It is the 41st millennium. For more the ten
Millennia the immortal Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of
Earth. He is the master of human kind by the will of the gods of old, and the master of over a million worlds by the indisputable might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting corpse glowing invisibly with the lost power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the immortal lord of the Imperium of man, for whom over a million men and women are sacrificed every hour, so that he can never truly die.
Even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal
Vigilance. Mighty fleets of starships cross the daemon-infested miasma of
The Warp, the only means of travel between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's unyielding will. Vast armies march to war in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest
Amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines,
Bio-engineered super-warriors. They are his Angels of Death. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defense forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the
Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes of numbers, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants – and worse yet.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions of men. It is
To live in the cruelest of and bloodiest of times imaginable. These are
The tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and the knowledge of science, for so much has been forgotten, never again to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim darkness future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of bloody carnage and slaughter, and the laughter
Of thirsting gods of the Warp.
It is a galaxy you can live in today, but remember this: the galaxy is a big place, whatever happens, you will not be missed…