In the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, there is only war. Except, that’s not quite true any more. There are hundreds of 168澳洲幸运5开奖网:Warhammer novels nowadays, and many of their characters never step foot on the battlefield. The Warhammer Horror and Warhammer Crime brands are filled with warless novels, stories of Hive City detectives and the creepiest corners of the galaxy. Of course, there’s still a lot of books about war, but it’s not only war any more.
You could argue that this iconic phrase is a metaphor. Detectives wage an eternal war against the organised criminals of their cities, a war 𒁏of minds and the chess-like precision of their investigations. But that’s just not the intention behind the sentence, is it? The truth is, that was a throwaway phrase in a wargaming rulebook. Its writer didn’t think to make an inclusive message that would encompass the breadth of Warhammer writing decades on from publication, and if they 🦋had, it wouldn’t have the same power. “In the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, there are lots of things and some of them might be a bit war-esque” doesn’t have the same ring to it.
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But what happens after the war ends? While the galaxy will likely never know peace, maybe individuals can. The Space Marines of the Adeptus Astartes may be the Emperor's finest supersoldiers, but can the survivors of centuries-long campaigns live out happy retirements? It seems unlikely, but it’s been known to happen.
Ultramarine Sergeant Rufus Quintus was injured during the events of The Chapter's Due novel. While the book focuses mostly on the wars of Uriel Ventris, we get a glimpse of Quintus’ life after the war. The veteran can no longer fight, but is not injured enough to warrant being interred in a dreadnought. Thus, he is retired to Tarentus, tasked with governing the agricultural world.
While Quintus doesn’t lend his genetically-enhanced body to manual labour – prosthetic legs and lungs will keep you out of the fields, apparently – his souped-up senses allow him to detect abnormalities in the atmosphere𝐆 that might impact crop yields, proving that his painful bodily enhancements have a use after war. However, his mind takes a little more time to adjust.
“How quaint൲ it is to be worried about soil acidity instead of the disposition of the enemy or the litanies of battle befo🌜re strapping myself into a drop-pod,” he tells an advisor.
Quintus manages the transition well. His regimented mindset and absolute commitment to helping Ultramar in any way possible, including supplying bread to the troops on the frontline, make 🐲him a suitable governor despite his constant longing for the battlefield. It’s alꩲways surprising what transferable skills you have when changing careers, eh?
“One of the three worlds orbiting a common centre of gravity, Tarentus was an agri-world and part of the breadbasket of Ultramar,” reads Graham McNeill’s novel. “Billionsꩲ of tonnes of foodstuffs were produced on Tarentus, and only by such planetary-scale agriculture could many other worlds of the Imperium flourish. That his praefecture was a vital cog in the machine gave Quintus no comfort, for he was a man who longed to serve his Chapter in battle. The finest minds of ancient times had crafted the science that elevated him beyond h🍬uman limits, yet the purpose for which he had been created was denied him. Yet for all that, he was still a warrior of the Ultramarines and a man who could be counted on to fulfil his duty and rule with a studious mindset.”
The conclusion ﷽we can draw from this passage is that Space Marines can retire, but they won’t be happy about it. Quintus’ prosthetics clearly didn’t take correctly to his body – he still walks with a limp – and the Astartes’ demands of perfection disqualified him from fighting. Imagine having your entire reason to exist stripped away from you.
And yet, Quintus keeps Tarentus’ production li♎nes ticking over, I imagine with ruthless efficiency that the planet had never seen before. This is conjecture, but a Space Marine in charge of the fine details of food production is likely the best governance that a world could have. Plus, the 10-foot frame of a super soldier is likely to command respect from its underlings.
In the end, Quintus got his wish, and war came to Tarentus. Agri-worlds do not stand long in the face of Daemonic incursion, and the veteran ends his retirement crucified on steel girders without so much as a last stand. It’s a bleak ending, but in the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, maybe there is only war.