Warriors, Immortals, and the Lord could all be broken (Builder Scarabs too, though for unarmed units having their morale broken is only a plus). Enough to drive an endless stream of monoliths and Necron soldiers. It pulsed with the green glow of the strange power which fuels the Necrons – vast reserves of it. As builder scarabs removed sands and restored structures to power, its clean-cut, symmetrical, and lifeless form emerged. >5100097 Out of the dry Imossan sands, an ancient complex emerged – part burial ground, part power plant, part staging ground. Perhaps they ran afoul of the Necrons' ENDLESS MONOLITHS. >5200042 Unfortunately, sir, a shipment of one hundred Baneblades had just gone out to serve–
Unfortunately, a full regiment of Baneblade tanks, the Imperial Guard’s armored super-weapon, had that very day been dispatched to various territories throughout the Kaurava system. General Stubbs was determined to triumph in the face of this and all other adversity.
>5100085 Since the outbreak of the Warp Storm on Kaurava IV, the Imperial Guard had known a humbling series of setbacks – losing a full three quarters of their fighting men was just a start. They were supposed to be still in the system. Alexandr Mikhailovich, with the whole Vostroyan Host. Now we'll conclude, for we don't know the date in the Warp the moon's in the sky, the year with the Emperor, the day's the same over here as it is over there, maybe for this kiss our arse!
You won't even be herding pigs for the Imperials. Pig's snout, mare's arse, slaughterhouse cur, unchristened brow, screw your own Primarch! You Cadian scullion, Catachan wheelwright, brewer of Krieg, grox-fucker of Tallarn, swineherd of Greater and Lesser Armageddon, pig of Elysia, Praetorian thief, catamite of Valahalla, hangman of Mordian, and fool of all the Materium and Immaterium, an idiot before the Emperor, grandson of Slaanesh, and the crick in our dick.
You will not, you son of a bitch, make subjects of Imperial sons we've no fear of your army, by land and by void we will battle with thee, fuck your Primarch. What the devil kind of Space Marine are you, that can't slay a squig with your naked arse? Nurgle excretes, and your army eats. O warmaster, Warp devil and damned Khorne's kith and kin, secretary to Tzeentch himself.
Vostroyan Firstborn to the Warmaster of Chaos!