Excess is not realised alone on the eld of battle. They surround their exquisite prince in his inner sanctums, fullling his desires, acting on his every whim, and, perhaps most importantly, acting as his emissaries of worldly delights.
They carry his plans to the mortal world, often directly interacting with cults, leading their unholy rituals, planting the seeds of desire and corruption, and gathering tales of new opportunities for the Dark Prince to spread his inuence. When they do join their lesser sisters in excursions of slaughter and warfare, the entire band enters a state of blissful psychic union that pushes their physical bodies beyond normal limits.
The Daemonettes and their Herald become a blur of claw, skin, and carnage. With incredible grace, unearthly speed, and unholy clamour, they descend upon their entranced victims, cutting into esh and fullling many a mortals darkest, nal dreams. It is a death that so very few have the pleasure to experience, but the Heralds of Slaanesh are devoted to offering it to as many as they can.
The Daemonhunters of the Ordo Malleus use all of these words and more to warn initiates of the dangers presented when confronting a Daemonette of Slaanesh. Whether encountered on the battleeld or in dreams, a Daemonette is a foe who wins battles with equal parts disarming guise and blissful assault. Their physical appearance is confounding.
At once impossibly twisted and shamefully intriguing, the hermaphroditic form of a Daemonette is both repulsive and nearly impossible for a mortal to turn away from.
Their lithe bodies and entreating voices lure wayward souls to lower defences and open up to ravenous, violent consumption from the jaws and jagged claws of the Ladies of Slaanesh. This base allure is not, however, the only temptation Daemonettes have at their disposal. As children of Slaaneshs degenerate dreams, Daemonettes bring all he has to offer to the fore. Not all mortals yield to the temptations of the pleasures of the esh; some have deeper desires that are only discovered through more deliberate probing of their wills.
All Daemonettes are inherent experts in peeling away the defensive walls that shield the desires of men from discovery. If a mortal seeks adoration, these Daemons know the words of seductive guile to speak into his ears to cause him to lower his guard. If that man wants nothing more than to be recognised above his peers, the child of malice knows how to sweetly praise him for his achievements.
There is no buried dream, no subdued ambition that a Daemonette cannot uncover and exploit. When it does, the focus of its attention is surely doomed to feel the tender caress of honeyed lips and razored claws. Unlike higher Daemons of the Silken Lord who also offer whispers of delicious pain and other delights, it relies only on musk, claw, and confusion to dispatch its enemies. Unfortunately for its targets, it needs little else.
The pliancy of the mind and the softness of the esh are ample weakness for a Fiend to exploit to terminal effect. The creatures resemble elongated tubes of esh, punctuated by multiple instances of disturbing curvaceousness, and propelled swiftly forward on two bird-like limbs.
Impossibly long tongues drip sweet temptations all along the path of their approach, their soft forms mesmerising all in their path. Once beast and victim meet, the tongue wraps like a whip around the neck, bringing a painful, wonderful death.
The majority of Steeds are paired up with Daemonettes to form the ranks of the Seekers. This deadly combination of beauty, claw, and passion rides at the vanguard of many Slaanesh legions, sweeping away opposing scouts and other light resistance.
Some who stand in the path of Seekers are spared destruction and are allowed to join the armies of the Dark Prince, if they show the proper appreciation and desire. With legs a vague blend of equine and avian origin, head both bovine and feline, and trunk both insectoid and disturbingly humanoid, a Fiend is an amalgamation of forms that artfully blends together, shocking and inviting at once.
Paperback Verified download. How often does one encounter a company so invested in its completely fictional setting that they spend significant amounts of money publishing historical tomes, background books really, detailing various conflicts and within their fictional universe? How much rarer is it that said company would spare no production cost to create coffee-table sized versions of these tomes with high quality gloss pages and high resolution photographs.
How much rarer is it for a company to have a fan-base that is so fascinated by the diverse science-fiction futuristic universe they have created that these books sell with relative like hotcakes? Safe for perhaps the teeming multitudes of works published regarding the inhabitants of Tolkien's Middle Earth, I would venture the guess that Games Workshop's Warhammer 40k setting is the only one able to claim all of this fame.
The worlds and sub-sectors surrounding the Cadian Gate are invaded by the most feared foe of man, the dreaded forces of Chaos. This invasion of terrifyingly mutated battle fleets, dark servants of ancient malevolent gods, hordes of mutants, and throngs of corrupted faith spewing heretics is preceded by an explosion of cult activity across dozens of worlds.
This conflict, which will erupt like a volcano into a war involving hundreds of millions of soldiers from across the Imperium will eventually rip across nearly three dozen worlds, is the setting for the Black Crusade. While some of the photographs mentioned in the another review are obviously taken from terrestrial sources this book is filled with nuance and detail of the conflict and reads exactly like the memoirs of a high ranking general.
I would have preferred more detail on the forces and personalities involved in the conflict and their histories but this could be the subject of an entire historical tome of its town. It is interestingly paced and can, with only a little imaginative effort on the part of the reader, allow you to for a moment to envision yourself in this nearly unimaginably horribly and brutal conflict.
Detailing the events of the infamous Games Workshop international gaming campaign during the summer of , this book provides a battle-by-battle account of Abaddon the Despoiler's invasion of the Cadian Gate during I must add that many of the pictures are in a style I've never seen before in a Warhammer 40k publication; the pictures look incredibly realistic, including snapshots of military vehicles and space fleets, satellite imagery, and other images very similar to a 20th century press release.
The 13th Black Crusade truly captures the feelings of horror, triumph, and despair that were felt by all Imperial forces throughout that Campaign of Terror. See all 3 reviews. Customers who bought related items also bought.
Dark Imperium. Guy Haley. Shroud of Night. Andy Clark. Gav Thorpe. The Magos Eisenhorn. Dan Abnett. The writing is simple and you get a view of the grand scenario behind it.
The images accompanying this book are: a photos - horrible and don't add nothing b drawings - excelent. There were some stories that I would like to see a full lenghted novel like: Saint Josmane's Hope - specially the last mission Invasion of Cadia - I just made a review but the computer crash.
There were some stories that I would like to see a full lenghted novel like: Saint Josmane's Hope - specially the last mission Invasion of Cadia - Maybe a series of novels that cover from the beginning until the end. Ursarkar E. Creed There are here, only in this War, room to make dozens of books, as the made in HH. But of course I know it's not possible. My only complain to BL is that they are going astray with their new policy.