Quoted By:
>"It ith the Fourty-Firtht Millennium. For more than a hundred centurieth The Emperor has that immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He ith the Mathter of Mankind by the will of the godth, and mathter of a million worldth by the might of his inexhauthtible armieth. He ith a rotting carcath writhing invithibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He ith the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thouthand thoulth are thacrificed every day, tho that he may never truly die.
Yet even in hith deathleth thtate, the Emperor continueth hith eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleetth croth the daemon-infethted miathma of the Warp, the only route between dithtant thtarth, their way lit by the Athtronomican, the phychic manifethtation of the Emperor'th will. Vatht armieth give battle in hith name on uncounted worldth. Greatest amongtht hith tholdierth are the Adeptuth Athtarteth, the Thpace Marineth, bio-engineered thuper-warriorth. Their comradeth in armth are legion: the Imperial Guard and countleth planetary defenthe forceth, the ever vigilant Inquithition and the tech-priestth of the Adeptuth Mechanicuth to name only a few. But for all their multitudeth, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-prethent threat from alienth, hereticth, mutanth - and worthe.
To be a man in thuch timeth ith to be one amongtht untold billionth. It ith to live in the crueletht and motht bloody regime imaginable. Thethe are the taleth of thothe timeth. Forget the power of technology and thience, for tho much hath been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promithe of progreth and underthtanding, for in the grim dark future there ith only war. There ith no peathe amongtht the thtarth, only an eternity of carnage and thlaughter, and the laughter of thirthting godth."
>"Say it, don't fucking spray it dude, jesus."
