Acknowledge death as it approaches, but do not succumb to its touch, for your purpose is great. You have proved yourselves to be worthy of the status you now hold. Every one of you standing here, all of whom have declared allegiance to the Emperor and take his will as your guide, have shown your courage and have been rewarded for it. Those that stand before me, I charge you now, go forth and vanquish the foe.
Within dark and forgotten places hide the enemies of the Emperor. You have been chosen to enter such places and, protected by the best armour the Adeptus Mechanicus can provide, cleanse it. Take with you weapons, a valiant heart and the Emperor’s blessing, and engage the enemy where it makes its lair.
Follow me, my Children, and the glory of victory shall be yours. We shall cleanse ourselves in the crimson waters of our enemy. We shall bring the ecstasy of quick release to those who stand before us. We shall give bloody praise to the Lord of Pleasure and sing his name as we dance across the fallen. Follow me, my Children, and you shall taste the undreamt joys that lie beyond the bounds of mortal sense.
Bjorn the Fell-Handed:
After Russ’ disappearance, Bjorn assumed the Primarch’s leadership of the Space Wolves, becoming the Chapter’s first Great Wolf. His heroic career at the head of the Space Wolves ended during a raid against a fortress in the 31st Millennium, when he was so severely wounded and crippled that he was beyond the aid of the Chapter’s Apothecaries. To preserve Bjorn’s life, his paralyzed body was transplanted within a Space Wolf Dreadnought. Over the following five hundred years, he remained at the forefront of battle. Eventually the long years took their toll on the warrior, and he began spending longer and longer periods dormant in stasis sleep. Now he is only awakened once every thousand years, or when the Chapter has the greatest need of his potent skills and wisdom. He is also awakened at the dawn of each new century to hold court at the Great Feast, where he recounts elements from his own saga to his Battle-Brothers. He represents the Chapter’s link to the past, and is revered by the Space Wolves as a hero almost as great as Leman Russ.
The daemonic are without number, and their legions span the galaxy. But faith does not tire. Should it take us an eternity, the Ordo malleus will find and exterminate them all.
“Smite now the scions of the Witch!
Grant us the strength to pierce their unclean flesh!
To cover their fields with the pale form of the blasphemous dead!
To drown the thunder of guns with the shriek of their dying!
To lay waste to their citadels with hurricanes of fire!
To wring the hearts of their kin with unavailing grief!
To send them into the waste of their desolate land in rags and hunger, broken in spirit, worn with travail and begging for the refuge of the grave.
We ask it, in the spirit of wrath, O Master of Mankind!”
We cannot live through this. Mankind cannot live through this. In a single day they have covered the surface of this planet with a flood of living blades and needle-fanged mouths. Kill one and ten take its place. If they are truly without number then our race is doomed to a violent death before every shred of our civilization is scoured away by a force more voracious than the fires of hell themselves! Death! By the Machine God, Death is here!
Tyranids are creatures from our darkest nightmares. But remember this: they can bleed, and they can die.