Genestealer cult codex 8th edition pdf download

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The Acolyte Hybrids who emerge to fall upon the commanders of the enemy hiss and shriek as they lay about themselves with weapon-like mutations. Like a perfectly engineered machine of destruction, the cult strikes as one — few indeed are the forces that can fight back. Once their subculture becomes strong enough, and all is in place for their great uprising, the Genestealer Cult will make its play. The militant throng boils by the thousand from sewers, tunnels and basements, simultaneously emerging from hiding places in the spires high above like insects teeming from a hidden nest.

Those wise enough to flee find the city streets and arterial passageways blocked by burning wreckage — or by packs of hybrid creatures waiting to pounce. Mankind has intelligence enough to ply the stars, but not enough to overcome the combination of ambition, hubris and curiosity that leads it into the dark and unwholesome places in which the Genestealer thrives. Unless specifically forbidden — or prevented entirely — from doing so, the human race will seek to colonise every corner of the galaxy, no matter what terrors it uncovers in the process. This tendency, coupled with the relatively swift span of years between its generations, makes Humanity the perfect prey species. The vast spread of its colonies, and hence the near-limitless biomass it can provide, have not gone unnoticed by the Hive Mind that unites every Patriarch in a single intent. The human race has many instances of psychic talent, and these are getting ever more frequent.

Psychic individuals are vital for the full panoply of Genestealer bioforms to rise to the surface across the course of a brood cycle. The frequency of psychic ability on Imperial worlds has been rising over the millennia, and since the coming of the Great Rift, there has been such a marked increase that the Black Ships of the Astra Telepathica cannot hope to quantify and harness more than a small fraction of psykers. Despite the risk of disaster, nascent Genestealer Cults are more than ready to induct untrained psykers into their cult, knowing that in doing so they pave the way for a Magus to be born. UNDER A THIN VENEER Civilised worlds — usually populous enough to have high import demands and well-established exports to boot — are bountiful targets indeed for the Genestealer Cults. Though the trading restrictions and security of such locations can be stringent, it takes just one mistake, one deadly shipment being accepted, for the germ of corruption to be planted — and once planted, it has a thousand different ways to thrive.

Used as a springboard, these planets may push a slowly growing cult into an accelerated brood cycle that can see it cross the stars. They tend to choose ambulatory species of sufficient intellect to be space-capable, and hence spread their curse far and wide, and will usually target one whose population is dense enough to keep such a spread secret until it is too late for the infection to be overcome. The Orks have proven troublesome as hosts, for they can sense a wrongness in those infected, something that disturbs the strange gestalt of the greenskin mind. The Aeldari have such lengthy gestation cycles that they are simply not viable biological hosts; furthermore, their psychic abilities are so well developed they can often see the shadow of the curse even before it can manifest, and avoid it accordingly.

Only Humanity, so manifold and unruly in its civilisations, has as yet provided an ideal host. The most ambitious of Genestealer Cults seek to infect these planets above all others — though the tactic is generally high risk, if the initiative is successful, the armed soldiers and resources they add to their own ranks with each new barracks and base they corrupt dramatically increases their chances of future insurgencies meeting with success. THE SHADOW TITHE APEX PREDATORS RANGING WIDE On the feudal worlds of the Imperium, the word of the king or queen is law. Should that monarch come under the sway of a xenos parasite, strange tithes, unsettling disappearances and unnatural changes invariably follow. With most feudal worlds having little in the way of technology, the peasantry and knightly orders have only superstitious rites, swords and shields to protect them from the clawed horrors that prey on them from abandoned dungeons, charnel houses, cave networks and dank forests.

There are worlds in the Imperium so lethal they are classified as death worlds; their environments are anathema to life. Many human warrior groups use these planets for extreme training exercises — and amidst the menagerie of deadly flora and fauna they face, a slinking Purestrain Genestealer can often go unnoticed. Some of these training groups will be infected, and return to their divisions with a lurking doom in their midst that will soon be brought to whatever world they are sent to protect next. Cults with a pool of mechanised assets thrive in wide open spaces, such as those of agri worlds.

With at least eighty-five per cent of their landmasses given over to the cultivation of forcecrops, hydroponics, livestock, algae lakes and cactus forests, such planets are not especially populous. BARBARIC CULTS THE DEEP CATACOMBS OUT ON THE FRONTIER On the feral worlds of the Imperium — those that are pre-black powder and may even have regressed to pre-ferrous or even lithic levels of technology — it is simple for an established Genestealer Cult to thrive; by bringing powerful weapons, advanced technology and complex tools with them, they are worshipped as gods. By contrast, a genesis infestation upon such a world is a rare occurrence, as those Purestrains that make planetfall find themselves to be the hunted as often as they are the hunter. A vestal robe can hide a multitude of mutations, and the labyrinthine boneyards and catacombs that riddle the lesser districts are ideal prowling grounds for a species as adaptable as the Genestealer.

Those humans they grant the Kiss to still claim to be worshipping the Emperor as they move amongst the flock, but in truth, their actions further a far darker cause than even that. Where the Rogue Trader plants their flag, they say, the unwashed hordes of Humanity are soon to follow. On the borders of the Imperium, new worlds are claimed in the name of the Emperor with each passing year. Out there, the lawmakers and enforcers of the Adeptus Arbites are a mere rumour. Though it may take a long time for a Genestealer Cult on a frontier world to grow to full fruition, by being there at the beginning of a budding civilisation, its members can infect every stratum of society with ease.

There are other factors that can trigger a large-scale military intervention, sometimes before the dynasty reaches critical mass. Genestealer Cults are concerned with their own propagation above all, and will usually only commit to an armed action on their own terms. There remain exceptions, of course, for in the crumbling edifice of the Imperium, even the most watertight plans do not last long in practice. Each ruction, setback or disaster is handled in its own fashion. On occasion, an incautious power-grab or roving aberration may lead to the cult being investigated by Imperial authorities. Though this calibre of attack can eradicate a Genestealer Cult in a scouring that shakes the underworld to its core, all it takes is for one Tyranid life form to escape and the cult can begin anew. Such purges are uncommon, for the cult spreads its infection in the shadows — and amidst the vast, sprawling confusion of the Imperium, there are millions of locations where one cannot be easily discovered.

Those recruited from the underbelly of society are already wise to the best places to hide, whereas those from the upper echelons have influence enough to cover their tracks with ease. Over time, the cult spreads its creed from one stratum of civilisation to another. A mature cult with several brood cycles will have everything The Cult of War If an inquest from the Adeptus Arbites — or worse still, the Inquisition — cannot be dealt with by a visit from a Magus or their minions, the cult may soon find itself under attack by anything from a regiment of Militarum Tempestus soldiers to a strike force of Deathwatch Space Marines. from sewerjacks, factotums and autoproctors to high justices and spirelords under its sway. On the day of uprising, all the infected members of a planet will act as one, bound to the cause of destabilisation and sabotage as the shock troops of the cult take out the military targets they have proven unable to infiltrate.

In conjunction A cult uprising triggered prematurely is not characterised by the joyous, exultant frenzy of the zealot whose gods have come to earth. Rather it is a thing of horror, hatred and unremitting violence that can see even the most formidable assailants cast broken to the dust. Perhaps they will order their Rockgrinders to block the roads or demolish buildings in order to hold back the mass assault of a mechanised Sisters of Battle army. With curt orders and split-second decision making, the Nexos will put into motion contingency plans and adaptive strategies that see the cult withdraw as one, only to strike elsewhere — for they are linked, body and soul, far more than any conventional military force.

The Primus, being a war leader, has a more aggressive approach to the propagation of their kin. Often this is done under the guise of industry, making use of existing space lanes and import routes to carry a host of Genestealer Cultists to a new planet. In the darkness of the cargo holds, shipment auto-crates will hiss open, and the Primus will lead their brethren forth. Should the incursion be uncovered, the cult will strike with swift and overwhelming force. If their assault does not take down their adversaries in short order, they will scatter like oilroaches in torchlight, seeking shelter in the dank corners of their new domain before later regrouping.

There are times when a host planet is attacked by outside forces — perhaps due to a Hrud migration, a Drukhari raid, a greenskin Waaagh! or even a warp breach. Most cults, nestled in hiding, will be content to wait for the storm to pass. But if the invasion directly threatens their interests, they will fight like a hive of angered hornets to defend them. Such planets teeter on the brink of catastrophe, rescued from one alien host only to find their saviours embody another, far more sinister threat. Should all go well, the cult will wait with the patience of spiders for their moment, generation after generation spent in preparation for the final battle as they infect ever more territory. Once all is in order, the intricate web of secrecy is finally torn away, and the world is plunged into anarchy.

When a cult rises up to conquer their host planet, it is usually because a Tyranid hive fleet has blackened the sky with the immensity of its bio-ships. The Genestealers and their kin are united in a singular desire to slay, to cause havoc, to destabilise and spread terror to every corner of the planet. This may be because their uprising was triggered prematurely, because they have simply run out of ways to spread beneath the radar of their enemies, or because their Patriarch senses psychically that the hive fleet that would have claimed them is now lost. As part of a wider onslaught divorced from its hive fleet, it will have to claim dominion through its own wiles. These are in some ways the most dangerous cults to the Imperium, for like a virus spreading to new host bodies, they actively sow the seeds of destruction across a far wider area in the hope of somehow reconnecting with their gods. Using their home world as a base of operations, they replicate their successes by any means possible, sending stowaway organisms and covert invasion forces to every planet within reach.

Whole star systems have been conquered by such cults, the beacon of their psychic presence all the stronger for the Tyranid hive fleets that will eventually arrive to consume all. THE CULT OF THE SECOND SON On the infamous hive world of Necromunda, the spire-like edifice of Hive Secundus was known for being rich in spirit and enlightenment as well as material wealth, more so even than its peer structure, Hive Primus. Scholars sought to learn the mysteries of the Imperium from its extensive archives, and were so entranced by what they found they never left. But its outward appearance was a sham, for Hive Secundus was under the sway of a vast and frighteningly influential gene-sect. When this fact finally came to light, the lord general of Hive Primus ordered the bombing of the rival metropolis with high-yield rad munitions — so thorough was this bombardment that the entire hive, built far taller and thinner than its counterparts, toppled onto its side with an immense crash that caused seismic disruptions for hundreds of miles around.

The entire area was declared quarantine extremis, and the denizens of Necromunda forbidden from even talking about it. Unfortunately for the hive lords, the bombing of the spire and its subsequent toppling did not prove enough to eradicate the cult that lurked at its heart. So hardy and determined were the cultists that hundreds of thousands of them survived, and ventured out once more through the extensive tunnel networks that tendrilled from their old haunts. The gangs of Hive Primus, their interest piqued by the very forbiddal of raids upon the fallen metropolis, entered those same tunnels. The troglodytic creatures they found in there were mutated beyond all reason by the baleful emanations of the rad bombs — and every bit as lethal as the Purestrain Genestealer from which they had been born.

Should the cultists achieve their ghastly agendas, each world they have worked so painstakingly to conquer will be stripped bare of everything, even its atmosphere, by their ultimate masters — the Tyranids. As a cult pushes its tendrils ever further into its host civilisation, it prepares for the day of its great ascension. Though it may be decades, even centuries in coming, sooner or later a psychic shadow will fall upon the star system in which the cult has spread. This is the Shadow in the Warp, the first sign of the utter despair to come. limbed war beasts, a seed of doubt worms into the minds of the cultists. Still, their belief in the notion of star-borne saviours is so ingrained they keep fighting against the wider populace.

The Tyranid invaders mass together into a tide of chitin and fang, surging over the lands to cut down or consume the indigenous populations. With the Hive Mind guiding each brood, the Tyranid hordes do not see the cultists as prey; at first they are ignored altogether by the synapse creatures coordinating the attack. For a short and blissful period, cultist and Tyranid fight on the same side. The Hive Fleets Descend At first, the strange penumbra of this influence sends soothsayers mad and inspires wild panic in those who channel the energies of the warp. The Astronomican becomes dim, then shrouded completely by the psychic miasma crawling across the stars, as if the Noctis Aeterna had returned — but this time the doom promised by the Blackness is made manifest. Cult members who somehow survive this grim twist of fate flee as best they can, but they do not get far.

The hail of Tyranid spores intensifies, and the planet itself is altered on a molecular level, becoming a noxious hell. Alongside the bodies of the wider populace, the corpses of the cultists are devoured by Tyranid phage organisms, then later regurgitated into the acidic digestion pools that bubble upon its surface. There, they are dissolved into a sickening gruel, raw biomass that is sucked up by ribbed capillary towers into the bio-ships above. Only then does the source of the threat emerge from the darkness. Starlight glints from a flotilla of celestial bodies, visible as a shoal of dots in the night sky. While these bodies may appear beautiful at first, their surpassing ugliness becomes more evident as they draw close. This is a bio-fleet of the Tyranid race, and it has come not to enlighten, but to devour. The cult sees the arrival of this impossible menace as the long-awaited fulfilment of their prophecies.

Celebrations and warlike shouts ring through the streets as their devotional frenzy reaches new heights. When the Tyrannocytes rain from the sky like fleshy meteors, the cultists wave their banners high, hoping to attract the attention of the angelic host. As the giant brood-sacs of the bio-ships split open to disgorge shrieking, blade- just another Tyranid, another nameless cell in the void-crossing super-organism that wants nothing less than to devour the galaxy. Those Purestrain Genestealers spawned upon the host planet attack their devoted parents without hesitation, slaughtering them in a flurry of talons and snapping mouths. They walk forwards, arms wide, into the seething avalanche of weapon-forms — before they too are torn limb from limb. The mood of the cult swiftly changes from dogged loyalty to panic.

The final revelation comes both from within the cult and without. Those the cultists once worshipped from afar turn upon them in the worst of all possible betrayals. Any who seek succour from the Patriarch instead go to their doom. With its sentience now subsumed entirely by the greater Hive Mind, the creature becomes 18 Not all those Genestealer Cults spawned across the galaxy meet a grisly end, consumed by the maws of the terrifying creatures they worship. Some rise to prominence, subconsciously sending out a psychic aura that attracts a Tyranid biofleet — only for that fleet to be flung into nothingness by a warp storm, engaged in battle by a conventional fleet, or consumed by a violent celestial phenomenon such as a supernova. These cults go on to propagate again and again, their brood cycles consuming ever more of the host planet until it is fully claimed by the Patriarch and its kin.

Such planets become the cores of a spreading network of infestations that can cover several systems or even span an entire sector, preparing the way for a destiny that will never come. In time, they may attract another hive fleet towards them — though until that day they are free to reign supreme over their host domain. Truly, this is the end of the world. The Genestealer Cultists, who have faith in this void-born cataclysm, rejoice in their vindication — but only for a time… The sky over the palace rooftop was choked with clouds of alien spores. Thousands of bat-winged beasts dived down from the darkening mass to fall upon the scattering civilians in the streets below. High above them, the evening sun was blotted out by a floating, tentacled immensity for which the human race had no true name. To Everard Arghott, it was unquestionably the best day of his life. The fathers from beyond had finally arrived.

The sheer, unadulterated joy he had felt at the realisation, at first hearing the screeching call to war, was so strong it made his feelings at the birth of his first child seem like a mild frisson of interest. No easy feat, that. The lad would go far. He chuckled to himself as milky fluids drizzled down his hands. Perhaps now the man would see a little better. A giant egg-sac splatted home upon the upper balcony and split open like an obscene flower, unfolding with a series of loud squelching sounds. A living river of chitinous beasts hurtled out, still slick with nameless matter as they leaped from the rooftop onto a passing Valkyrie. Walking as if in a dream, Everard approached the balcony. The streets were black with them, now, the Star Children. They were already feeding. In the plaza below, a lake of acidic matter was dissolving the corpses of those claimed in the name of the true gods above.

Everard smiled ruefully; something inside him knew that in the end, he too would go to meet his destiny in that very same fashion. But first, there were duties to attend to. He sighed, and cleaned his blade. It was ever the path of the faithful man to make sacrifices. They are the masters of subterranean assault. Wherever one of their devoted walks in the open, a thousand more lurk beneath, ready to surge up for the kill. Cult of the Four-armed Emperor The original wyrm-form shape has been sprayed, scrawled, stencilled and graffitied on a hundred Imperial worlds. It was on the planet of Ghosar Quintus, in the year Investigating what had the signs of a xenos-based perversion of the Imperial Creed, the decorated Inquisitor Chaegryn led a team of Tempestus Scions to the world.

He ventured into the largest mining colony there, known as the Great Pit. The deeper Chaegryn explored, the more evidence of deviance he found. He concluded that the Trysst Dynasty, who had led the mining colony in its exemplary record of service for countless generations, should be left to its own devices. With the Inquisitor being a trusted and respected member of the Ordo Xenos, none thought to look further. Fearing some manner of alien presence, a fiveman Kill Team of Deathwatch Space Marines was despatched on a follow-up mission of lethal investigation, yet they too were swallowed by the mysteries of the Great Pit.

Only when the steel-willed Chaplain Ortan Cassius of the Ultramarines mustered his own hand-picked Deathwatch Kill Team did the Imperium return to Ghosar Quintus. The mutant workers of the cult moved to attack, and layer by layer the vile truth was unearthed as the Deathwatch ventured ever further into the pit. Chaegryn himself was never found, though his servo-skull yielded more of the picture that Cassius and his team were slowly putting together. Though they made it out alive, the Space Marines were changed by that gruesome ordeal — and the Imperium too, after a fashion.

Ortan Cassius became a dogged, obsessive foe of the Tyranid race in all its forms, and has worked closely with the Deathwatch and Ordo Xenos to root out a dozen cult infestations since — for most shocking of all the discoveries upon Ghosar Quintus was not the Genestealer The Duct-Ghuls Brood emerges from the empty promethium pipelines of the metropolis Xhost, the battle already all but won through stealth and guile. Though the Deathwatch is aware of the threat, since the dawning of the Great Rift, communicating it to the wider Imperium has proven difficult if not impossible. The Trysst Dynasty, and the infestations that followed that of Ghosar Quintus, are so sly they effectively turned the Imperium against itself. Under the guise of industry, the xenos-tainted Trysst Dynasty spread its curse across not only the Ghosar System, but throughout the Charadon Sector and beyond.

Rather than spreading in secret, using single covert stowaways or clutches of Genestealers hidden in dark recesses, the Cult of the Fourarmed Emperor works so hard to increase its industrial output that its members are being actively recruited. Before the hideous truth of Ghosar Quintus was revealed by Ortan Cassius, it was used as a prime exemplar of a Delverworld, a planetoid given over entirely to mining the Eastern Fringe. Its tithes were consistently at least a fifth higher than the required level, and the adamantium mined from its substrata was purer than any other source in the sector — every ingot polished to a bright sheen, neatly stacked and dutifully categorised by countless Trysst workers.

To the Imperium they seemed a model population. They are consummate miners, burrowers and subterranean explorators; they have learned well how to thrive in the darkness, keeping their insidious secrets buried beneath several layers of respectability. Theirs is a galactic infection rather than a local one, for of all the cults these are the big thinkers, the plotters in the shadows, the grand viziers working hard to prepare the way for a king yet to arrive. There they thrive in the underhives and sump strata of Imperial metropolises. Their workers toil hunchbacked in tight maintenance pipes, labour through sweltering work shifts in heating conduits and clear blockages in vermin-infested sewers without complaint. Their agents scurry along secret passageways and crawl on their bellies through tight pipeways to reach their targets, making their kill before leaving unnoticed.

The war leaders of the Cult of the Four-armed Emperor, on the other hand, fight in the daylight as much as the dark. They seek out the schematics for every building and conurbation they reach, maximising the potential of each underground network and altering plans so new areas are built — only to erase all record of them and ensure those involved in their creation who are not kin are despatched elsewhere, or slain. These visionaries push their tendrils into every level of society, but make especial use of the countercultures and underground elements who may know the territory better than any surface dweller.

Truly the Cult of the Four-armed Emperor is to be feared. Of all the cults, it is this troglodytic brotherhood that best uses the techniques of demolition, undermining, and ambush from below. They have industrialised their way of war, and whilst doing so, turned the vast, lumbering giant of the Imperial workforce against its masters. To strike against them is to kick a termite nest — only to find that which crawls across the surface mounds is but the tiniest fraction of a teeming colony of life forms that boils swiftly up from the labyrinthine warrens beneath. There are many infestations across the Ultima Segmentum that use variations of those same colours. THE HIVECULT THEY WHO TAKE UP THE GUN AGAINST THE TYRANT The Hivecult are militant, organised and hierarchical. They infiltrate not only the criminal underworlds and hive gangs of their host planets, but also the Astra Militarum regiments that recruit from them.

To the Hivecult, it is a divine duty to be armed and dangerous. Their logic is sound, for should a convert have access to a sword, a gun — or even better, a tank — their contribution to the uprising will be all the more formidable on the day of ascension. If the entire cult is so armed and armoured with the finest weapons the Imperium — and its black market — can provide, it will overcome all before it in a spectacular surge of violence. Each gun stolen from its official home is worth two on the day of insurrection. The genesis infestation of the Hivecult is a prime example of a Genestealer infection that spread like wildfire across a densely populated Imperial planet. That planet is New Gidlam, a hive world that has thirteen ancient hives upon its pollution-blasted surface.

Each of these vast, man-made mountains harbours tens of billions of souls, and all bar one has been conquered by the Hivecult. Only Hive Tharanex holds out, its lessons learnt at the expense of every other population centre. Even then its lower levels are constantly besieged, and its future looks bleak indeed. A warlike underhive family had sprung up around a brood of Purestrain Genestealers. They were later smuggled into the city by furtive gangers looking for a secret weapon to use against their enemies. Brought swiftly into the sway of the Genestealer they called the First Father, the gangers went on the warpath, and soon surpassed their rivals. Rather than the traditional route of infiltrating, kidnapping, blackmailing and stealing from their enemies to grow slowly in the darkness, the cultists went straight for the throat.

They slaughtered one rival gang after another, taking over large swathes of the area known as the Sump. The more dominant gangs that had established themselves in these lower levels saw what was happening and eventually put aside their differences to defend against the Hivecult, but faced with the First Father 22 and his sharp-eyed Genestealers, who could squeeze through narrow pipes and swim across lakes of toxic spill to attack from unexpected angles, the gangers were overmatched. Its Magus, Vockor Mai, was at the centre of this operation. He brought the ruling dynasties into line one by one, swaying them with his psychic influence and uncanny charisma. There was one, however — a rich hiver named Thorne who habitually wore a helm of xenos design — who did not fall to his wiles.

Though often half seen in the darkness, he was never caught. When the cult grew large enough to spawn the Neophyte assassin known as a Sanctus, Vockor Mai bade the operative to go into the hive spires and kill those too intractable — or too psychically powerful — to fall to his wiles. The legend of the White Creeper grew, and spread from hive to hive, though in truth it was several individuals working in concert. Over time, gene-sects were established in twelve of the thirteen ancient hives — but the spread of the cult did not stop there. With many Imperial Guard regiments recruiting from the gangers of those worlds, the Hivecult spread ever further. Hidden gang signs and electoos worn under the skin enabled those who owed allegiance to the New Gidlam dynasty to identify one another in secret, and spread their creed in the endless hours of inactivity that typified life between engagements.

The sheer vastness of the Astra Militarum — and the desperate intensity of the wars they fought — helped the Hivecult to evade the Commissariat in nearly every conflict zone they infiltrated. Those who owed secret allegiance to the Hivecult made for focused, disciplined soldiers — albeit on the strange side — but none looked too deeply into their history, for the lords of the Astra Militarum care little about the native cultures from which their foot soldiers hail. They have unparalleled access to warships, aerial assets and methods of reaching the battle zones in which they flourish. More than that, with thousands of infected gangers working in the lower levels of Imperial metropolises to undermine the planets from the bottom up, they can attack society at every level simultaneously.

Some whisper that the Sol System itself has come under threat by the Hivecult, for reports of their presence in Segmentum Solar are becoming ever more common. So militarised is the cult that the icons themselves are weaponised, appearing in stylised form as knuckle dusters, throwing stars or daggers. When the Hive Cult carry out an insurrection on a world, many of the in-system Astra Militarum regiments sent to put down the uprising have thousands of members bearing the wyrm-form upon their skin. These agents of the cult betray their regiments from within, and with armoured squadrons and even super-heavy tanks turning to fight alongside the rising tide of the underworld, the Imperial Guard tasked with restoring order are often overcome in a matter of a few bloody days.

Those forces of the Adepta Sororitas and Adeptus Astartes fighting alongside them find themselves suddenly betrayed — and with that betrayal a long time in the planning, it is usually as lethal as it is sudden. They too have their uses. But an uprising recruited from those with ready access to military-grade weaponry? That will triumph far more easily than one recruited from the common folk. Keep your toothless herd. The blessed union of gun, claw and merciless intent is a force to be truly feared. This great blend of human, xenos beast and war machine is a deadly threat to its Adeptus Mechanicus hosts. Since its oppressed masses embraced new rulers from beyond the stars, that mantra has been abandoned, and the metaphorical cog turned into a weapon. Feinminster Gamma is no longer an underappreciated component of a galaxyspanning empire, but instead the central hub of a new order — one devoted to slaughter and destruction in the name of an uncaring xenos race.

The Bladed Cog The alien in the machine, a potent symbol for the people of Feinminster Gamma — and all cultists who rise up against the Adeptus Mechanicus. In late M41, the macroclade army of Tech-Priest Dominus Ovid Thrensiom — who would become known as the Great Miser — had arrived on Feinminster Gamma in force. To facilitate their mech-aquisitive crusade across the stars, and to refuel the Questor Mechanicus Knights that accompanied them, they sought resupply on a grand scale. The populace reasoned that if the baleful light of the empyric tempest was eclipsed by conventional lumins closer to home, none would stare too long at that celestial phenomenon, and hence countless citizens would be spared from madness and despair. When Ovid Thrensiom found the paltry generatorium districts struggling even to keep the cities lit around the clock, his hopes of securing a forward base deeper into space were dashed.

The techno-census that followed, ostensibly levelled to catalogue those who had bionic enhancement and those who did not, instead saw tens of thousands of citizens leaving the halls of the Adeptus Mechanicus as stumbling, near-comatose husks. Civil unrest fomented slowly, but bubbled to the surface as a powerful eruption that could not be denied. Using industrial tools, improvised weaponry and rudimentary guns purchased on the shadow markets, the slave workers of the planet Feinminster Gamma rose up against the agents of the The Oil-Claw broods of the Bladed Cog spurn the rulers of the Adeptus Mechanicus, but value their vehicles and cybernetic enhancements most highly. Cult Mechanicus who had sought to bleed them dry. They were hopelessly outmatched. Extermination servitor details and Skitarii macroclades were sent to eradicate the worst of the slave revolts, though in his insatiable greed for more energy, Thrensiom spared the lives of as many people as he could — and hence let the seeds of a new rebellion grow amidst the ashes.

For a while, the Adeptus Mechanicus regained control, but the atmosphere of oppression and paranoia that resulted was fertile ground for the spread of an underground religion. The xenoform was seen as proof that there were other cultures, and even other species, beyond the clouds that were surely less cruel and tyrannical than the Adeptus Mechanicus. The crew of the Redspark were adamant that salvation could be found in the worship of their unusual cargo. No longer would the cultists be content to be part of the same heartless and unceasing machine as their rulers — instead, they would become a blade. Slogan tattoos became common, worn across the collarbone or spine, each bearing a message that one of the Martian creed would consider shocking and blasphemous in the extreme. Every hour, the forge temples of Feinminster produced a new clutch of battle tanks and servitor-pattern transports — these too were taken by the cult and daubed with its rebellious insignia.

The common populace were not the only ones to fall under the spell of the Cult of the Bladed Cog. Though it took the mental onslaught of the Patriarch itself to achieve it, many Skitarii were brought into the embrace of the cult. Their electro-spoor signatures and noospheric auras gained them entry into many areas that should have been forbidden, and allowed the cult to spread unchecked. On that day the broodkin of the Bladed Cog swapped one set of cruel masters for another — though they are yet to learn that their new overlords ultimately answer to a force that is infinitely worse than that of their former rulers. Where the Cult Mechanicus seeks to unite flesh with metal — and in some cases, replace one with the other — the Cult of the Bladed Cog seeks to blend the stuff of the alien with that of the machine. Cyborgised bodies are common in the varied ranks of the Bladed Cog, their tortured anatomies as much metal, wire and hydraulics as they are alien chitin and fused human bone.

To truly blend one with another is an impossible goal, for the Tyranid is as alien and distant from the Holy Machine as it is possible to be. Yet that does not stop the Bladed Cog from pursuing their crazed agenda with the fervour of fanatics possessed of a new obsession. They depict their deity, the Clawed Omnissiah, as having robotic pincers alongside the primary talon-limbs that would be familiar to any Ordo Xenos Inquisitor or Deathwatch veteran. Some go so far as to join their armaments with their own bodies, undergoing painful surgery until they become one with their weaponry. Others begin life as dull-witted servitors, given new direction by the hypnotic gaze of a Magus — or even the Patriarch itself — until their single-mindedness is turned towards destruction in the name of the cult. Their prime war banner is strung with the remains of the Tech-Priest Dominus Ovid Thrensiom, whose obsession with claiming energy for his own use led to the original rebellion of Feinminster Gamma.

THE RUSTED CLAW WHEN ALL ELSE ROTS, THE CULT ALONE WILL SURVIVE The weather-beaten, rugged survivalists of the Rusted Claw are more at home on the open wastes than they are in the claustrophobic confines of an Imperial underhive. They are the pioneers, the nomads and the prospectors of their kind. The Cult of the Rusted Claw is constantly on the move. Their willingness to roam across the most hostile reaches of the Imperium in search of settlements means they are hardy and resilient in the extreme. The Rusted Claw The cult symbol shows the cog of industry being consumed by the great metallophagic wyrm that consumes the unbeliever and his creations alike. Most cults have humble beginnings, but those of the Rusted Claw embrace their disdain for material possessions to the point that it becomes a bitter refusal to accept that anything has lasting value — not even themselves. They are nihilists all, believing that they are but corroding material in a universe riddled with entropy.

Only by being subsumed, by being remade, body and soul, by the unknowable entities they worship, can they ever become something more. Until that day they are nothing more than ambulatory scraps of flesh and bone, tattered cloth and rusting metal — and anyone who thinks differently is a fool in need of a rude awakening. The cult can trace its beginning to the arid wastes of Newseam, a planet on the eastern edge of the Ultima Segmentum. The sickeningly rich upworlders who control their fate forbid the downtrodden labourers from keeping even the smallest portion of the wealth they dig out from the seams, let alone spending it. This prohibition causes a great degree of ire amongst the populace, who work their fingers to the bone in the name of uncaring masters. The backbreaking labour of their pick work yields them nothing more than food slops, nutrient paste and a few hours of sleep a night.

The embittered underclasses of Newseam proved fertile ground for a new creed. When the pickaxes of a small work group dug through the remains of a buried spaceship, the subsequent explorations awakened the Genestealer hibernating within. Working in tandem with their Rogue Trader allies, the prospecting divisions of Newseam spread their worker populace from world to frontier world — and with each of its pioneering expansions, the dark secret at its fringes spread along with it. Objects exist only to serve, and all material possessions are functional and disposable, just like the flesh that will soon enough rot away to leave only the immortal spirit behind. This wide-roaming Genestealer Cult believes that the emptiness of the void consumes all — even metal. They see the tarnish of every coin and the rust that eats away at every vehicle as divine entropy brought to their world by their hallowed Patriarch, and they welcome its virulent spread.

They hold fast to the fact that all the works of the Imperium will rust away, corroded in body and soul, and that only the void that is left in its place will have true meaning and permanence. One day, they know, they too will become part of the nothingness beyond — in the meantime, they will speed the dissolution of all civilisations in any way they can. Only when the oppression of the upworlders is gnawed away completely will they be truly free to spread their creed to the four corners of the galaxy. Eventually all things must give way to the raw and barren truth of the void. The cult is not named idly, for its wargear and vehicles are usually in states of disrepair and corrosion. Some elements of the cult can even rust the metal they touch, leaving russet fingerprints upon every metal up to and including adamantium — there are pict-feeds of Maguses of the Rusted Claw reducing Imperial vehicles to corroded hulks simply by laying hands upon them.

Naturally the cult see this phenomenon as a divine miracle. It was the Kelermorph known as Golden Talon, of the Newseam Saints, who first gilded one of his claws by dipping it in molten gold taken from the Palace of Commerce. This symbolic act of desecration was a potent reminder that though their Oremasters might grind them down, in the fullness of time the cult would take whatever it wanted, and nothing could stop them. We need but endure. These pistol-wielding figures quickly become folk heroes amongst their kin, leading daring strikes against the pillars of the establishment until the downtrodden masses unite behind them.

Being largely nomadic, the cult also has a high proportion of Atalan riders, who roam under the unforgiving suns of the frontier worlds in large mechanised gangs; while they wear leather coats and broad-brimmed hats ostensibly as protection against the elements, they mainly serve to hide their hybridisations from prying eyes. The spies, saboteurs and rangers of these subcultures use comms links and even orbital communions to report their findings to their war leaders. This allows their Primus and their kin to operate in secret, gently influencing events rather than leading from the front.

Those belonging to the Dust Nomad gene-sect of the Rusted Claw may be scruffy and ragged to look upon, but their inner steel has seen them endure against, and even secure hard-won victories over, enemies of far greater manpower and military resource. Many of their Neophyte Hybrids also wear tabards and robes of scarlet, signifying that they have slaughtered an armed warrior on the orders of their leader. Zealous to the point of mania, they bring the edifice of the Imperium low to ensure the new order can thrive — even if it costs every life save for the Patriarch itself. The Pauper Princes are devoted worshippers of the Star Children, xenoform gods from beyond that are only ever referred to in veiled terms and implied concepts.

They also revere their own prophets and living saints, who they protect with fierce dedication. They are selfless to an almost alien degree, so faithful to their creed that they will gladly take a bullet for those closer to the Patriarch than they. They never hesitate to give their lives to protect their war leaders. The Pauper Princes The Pauper Princes use a wyrmform with many limbs, for to them each cultist is but a single talon of a greater life form — the cult itself. Much of the populace lives in the squalid shanty towns that pepper the coasts, their skin badly desiccated by the constant mining of minerals from its barren seas. The planet exports millions of tonnes of saline cubes every year to those planets in the same sector that have no seas of their own; these are used for scores of purposes, from curing meat to the preparation of healing salves.

Word had spread that there was an offshoot of the Imperial cult thriving in the principal spaceport of Senfarr — though the source of its formation, the Purestrain Genestealer that still made its lair on the super-barge Just Strength, remained secret. The first and most talented demagogue of the cult, Magus Marovitch Tenndarc, spoke with such conviction about a new life amongst the stars that thousands fell under his sway in the space of a few short weeks. Their hybrid infantry will gladly run through hails of bullets if their war leaders ask it of them — for they revere blessed unity above all.

sermonised to rapturous applause about the glories to come. Since that day the cult has had a fierce hatred of Ratlings, and in any war zone that harbours these diminutive Imperial Guardsmen, they will go to great lengths to destroy them — for that which nearly killed their Patriarch may one day finish the job, and this they cannot allow. war leaders living what amounts to charmed lives as a result, their extreme methods have proved to be incredibly successful. As they say amongst the faithful flock, to be one of the Pauper Princes is to live forever — though none admit that it may not always be in the same body, or even anatomy, as that of their birthright.

If any cult embodies the unthinking obedience of the Broodmind, it is the Cult of the Pauper Princes. The zealots of the cult would do literally anything to save their masters. There are reports in Ordo Xenos files of a hundred extreme incidences of self-sacrifice, some so shocking they seem more like the behaviour of an insectile hive than a group of humans. There are pictfeeds of mutant hybrids running through promethium fires to hurl themselves into the path of oncoming Aggressor Squads, purely to buy their war leaders a few more seconds to escape. There are reports of Neophyte Hybrids making dense walls out of their own bodies in front of their cult leaders, acting as living sandbags to soak up the phosphor bullets of a Kastelan war clade without emitting a single scream of pain. There is even grainy footage of Pauper Princes making mass charges against the giant spiked rams of Ork Bonebreaka wagons so as to jam up their workings and protect their Patriarch — only for the alpha predator to skitter nimbly up the side of a building without looking back.

When a sudden invasion of Orks from within the Great Rift threatened to capsize the Vigilus insurgency before it had truly begun, the Genestealer Cultists found themselves fighting to defend the very holdings they had worked so long to undermine. It is near impossible to bring the tactic of military decapitation to bear against this cult, for it has a strange prescience when it comes to danger, especially when the heart of its dark organisation is threatened. With their The Pauper Princes tell one another they are blessed with an uncanny prescience, and on numerous occasions that claim to having a sixth sense has been borne out. On the wartorn planet of Vigilus, at the northern end of the Nachmund Gauntlet, the Pauper Princes had worked for generations to infiltrate every stratum of society.

Though teams of Adeptus Arbites and even elements of the Inquisition had delved into the darkest corners of the world after rumours and reports of disappearances far surpassed the usual threshold, the Genestealer Cult always stayed one step ahead — or at least camouflaged itself so well amongst the populace that they continued their vile agenda without serious hindrance. The Patriarch of that planetary infestation, known as Grandsire Wurm to his faithful worshippers, was so adept at evading pursuit or discovery that it was claimed by his cultists he was as intangible as mist, and could shift from one shadow to another at will.

What began as a devastating but relatively straightforward invasion soon turned into a complex and many-layered war on all fronts. The Magus epitomises their selfless urge to protect their Patriarch — and by extension, all those who echo his form. THE TWISTED HELIX THEY WHO SWALLOWED THE BITTEREST PILL The cultists of the Twisted Helix did not have the Genestealer Curse thrust upon them, but instead voluntarily took it into their society through extreme medical experimentation. They harbour unnumbered bio-horrors amongst their ranks. Its original site of inception is Vejovium III, deep in the east of Segmentum Obscurus; the planet is technically a civilised world, but it was long ago overtaken by the industry of the macro-alchemical distilleries that manufacture its exported medicines.

So influential have these complexes become — and the dynastic corporations that rule over them — that everywhere the skyline is ridged with enormous medifactoria. Given the influence they have over the lives and even anatomies of the populace, the divine comparison is an apt one. The war leaders and Biophaguses of the Twisted Helix think of themselves as a new breed of god-like being, their clay the flesh and blood of those around them, and their creations a blend of human, alien and voidstuff. These they see as nothing more than experimental subjects, and every skirmish, hostile takeover and even large-scale uprising purely another test bed from which to draw firmer conclusions about their experiments thus far.

The spread of this potent chemical saw the populace rendered docile, even bovine in its apathy to anything but the strongest stimulus. When a clutch of Purestrain Genestealers, intended as fodder for more extreme experimentation, reached the planet via the black market, the first of the stevedores to meet one of the Tyranid vanguard organisms face-to-face was no easy prey for his wouldbe corrupter. The incident was reported to the on-duty overseer, of course, and from there the message reached the highest spires.

They subsequently dissected the very xenoforms that had sought to infect them. At the behest of the shadowy individual known only as the Prime Specimen, the implications of this discovery were exhaustively researched. It was eventually concluded that they stood on the threshold of a new evolution — that the xenos gene-pattern was the path to true perfection, and perhaps even immortality. Under strict test conditions, the aristocracy of Vejovium injected the stuff of the alien into their veins, and began their transformation into something resembling Neophyte Hybrids. In essence, though they had at first evaded the curse that sought to infect them, the lords of Vejovium instead voluntarily started their own transformation into monsters at a far later stage of the cycle. Sure enough, after many hideous by-blows and aborted experiments, they birthed a new clutch of Genestealers with which to further their agenda — albeit a brood given life in the sterile tubes of a secret medifactoria rather than the incubatory anatomies of infected hosts.

These in turn infected new infestation sites, and the Vejovians slowly began to resemble a cult like any other. So it was that the Genestealer Curse took hold upon Vejovium through a new and disturbing vector. Obsessed with their discovery, the Prime Specimen and his peers widened their research time and time again, venturing into the most bizarre territory in their search for new bioforms that would reinforce their delusions of godhood. They became convinced that to seed their concoctions throughout the people would be to secure their undying loyalty, even worship. Over the years, the imperfections of these bio-alchemical experiments have resulted in a great many monstrosities lurching from the laboratories of the Twisted Helix. Aberrations, multi-limbed hybrids, hunchbacked brutes Cladebatch Gamma-Jovia is a crucial front-line war asset.

Though its Biophagus maintains a veneer of professional detachment, every one of its members has an uncanny strength, and takes a dark pleasure in proving their raw physical might on the battlefield. and conjoined terrors are common in the ward-cells in which the cult keeps its shocking secrets. In times of insurgency, when the Prime Specimen can only achieve his aims through violence rather than subtlety, these monstrous hybrids are released by the thousands. Injected full of steroidal serums and painkilling salves, they make excellent shock troops, and the Biophaguses who goad them to battle learn much from their performance in live fire — or their grisly demise, should their tortured metabolisms finally give in to the experimental adaptations heaped upon them.

For every star system conquered through horror and violence, there is another that the cult has brought into the fold through the careful application of medicarium exports and subsequent mass indoctrinations. This process, expertly refined and industrialised on an interplanetary scale, has seen the Twisted Helix spread its curse across the Vejovium System and beyond. Your credit is good enough this time. Simply ingest the contents of one of the purple vials at dusk, and one of the white vials at dawn. We guarantee you that within a week, you will feel like a new man. Just as the Genestealer can infect a thousand different species, a cult can spread into a thousand different ecosystems and environments, taking new forms and reinventing itself at need.

Infestations Beyond Number INNERWYRM BEHEMOID UNDERCULT STAR KINDRED The Innerwyrm Cult infests the abattoir world of Fleishgate. A lynchpin planet that provides the meat of grox, grontock and bovian to the Mawdlin System, Fleishgate has long been taken over by a Genestealer Cult, its primogenitor organism brought to the planet inside the guts of an immature void whale hewn apart for its meat. The use of the saw-spine wyrm-form, based in part on the meat-cutting machines used in their daily slaughter, is not confined to Fleishgate; it occurs on many industrial agri worlds. Upon the fringes of Ultramar operate the Behemoid Undercult. This hidden organisation is of such cunning it has infested several worlds, despite continued attacks from the Tyrannic War Veterans trained by Ortan Cassius. That creature, known as Old One Eye in the spacefarer tales that surround it, is of such totemic importance to the Undercult that they ritually scar and tattoo themselves, or even cut out their own right eyes, in homage to the creature, seeing it as a prophet of the xenos god they call Behemoth.

The cult infesting the long-forsaken Gleptid Reach claims to worship the Emperor of Mankind in the form of a holy sun that shines in the firmament. Supposedly GW is going to do another Hexfire style box, with the Genestealer cults and Adeptus Custodes grabbing a new character model we'll get into what they are later , a new codex book, and a new launch box. The Genestealer Cults have found their way to the heart of the Imperium, and when such a threat to the Emperor rears its head the elite Adeptus Custodes will stop at nothing to stamp it out.

The next big release for 40k has just been announced and it pits the Adeptus Custodes against the Genestealer Cults! Looking at the contents of the box, we see mostly current models for each faction and Custodes grouped with Sisters of Silence, potentially hinting at new rules… But there are two new models! One for GSC and one for the Custodes, so let's check those out in more detail. Leading the charge into the Cult's lair is Aristothes Carvellan, a Blade Champion whose prodigious swordsmanship puts even his fellow Custodes to shame. Blade Champions are a new type of Character for Adeptus Custodes armies, who can switch between three different fighting styles to chop up any opponent, be they a colossal monster, a skilled leader, or a swarm of lesser creatures. Looks like the rumors were true! Custodes have been itching for some love, and will finally receive it!

On the stream, this model was compared to a Lieutenant, so expect to see some abilities to reflect a decent leader. To face such powerful warriors is to court death, and the Cult of the Pauper Prince knows that well. They turn to a hero of the Star Children's revolution, Mersea Thrayk, a Reductus Saboteur who seeds the battlefield with explosives before battle is joined. Even the mighty Adeptus Custodes are hard-pressed to survive a mining charge detonating under their feet. The Genestealer Cults new model is of course much more sneaky! In-stream, they described it as having unsuspecting enemies randomly blown up as they were actually standing on one of their buried bombs. We will just have to wait and see more on official rules to see how it actually works in-game. Offer praise to the Many-armed Emperor, dear child, for he has delivered a tome full of new and updated rules for the Genestealer Cults. Infiltrate a planet's key institutions and ready your cult for the Day of Ascension with thematic Crusade rules, and ambush your prey with updated units and new abilities.

Of course, it couldn't just be Custodes getting their update, so Genestealer Cult is also receiving their full 9th Edition codex this year! They were sure to mention a new point system to help prevent Genestealers from using up all of their CP on turn 2 as they are famous for their CP use, and in turn, running out of them quickly. Let's start with the reveal from GW, they said a Xenos and Imperial book are coming in December. Conveniently, this rumor has a Xenos and Imperial army coming in December. Just to note, the artwork is just stock, they've used them for every codex reveal, so, unfortunately, you can't read into them. Anyways, the timing would line up perfectly with what GW has laid out. This is both good and bad if you play the factions. It means they are getting a book sooner, but it also means they are only grabbing one new mini this time around. There are some decent changes here, most notably, the change to ambush. While it's a really cool mechanic, over time it sort of makes all your games feel similar.

Overall, the changes to the deployment side of things just seem like something they needed, so let's hope that all comes true. Gaining cult creeds would be super strong for everything and adding some strength to Rending Claws would give the army a nice boost. Thankfully, Acolyte Hybrids get a well-deserved buff to their Toughness in the new codex, offering them greater protection against Strength 4 weapons boltguns, we're looking at you and from the multi-shot Strength 6 guns that are their current nemesis. Hey, can't complain about a better statline with extra toughness. Plus, with the Cult icon, they will be more survivable than ever.

This document was uploaded by user and they confirmed that they have the permission to share it. If you are author or own the copyright of this book, please report to us by using this DMCA report form. Report DMCA. Home current Explore. Home Genestealer Cults 8th. pdf Genestealer Cults 8th. pdf Uploaded by: Jocke 0 0 October PDF Bookmark Embed Share Print Download. pdf as PDF for free. Words: 59, Pages: All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. British Cataloguing-in-Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Pictures used for illustrative purposes only. Certain Citadel products may be dangerous if used incorrectly and Games Workshop does not recommend them for use by children under the age of 16 without adult supervision.

Whatever your age, be careful when using glues, bladed equipment and sprays and make sure that you read and follow the instructions on the packaging. ISBN: Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Rd, Lenton, Nottingham, NG7 2WS games-workshop. The Genestealer Curse is a parasitic infection of mind, body and soul that eats away at the heart of the Imperium — and this book helps you represent it on the battlefield, gathering your collection of Genestealer Cults Citadel Miniatures into an all-conquering force of insurrectionists. Fast-moving saboteurs have shattered the supply lines of those who would oppose them, hidden agents have assassinated key commanders, and routes of escape have been cut off by demolition crews and industrial mining teams. The foe finds their ammunition crates empty, their fuel reserves dry, their transportation craft hijacked and their supporting fleet holed and listing in orbit. When the cult unleashes the abhorrent alien monstrosities that act as its shock troops, the enemy is already surrounded, stranded and ripe for a slaughter long planned.

Within this book you will find all the information you need to collect a Genestealer Cults army and field it upon the tabletop. THE FAITHFUL THRONG: Here you will find a showcase of exceptionally well-painted miniatures displaying the colours and iconography of the cults, and example forces to inspire your own collection. Using a Genestealer Cults army in battle is a wargaming experience like no other, and presents an exciting challenge for veterans and newcomers alike. Their ability to ambush the enemy means they can appear from nowhere to wreak havoc, whether through firepower or swift assault. With a mix of fervent worshippers, industrial machinery repurposed for war, heavy-hitting xenos hybrids and cunning leaders with specialist abilities — all guided by a monstrous Patriarch — there are a hundred ways to secure victory.

THE CREEDS BENEATH: This section includes datasheets, wargear lists and weapon rules for every Genestealer Cults unit, allowing you to field them in your games of Warhammer 40, When it comes to building and painting, Genestealer Cults Citadel Miniatures make for a varied and enjoyable challenge. Every model has a sinister style to it, replete with characterful features and detail. From indentured human thrall to chitin-covered alien horror, the distinct generations of hybrid ensure a range of interesting colour schemes can be employed in your army. To play games with your army, you will need a copy of the Warhammer 40, rules. To find out more about Warhammer 40, or download the free core rules, visit warhammer The galaxy cannot contain both indefinitely, for one feeds upon the other and cannot be sated. Only by joining with the alien lords — by becoming them — can Mankind survive. Only then will you be strong, and take your true place amongst the stars. Secretive, stealthy and utterly malignant, they are the cankers growing unseen in the hidden spaces of the Imperium.

Humanity is beset on all fronts by xenos raiders and the nightmarish forces of Chaos. Billions of lives are sacrificed upon the altar of war every day to keep the enemy at bay. Embedded into the infrastructure of countless seemingly loyal worlds, the Genestealer Cults bide their time, spreading tendrils of corruption through the native population until they are ready to begin their bloody insurrections. Once unleashed, they rise up in a surging tide, armed with stolen Imperial weaponry and crude industrial tools turned to horrific purposes. infected give birth to vile hybrids of xenos and human — those descended from the first victims are unmistakably alien, with large, domed heads and razor-sharp talons.

As the corruption continues to spread, subsequent generations are born who can pass as human, and are able to blend in with the wider population — and even Imperial organisations such as the Adeptus Arbites, the Munitorum and the Astra Militarum. The hybrid masses are organised and led by Primuses, generals and ambush specialists responsible for coordinating the eventual uprising. Sanctuses act as assassins, and Locuses as bodyguards, even as Clamavuses preach the word of the cult and foil enemy communications. Atalan Jackals speed into battle upon dirtcycles and Wolfquads, harrying the enemy flanks whilst Purestrain Genestealers and Aberrant monstrosities — sometimes bolstered by the gene-alchemists known as Biophaguses — act as shock troops. When the Imperium first encountered Genestealers upon the moons of Ymgarl, they thought them to be a unique species.

In fact, as the Ordo Xenos discovered after a harrowing series of investigations, they are the vanguard organisms that the Tyranid hive fleets seed before them to create disunity and fear in their path. Resilient and possessed of razorsharp claws that can carve through war-plate, Genestealers are used in open battle by the hive fleets as shock troops. Only he sees the glory in spurning individual power to become one of many. Let the fool and the heathen scrabble in the embers of war for personal gain. We shall rise above the flames as a flock of phoenixes reborn! A host of angels recast in the image of the true rulers of this galaxy! A panoply of gods, to whom nothing is considered beyond our reach! Slinking and creeping, stalking and murdering in silence, solitary Genestealers stow away on spacecraft and spread along space lanes like a virus. In theory it only takes one Genestealer successfully slipping aboard a cargo freighter and reaching a populated world to spell the doom of an entire sector.

There are legends in the Imperium of titanic space hulks infested with tens of thousands of these creatures — such a nest could bring utter catastrophe to swathes of the Imperium. Whether it takes a handful of months or many years, eventually the cult will go on the warpath. Only then will the Patriarch send the synaptic order to rise up and drown the planet in blood. Guided by the cunning will of their war leaders, they strike first at key tactical locations like communications outposts, spaceports and munition yards. Stripped of its defences and ability to call for help, the planet is left ripe for conquest. Should a Genestealer reach a suitable world, its dark work begins in earnest. In the space of a few years, hundreds of civilians will have been abducted by the creature and infected with Tyranid genetic structures. Bones are shattered by ear-bursting blasts from seismic cannons, weaponised rock drills are thrust into vulnerable flesh in a horrifying eruption of gore, and mining charges are used as makeshift grenades.

The banners and sigils of the cult are unveiled at last, standards and wyrm-form totems held high by Acolyte Iconwards whose presence inspires the broodkin to new heights of savage fervour. During the many long years of preparation for this moment, the cult will have stolen and sequestered many vehicles to aid it in its murderous campaign. Rugged Goliath Trucks and Rockgrinders, a common sight in mines and manufactorums all across the Imperium, are turned to violent purpose. Mounted with a range of heavy armaments, Goliath Trucks rush broods of Acolytes to the front lines, carving a path across even the most rugged of terrain and releasing an unceasing hail of bullets to tear through enemy infantry. Should the threat of enemy armour emerge, the cult will respond by deploying stolen Leman Russ tanks and Sentinel walkers, piloted by Neophyte Hybrids who laid hidden in the ranks of human armies for decades.

Utterly loyal to the Patriarch, they turn their guns on their former comrades without a second thought. The psychological impact of this sudden betrayal is a weapon in itself. All too often the stimulus for this uprising is the approach of a Tyranid bio-fleet — those the cult sees as saviours from above. Even as the Tyranids exterminate and devour every source of biomass on the planet, still the cultists hold faith in their corrupted hearts that these voracious aliens will elevate the faithful, helping them to transcend their mortal weaknesses. Eagerly they await the blessed oneness of form and purpose they have been promised. Maguses hurl illusions that warp and tear at the minds of the enemy, turning them upon each other with sadistic pleasure. In this final, exalted hour the Patriarch himself enters the fray, and his faithful are sent into a zealous frenzy as their prophet rips the unworthy apart with razored claws and shredding fangs.

As soon as the last of the defenders is overrun by this tide of chitin and scything claws, the Hive Mind subsumes the Patriarch into its greater consciousness. It becomes merely another organism in the Tyranid swarm, the psychic Broodmind that once united its cult severed in an instant. In an awful moment of realisation, the cultists at last understand the fell truth. Those same creatures from beyond the stars that they once worshipped as gods are revealed as their doom incarnate — for to the Tyranids, all flesh is much the same. A cult uprising in full swing is a tide of discoloured flesh and chitinous armour crashing upon the last bulwarks of Imperial civilisation. Each new batch of offspring seems more human than the last as the xenos germ-seed is seemingly diluted, but within, the shape of the beast lurks unchanged.

As with all their void-born kind, the Genestealer is inhumanly patient, able to subsist on very little sustenance and to wait for decades if necessary before making its move. When a Genestealer reaches a world ripe for infection, it will immediately go into hiding, clambering into dark and forgotten spaces and lurking unseen as it prepares to spread its influence. Once it is certain of being able to acquire victims whilst still remaining undetected, it will stalk the fringes of society in search of prey, emerging only on the blackest of nights to snatch away the unwary with its steel-hard, muscular limbs. Whenever a Genestealer implants a victim, it condemns their bloodline forever. Their hybrid offspring are grotesque and misshapen creatures who are as varied in form as they are hideous to behold.

Certain features are common, such as bulbous craniums and snarling, needle-toothed maws, a pair of extra limbs ending in viciously sharp claws, truncated tail-spikes and mottled, purplish skin. These initial hybrids are known as the first generation. Instead they are put in thrall by its hypnotic gaze. The resultant parasitism alters the body until the xenos taint runs throughout. It also alters the mind, forcing the victim to revere the Genestealer as a messianic figure, the idol of an obsessive new religion. The Genestealer and its hybrids of the first generation will then hypnotise new victims, who join the cult and later sire young in their turn.

This gives rise to the second generation. These new creatures are hunched and stooped — not in the manner of the old or infirm, but more like pressured springs that are ready to explode into sudden movement. These hybrids may have five or even six limbs, but their eyes and mouths are like those of their human parent, and they can make themselves understood in Low Gothic. Though their minds are still so alien that they defy analysis, the second generation is sapient enough to understand its host society. Some are even put to work in the industrial subcultures of their kin, their uncanny strength and resilience allowing them to use heavy mining tools and explosives with far more ease than a human operative.

As each cycle passes and new breeding stock is brought into the fold, the hybrid offspring evince fewer mutations.

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If you are looking for a book to learn about Genestealer Cult Codex 8Th Edition, then look no further. Get a copy of Genestealer Cult Codex 8Th Edition today and you would be glad you Genestealer cult limited edition codex. Roll a D6 for each unit on the battlefield. They ride a variety of rugged Atalan-class exploratory machines, of which the most common are dirtcycles Genestealer cult codex 8th edition pdf download free version software Being able to pull off some spicy tricks with Deep Strike is part of the Genestealer Cult experience, but the 04/12/ · 9th Edition Genestealer Cults Codex. Offer praise to the Many-armed Emperor, dear child, for he has delivered a tome full of new and updated rules for the Genestealer 17/12/ · Breakdown Warhammer 40k 8th. genestealer cult codex pdf 8th vk. Codex Genestealer blogger.com - Free ebook download as PDF blogger.com) or view presentation slides Genestealer cult codex 8th edition pdf download full version download windows 9th edition is on the way, and with it a whole raft of changes to the factions of Warhammer ... read more

The Orks of Mount Mekaniak are impressed by the massive gargant Clawbeast, a purple monstrosity of beaten metal built with six limbs. To the Imperium they seemed a model population. When the Imperium first encountered Genestealers upon the moons of Ymgarl, they thought them to be a unique species. These initial hybrids are known as the first generation. INFECTION VECTOR ARRIVES ON PLANET PATRIARCH Genestealers arrive in a locality and go into hiding.

These he sets loose in the spaceports of Anacharos, causing utter havoc as the beasts go into a feeding frenzy amongst the richly appointed vessels. Both third and fourth generation cultists, known as Neophyte Hybrids, can usually pass for human in low light. When the cult grew large enough to spawn the Neophyte assassin known as a Sanctus, Vockor Mai bade the operative to go into the hive spires and kill those too intractable — or too psychically powerful — to fall to his wiles, genestealer cult codex 8th edition pdf download. The cult sees the arrival of this impossible menace as the long-awaited fulfilment of their prophecies. Ortan Cassius became a dogged, obsessive foe of the Tyranid race in all its forms, and has worked closely with the Deathwatch and Ordo Xenos to root out a dozen cult infestations since — for most shocking of all the discoveries upon Ghosar Quintus was not genestealer cult codex 8th edition pdf download Genestealer The Duct-Ghuls Brood emerges from the empty promethium pipelines of the metropolis Xhost, the battle already all but won through stealth and guile. The blessed union of gun, claw and merciless intent is a force to be truly feared.