185.220.101.134 at 14:25, 20 May 2026

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	''The following was written and posted by LordLucan, of the www.thebolthole.org forums. The Age of Dusk is his imagining of how the universe of Warhammer 40,000 would change by the year 60,000.''		''The following was written and posted by LordLucan, of the www.thebolthole.org forums. The Age of Dusk is his imagining of how the universe of Warhammer 40,000 would change by the year 60,000.''






	==Additional Background Section 40: Battle is Joined==		==Additional Background Section 40: Battle is Joined==

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1d4chan>YunaCalista: Undo revision 874697 by 2A02:A458:CBF4:1:F8C4:A575:AEF8:37 (talk)

2023-02-03T18:28:48Z

Undo revision 874697 by 2A02:A458:CBF4:1:F8C4:A575:AEF8:37 (talk)

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 **(There were always two, I later learned. Morkar and Gorkul were always their names. Every krork ship had them, and they all spoke to one another via the ‘War Field’, which I believe functioned very similarly to the genestealer broodmind.)
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 [[Category:Stories/Warhammer 40,000]]

2A02:A458:CBF4:1:F8C4:A575:AEF8:37: Correction of mistakes in text formatting.

2023-02-03T17:59:09Z

Correction of mistakes in text formatting.

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 **(There were always two, I later learned. Morkar and Gorkul were always their names. Every krork ship had them, and they all spoke to one another via the ‘War Field’, which I believe functioned very similarly to the genestealer broodmind.)
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 [[Category:Stories/Warhammer 40,000]]

1d4chan>Protostorm689: Undo revision 790142 by Protostorm689 (talk)

2021-09-30T15:07:48Z

Undo revision 790142 by Protostorm689 (talk)

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1d4chan>Protostorm689: Undo revision 774108 by Noosphere89 (talk)

2021-09-30T15:05:36Z

Undo revision 774108 by Noosphere89 (talk)

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24.206.28.165: /* Additional background Section 43: The Battle of Corbellus (part 2) */

2021-07-12T01:36:35Z

Additional background Section 43: The Battle of Corbellus (part 2)

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24.206.28.165: Grammer errors fixed

2021-07-12T01:06:25Z

Grammer errors fixed

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	From the Phalanx, Vulkan directed a hundred different naval engagements simultaneously; he lured ships into traps, where his cruisers could surround them and pound their rear armour to scrap, or he made certain areas oft he fleet appear weaker, so that the enemy were drawn towards these volume sof space, while the actual weak points were given half and hour or so to lick their wounds before another flight of escorts or some new horror came to test them. The Phalanx itself seemed impervious to every direct assault made against it. Lances blistered the void shields, but little else. Macro shells and torpedoes plunged through the shields slowly, but their gigaton blasts we all show, rippling up in mushroom clouds within the atmosphere of the asteroid, but doing little more than scorching the sixth of a mile thick hull plating that clad the battle station.		From the Phalanx, Vulkan directed a hundred different naval engagements simultaneously; he lured ships into traps, where his cruisers could surround them and pound their rear armour to scrap, or he made certain areas oft he fleet appear weaker, so that the enemy were drawn towards these volume sof space, while the actual weak points were given half and hour or so to lick their wounds before another flight of escorts or some new horror came to test them. The Phalanx itself seemed impervious to every direct assault made against it. Lances blistered the void shields, but little else. Macro shells and torpedoes plunged through the shields slowly, but their gigaton blasts we all show, rippling up in mushroom clouds within the atmosphere of the asteroid, but doing little more than scorching the sixth of a mile thick hull plating that clad the battle station.

	The Conqueror pressed its attack with the ~~irrestiable~~ animal fury of the Primarch that commanded it. Smashing aside lesser vessels with sheer weight of fire, the World Eater vessel had one target for its gargoyle-snouted guns and serrated dagger prow; the Sleipnir, the chariot of the Wolf King. The Sleipnir too thundered through the storm of the unfolding battle. Like two Dark Age champions fighting through a scrappy melee to reach their opposite number, the ships smashed apart cruisers and shuttles who were not swift or ~~manoeuverable~~ enough to evade them. One was driven by a mad berserker daemon, hungry for glory and the pleasure of ripping apart his greatest rival. The other, outwardly, seemed driven by the same frenzied bloodlust, howling like a mad hound as Hrothnar and his Rout echoed his call. But Leman Russ had calculated this engagement. He knew that Angron would throw everything against the Wolf King, and kill any friend or foe that impeded him. Russ knew that if he kept Angron ~~focussed~~ upon him, Vulkan and his brothers would have a chance to balance the terms of the engagement. He had to draw Angron’s fleet away from Perturabo’s somehow. Indulging Angron in his manic dreams of combat was one such method.		The Conqueror pressed its attack with the irresistable animal fury of the Primarch that commanded it. Smashing aside lesser vessels with sheer weight of fire, the World Eater vessel had one target for its gargoyle-snouted guns and serrated dagger prow; the Sleipnir, the chariot of the Wolf King. The Sleipnir too thundered through the storm of the unfolding battle. Like two Dark Age champions fighting through a scrappy melee to reach their opposite number, the ships smashed apart cruisers and shuttles who were not swift or maneuverable enough to evade them. One was driven by a mad berserker daemon, hungry for glory and the pleasure of ripping apart his greatest rival. The other, outwardly, seemed driven by the same frenzied bloodlust, howling like a mad hound as Hrothnar and his Rout echoed his call. But Leman Russ had calculated this engagement. He knew that Angron would throw everything against the Wolf King, and kill any friend or foe that impeded him. Russ knew that if he kept Angron focused upon him, Vulkan and his brothers would have a chance to balance the terms of the engagement. He had to draw Angron’s fleet away from Perturabo’s somehow. Indulging Angron in his manic dreams of combat was one such method.

	The Rout and the Wolf Brothers, and all their attendant hunting fleets, clashed seemingly as one against the ~~Worlder~~ Eaters, the Beasts of Annihilation, and all their diverse fleet elements of their Blood Pact allies. Conqueror and Sleipnir, shields at full power, unleashed a veritable hellstorm of ordnance against one another. Torpedoes and missiles, macro cannons and coilguns, particle accelerators and plasma batteries. The six thousand ~~kilometres~~ between the two ships became a solid wall of multi-hued fire. Shields were pounded down as quickly as they were repaired and reactivated, the mortal repair crews and tech priests working strenuously to keep their respective ships functioning under such intense bombardment. With shields up, mundane teleport assaults were impossible, but the two forces, desperate to come to grips with one another, launched their gunships, dreadclaws and boarding torpedoes in the hope of crossing blades with one another. The devil-possessed Beasts of Annihilation threw themselves into mad, sprawling battles with bestial demi-wulfen, claws and fangs robbing these battles of any semblance of skill. Howling Wolf Brothers and the forces of the Rout leapt from their boarding ships with axes and whirring chainblades drawn, only to to be met with equally bloodthirsty and fearsome Khorne Berserkers and cackling ~~blooletters~~. This naval engagement was like a fleet battle within a fleet battle; a burning arc of clashing ships on the edge of the chaotic ball of engaged vessels that formed the main part of the wider conflict.		The Rout and the Wolf Brothers, and all their attendant hunting fleets, clashed seemingly as one against the World Eaters, the Beasts of Annihilation, and all their diverse fleet elements of their Blood Pact allies. Conqueror and Sleipnir, shields at full power, unleashed a veritable hellstorm of ordnance against one another. Torpedoes and missiles, macro cannons and coilguns, particle accelerators and plasma batteries. The six thousand kilometers between the two ships became a solid wall of multi-hued fire. Shields were pounded down as quickly as they were repaired and reactivated, the mortal repair crews and tech priests working strenuously to keep their respective ships functioning under such intense bombardment. With shields up, mundane teleport assaults were impossible, but the two forces, desperate to come to grips with one another, launched their gunships, dreadclaws and boarding torpedoes in the hope of crossing blades with one another. The devil-possessed Beasts of Annihilation threw themselves into mad, sprawling battles with bestial demi-wulfen, claws and fangs robbing these battles of any semblance of skill. Howling Wolf Brothers and the forces of the Rout leapt from their boarding ships with axes and whirring chainblades drawn, only to to be met with equally bloodthirsty and fearsome Khorne Berserkers and cackling bloodetters. This naval engagement was like a fleet battle within a fleet battle; a burning arc of clashing ships on the edge of the chaotic ball of engaged vessels that formed the main part of the wider conflict.

	Sleipnir and conqueror’s ~~defences~~ prevented any mundane boarding attempts. Despite himself, Russ found this frustrating. Though he was a masterful naval commander, he was born to be the red right hand of the Emperor; his personal executioner. Closer quarters were where he was most at home.		Sleipnir and conqueror’s defenses prevented any mundane boarding attempts. Despite himself, Russ found this frustrating. Though he was a masterful naval commander, he was born to be the red right hand of the Emperor; his personal executioner. Closer quarters were where he was most at home.

	Russ would get his chance roughly three hours into the battle. Though standard teleport beams were consistently baffled by the Sleipnir’s mighty void shielding, they could not prevent the more esoteric and infernal means at the disposal of the Travesty. Skalvad Fenrisborn, a captain of the Wolf Brothers, was put in charge of the routing of any enemy who managed to enter the Sleipnir itself. The Old Imperial Astartes was an ancient warrior, with a great white beard and fangs as long and sharp as any Space Wolf veteran. He was called into action when the mortal serfs toiling in the gunnery decks of the Sleipnir sent out a desperate distress call; they were under attack. They only managed one word more before the vox link was severed. Bloodthirsters.		Russ would get his chance roughly three hours into the battle. Though standard teleport beams were consistently baffled by the Sleipnir’s mighty void shielding, they could not prevent the more esoteric and infernal means at the disposal of the Travesty. Skalvad Fenrisborn, a captain of the Wolf Brothers, was put in charge of the routing of any enemy who managed to enter the Sleipnir itself. The Old Imperial Astartes was an ancient warrior, with a great white beard and fangs as long and sharp as any Space Wolf veteran. He was called into action when the mortal serfs toiling in the gunnery decks of the Sleipnir sent out a desperate distress call; they were under attack. They only managed one word more before the vox link was severed. Bloodthirsters.

	A dozen of the greater daemons wrought bloody havoc across the gun decks of the Sleipnir, ripping apart the macro cannons and the helpless mortals who crewed them. The gun dck was like a butcher’s yard, and echoed with the bovine bellowing of impossible monsters. One amongst them roared with a voice deeper and more terrible than a thunderstorm. The servants of Russ’s children were not cowards, but though they drew their axes and rifles in defiance, they were all too easily crushed and crippled by the red-raw daemons of ~~khorne~~. By the time Skalvad reached them, a whole company of the Rout lay broken in the wake of the bloodthirsters, who slaughtered and maimed in the middle distance. Snarling in rage, the old Imperial Wolf Brother ordered his Astartes forwards, unleashing a torrent of bolter and missile fire into the flying monsters. Each of the bloodthirsters were subtly different creatures; some had larger horns, some had tusks like a boar, others had the faces of men or bulls. But one of them was different. It was a hulking red mass, like the rest, but this beast was different. It killed with effortless precision, married to khornate’s marshal bloodlust. Its twin axes cleaved all who strayed towards. This fiend made the bloodthirsters seem like artless brawlers by comparison. When the winged nightmare turned its face towards the attacking Wolf Brothers, Skalvad ~~recognised~~ the vile features of the beast, set upon a thick neck veined with snaking cables and oily vines. This was Angron himself. Angron was there.		A dozen of the greater daemons wrought bloody havoc across the gun decks of the Sleipnir, ripping apart the macro cannons and the helpless mortals who crewed them. The gun dck was like a butcher’s yard, and echoed with the bovine bellowing of impossible monsters. One amongst them roared with a voice deeper and more terrible than a thunderstorm. The servants of Russ’s children were not cowards, but though they drew their axes and rifles in defiance, they were all too easily crushed and crippled by the red-raw daemons of Khorne. By the time Skalvad reached them, a whole company of the Rout lay broken in the wake of the bloodthirsters, who slaughtered and maimed in the middle distance. Snarling in rage, the old Imperial Wolf Brother ordered his Astartes forwards, unleashing a torrent of bolter and missile fire into the flying monsters. Each of the bloodthirsters were subtly different creatures; some had larger horns, some had tusks like a boar, others had the faces of men or bulls. But one of them was different. It was a hulking red mass, like the rest, but this beast was different. It killed with effortless precision, married to khornate’s marshal bloodlust. Its twin axes cleaved all who strayed towards. This fiend made the bloodthirsters seem like artless brawlers by comparison. When the winged nightmare turned its face towards the attacking Wolf Brothers, Skalvad recognized the vile features of the beast, set upon a thick neck veined with snaking cables and oily vines. This was Angron himself. Angron was there.

	Skalvad fought down the instinctual fear that gnawed in his gut, and ~~presse don~~ his assault. When his ~~botler~~ was spent, it was said that the ancient space marine took up a fallen power lance from a dead comrade, bound an orchard of grenades to tis tip, and cast it forth like a mighty javelin. It covered 200 metres in a matter of seconds, sailing towards the mighty ~~dameon~~ Primarch. But Angron was fast, and snatched it from the air moments before it struck. Then he smiled, as the grenades exploded, wreathing him with a halo of scorching fire. Sword drawn, the veteran nevertheless charged the primarch and his bloodthirster retinue. Even as his own command squad was cut down around him, he continued his charge. Even as he was lifted from the air by Angron, his battlecry remained undimmed. Even as his frostblade shattered against Angron’s hardy skull, he did not stop ~~striing~~ him. Angron didn’t even bother to cut Skalvad’s head off; he simply closed his mighty fist, and grinned as the space marine’s body began to give way. First his power amrour buckled, then his bones cracked, and finally he felt his organs bursting. Only then did Skalvad fall quiet.		Skalvad fought down the instinctual fear that gnawed in his gut, and pressed on his assault. When his bolter was spent, it was said that the ancient space marine took up a fallen power lance from a dead comrade, bound an orchard of grenades to tis tip, and cast it forth like a mighty javelin. It covered 200 metres in a matter of seconds, sailing towards the mighty Daemon Primarch. But Angron was fast, and snatched it from the air moments before it struck. Then he smiled, as the grenades exploded, wreathing him with a halo of scorching fire. Sword drawn, the veteran nevertheless charged the primarch and his bloodthirster retinue. Even as his own command squad was cut down around him, he continued his charge. Even as he was lifted from the air by Angron, his battlecry remained undimmed. Even as his frostblade shattered against Angron’s hardy skull, he did not stop striking him. Angron didn’t even bother to cut Skalvad’s head off; he simply closed his mighty fist, and grinned as the space marine’s body began to give way. First his power amrour buckled, then his bones cracked, and finally he felt his organs bursting. Only then did Skalvad fall quiet.

	As his mournful howl died on his lips, so another, infinitely greater howl erupted around the ruined halls of gunnery. Angron turned to face this new foe with perverse relish.		As his mournful howl died on his lips, so another, infinitely greater howl erupted around the ruined halls of gunnery. Angron turned to face this new foe with perverse relish.

1d4chan>Noosphere89: Removing 4 sections.

2021-07-08T15:46:00Z

Removing 4 sections.

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Warhammer 60K: Age of Dusk (Continued) - Revision history

185.220.101.134 at 14:25, 20 May 2026

imported>Administrator: 78 revisions imported

imported>Administrator: 1 revision imported

1d4chan>YunaCalista: Undo revision 874697 by 2A02:A458:CBF4:1:F8C4:A575:AEF8:37 (talk)

2A02:A458:CBF4:1:F8C4:A575:AEF8:37: Correction of mistakes in text formatting.

1d4chan>Protostorm689: Undo revision 790142 by Protostorm689 (talk)

1d4chan>Protostorm689: Undo revision 774108 by Noosphere89 (talk)

24.206.28.165: /* Additional background Section 43: The Battle of Corbellus (part 2) */

24.206.28.165: Grammer errors fixed

1d4chan>Noosphere89: Removing 4 sections.