Книжные новости

[Erenarch]

новая обложка

http://www.blacklibrary.com/Images/Product...ath-of-Iron.jpg

Изменено 30 ноября, 2011 пользователем Erenarch

[Nefelyr]

1 из 25 кусков новой обложки по ереси. BL знает толк в извращениях =\

http://www.blacklibrary.com/advent-calendar

[Monique]

"А я знаю, что это..."

"...но никому не скажу!"

"Шутка)"

Тот самый "Багровый Кулак", новелла про ИК и ЖВ от Джона Френча :rolleyes:

[Дарт Йорикус]

Да, вероятно, учитывая цвета доспехов и атакующих кораблей. :)

Отрывок "Легиона Проклятых" Сандерса из серии про разборки космодесантников.

Это сон, который видит раненый во время Пира Мечей персонаж (для тех, кто не в курсе - Пир Мечей это вроде дружеской попойки космодесантников, только цепных мечей там больше пива).

The revenant approaches. Its searing plate is of the blackest night. Each ceramite boot is wreathed in spectral flame. I look on as its incandescent steps fracture and frost-shatter the metal of the deck beneath them. The ghost-fire curls and crooks its way about the figure as one burned at the stake. It slows to an appalling stop and looks down on my kneeling form. Before me is an Angel of Death. A brother of the beyond. Devoid of Chapter markings, the armour speaks only of the grave, a rachial nightmare of rib and bone, a skeleton set within the surface of the sacred plate. Beneath, the ghastliness goes on. The faceplate of its helmet is smashed and a ceramite shard missing. The bleach-white of a fleshless skull leers at me. The glint of a service stud. The darkness of an eye socket that burns with unnatural life. Perfect teeth that chatter horribly.

‘What are you?’ I manage, although it takes everything I have left to brave the utterance.

It says nothing, but reaches out with a raven gauntlet. A bone digit protrudes from the splintered ceramite fingertip. I watch it drift towards my face with horror. The thing touches me. And I scream.

Изменено 1 декабря, 2011 пользователем Йорпул

[3388]

"Ещё пара кусков обложки."

[Дарт Йорикус]

Интервью Рейнольдса про омнибус Несунов и отрывок рассказа "Пытка" оттуда.

• Your Word Bearers trilogy is now available as an omnibus, but what first drew you to write about this fanatical legion?

I've always loved the bad guys in fiction - they are often just so much richer and more interesting than the heroes (though to be fair, true good guys are few and far between in the bleak future of Warhammer 40,000). I think that fascination started quite early. I always preferred Skeletor to He-Man, for instance and I always coveted the toy of Megatron. Keep your Optimus, I wanted the megalomaniac who turned into a freakin' gun. It should probably come as no surprise then that I've always been more interested in 40K's heretics, traitors and renegades rather than the loyalist elements. As such, I was far more drawn to writing about the Chaos Space Marines than any of the Emperor's lapdogs. But which Legion to write about?

I've always seen the Word Bearers as the most terrifying of all the Chaos Legions. Everything they do - every world they burn, every massacre they commit - they do because of their twisted faith. They fervently and honestly believe that their way, their Word, is the ”one true path”. Their faith is unshakable. There is not a hint of doubt in their minds about what they do. There is something truly horrific and powerful about that kind of absolute fanaticism. I had no interest in writing about bad guys who did what they did because they were moustache-twirling villains. But characters who did awful things to further a purpose that they truly believed in - that was something I wanted to explore.

• There’s a new Word Bearers short story exclusively printed in the omnibus – what can you tell us about it?

‘Torment’ takes place chronologically after Dark Creed. It deals with the fate of one particular character who has, shall we say, displeased his Dark Apostle. This is not a particularly wise thing to do - the holy leaders of the Word Bearers are not renowned for their mercy. The story takes place upon the Word Bearer's adopted daemon home world of Sicarus, and much of the action occurs within the depths of the Basilica of Torment. We get to see the extent of the Dark Apostle's punishment of the one who has displeased him, and it ain’t pretty! I was really pleased with the way the story turned out - in fact, I think it is probably my favourite section of the whole omnibus. I think it works really well as the epilogue to the trilogy. It is grim and dark, and I think the fans of the books will really dig it.

• Will we be seeing any more of Dark Apostle Marduk in the future?

Well, since you ask... I actually should be writing about him right now. Instead, it's getting late at night - I am in Australia, after all - and I'm answering these questions! I'm currently writing a longish short story (as oxymoronic as that sounds, and yes I know that isn’t a word, but it should be) about Marduk and his Host. It's entitled ‘Vox Dominus’, and it takes place after the action of the trilogy. It sees the introduction of a few new characters to fill the gaps in the Host's ranks, and also the appearance of a second Chaos Legion... and these Chaos boys, well, they don't always see eye to eye...

As to more novels featuring Marduk - there are no current plans for more books, but there is certainly more to tell. I have a few ideas for the direction of future stories, but I'd like to take a little break from the Word Bearers and work on some other ideas that have been brewing in the back of my head for a while. I'm not sure how far away from Chaos I will be able to stray, however, but to say anything more would probably see me banished to the Basilica of Torment myself.

He moved up the narrow passage until he came to a circular, windowless prayer-room lit by a single candle in an arched alcove. It was small, the kind of room used by fasting penitents or hermetic recluses. The walls were covered in tiny neat script-work. He recognised the hand-writing. He had seen its like before.

‘Burias. Burias-Drak’shal.’ That voice again...

Burias’s twin hearts began to pound. He could not breathe. He heard metallic pounding in the distance, beating in time to his hearts. His gaze fell upon a figure kneeling in the centre of the room. Its back was turned to him, and it wore a plain robe of undyed, coarse fabric. Its head was smooth and hairless, the bare scalp glinting like gold in the candlelight.

The figure rose to its feet. It seemed to expand to fill the circular room, as if it were magnifying in volume to gigantic proportions. Then the illusion passed, and Burias realised that the figure stood no taller than he. As the figure turned, Burias looked upon the golden face of a demigod.

His eyes began to bleed and his mind rebelled. His soul lurched, and he was driven to his knees, breathless and suffocating.

A veil seemed to be ripped aside, and the walls of the shrine disappeared, replaced with roaring flames and darkness. A maddening cacophony of screams and roars assaulted him from all sides.

‘Urizen? Lord?’ he breathed.

Изменено 6 декабря, 2011 пользователем Йорпул

[Dark Apostle]

Catechism of Hate

лимитная новелла от Торпа из SMB!

Неожиданно!

[Monique]

Пока суть да дело, Торп дописывает новеллу о том, как Кассиус тиранидов морил

...

Только про Кассиуса - секрет, так что вы того, помалкивайте.

Ну, не так уж неожиданно)

[Monique]

На следующей неделе нас ждёт отрывок из HH-19: "Не зная страха" от Дэна Абнетта.

[Erenarch]

'Legion of the Damned' by Rob Sanders

‘How goes the Feast, brother?’ asked Ezrachi.

‘Badly,’ Corpus-Captain Shiloh Gideon lamented. ‘For the Excoriators, at least.’

‘How many?’ enquired the Apothecary as he approached. His right leg was a full bionic replacement and almost as old as the Apothecary himself. While robust and powerful, it sighed with hydraulic insistence and lagged a millisecond behind its flesh and bone equivalent, giving the impression of a slight limp.

‘Too many,’ Gideon snapped, running a palm across the top of his tonsured scalp. He grasped the hair that grew like a silver crown around his skull in obvious frustration. ‘We lost three more this morning. Occam, Basrael and Jabez. Occam fought well, but not well enough. I thought Jabez was dead. I don’t think anything is going to stop that Crimson Fist. The Feast may already be theirs.’

‘Brother Jabez will live,’ Ezrachi assured him. ‘Just.’

Gideon didn’t seem to hear the aged Apothecary.

‘Shame begets shame,’ the captain said. ‘Our failure at the Feast is tied to the loss of our Chapter’s sacred standard. I can feel it.’

‘Your head is full of Santiarch Balshazar’s sermons. I honour the primarch, but Dorn lives on through our flesh and blood, not dusty artefacts,’ Ezrachi insisted. ‘The loss of our standard is a mighty blow, but in truth it was but a blood-speckled banner.’

‘Rogal Dorn himself entrusted his sons – our Excoriator brothers – with that item over ten thousand years ago,’ the corpus-captain said. ‘It displays the Second Founding’s decree and is threaded with the honours of every battle fought in our long, bloody history. It carries the distinctia of the Praeses Chapters and our service in garrisoning the Eye. It bears the stigmartyr – the emblem that the Chapter adopted as its own.’ Gideon turned to present his own ivory shoulder-plate, adorned with the scarlet symbol to which he made reference: a gauntleted fist clenching the length of a thunderbolt-shaped scar. ‘It is much more than the blood-soaked rag to which you allude, and I’ll have you mind your irreverence, Apothecary.’

‘I meant no offence, corpus-captain,’ Ezrachi replied plainly. ‘As you well know, there is more than a little of my own blood splashed across that standard.’

‘Our brothers fight for a broken honour,’ the captain continued, oblivious to Ezrachi. ‘We are accursed. The Emperor’s eternal fortitude, once absent in the brother that surrendered the banner, is now absent in us all. It is our collective punishment.’

‘Is it not our way?’ Ezrachi put to him. ‘Do not the Excoriators, of all Dorn’s sons, feel the loss of the Emperor deepest? Do not the Excoriators alone know our primarch’s true grief, the agony of his redemption and the cold wrath of his renascence? Do we not purge his weakness and our own from this shared flesh through the Rites of Castigation and the wearing of Dorn’s Mantle?’

‘This is beyond our inherited sin,’ Gideon said miserably. ‘The loss of the honoured First Company, the near assassination of our Chapter Master, the failure and decimation of the Fifth and now this – one hundred years of humiliation in the making, right underneath the disapproving noses of our kindred. All as spiritual censure for the loss of Dorn’s gift – the very embodiment of our Adeptus Astartes honour.’

‘We have lost a great symbol,’ Ezrachi admitted, ‘but not what the standard symbolised. That is alive and well in the hearts of every Excoriator who bears his blade in the Emperor’s name. As they do here brother, at the Feast of Blades.’

‘Blades drawn in disbelief and sheathed in failure,’ the corpus-captain said grimly.

‘Is our standing in the Feast really so dire?’

‘I’m pinning our hope on Usachar and Brother Dathan. Usachar is a squad whip and a veteran. Dathan is young, but fast, and has a way with a blade.’

‘Some hope, then,’ Ezrachi said.

‘Usachar is chosen against Knud Hжgstad of the Iron Knights and young Dathan has drawn Pugh’s champion,’ Gideon reported. ‘It’s never easy crossing blades with those chosen to wear the primarch’s plate, but with the Imperial Fists defending their title and the Feast fought on a world they conquered, I don’t rate our chances. Even if they win, they’ll have to face that damned Crimson Fist in the next round. It’s fairly hopeless.’

‘So,’ the Ezrachi put to the corpus-captain, ‘it is time.’

‘I would enter the arena myself, but for the desperation it speaks to our brethren.’

‘Making your decision all the easier and more forgivable,’ the Apothecary persisted. ‘You have no choice. Give the order.’

‘I would not do this for a hundred worlds,’ Gideon snarled, ‘but for the dishonour we would endure in exiting the Feast so early and the disgrace to carry back to Eschara. I promised Master Ichabod a victory to lift the Chapter and carry our brothers through these dark times. I cannot return with both empty hearts and hands. News of our failure would likely finish what the filth of the Alpha Legion started. I fear the disappointment alone might end him, Ezrachi.’

The Apothecary shook his battered head. ‘Quesiah Ichabod is the greatest Excoriator to have ever lived. Those armoured serpents were lucky – and perhaps born so – but even they, with their lies and infernal ways, could not take him from us. Besides, he is now on Eschara with one of our best – the Chief Apothecary.’

‘I can’t look my Chapter Master in the eye and tell him I did everything in my power to secure victory when I did not.’ Gideon seemed to come to a dismal decision. ‘I’d privately hoped that it would not come to this. Nine Excoriators have fought for their Chapter in the Feast, yet ten were sent for such a hallowed duty. Only Dorn knows why Master Ichabod insisted upon his inclusion, but that is now the choice laid before me. Can he be made fit for anything, let alone battle?’

‘I believe so. We are pure of heart, but not of blood. As part of a former Legion and now as a Chapter, we are not alone in our experience of genetic deficiency. The Wolves and the Angels carry the flaws of their blood heritage on to new generations.’ The Excoriators Apothecary paused before continuing. ‘When the Darkness takes one of our number, it might appear to us a wretched palsy: the slackness of the jaw, the tremor of the limb, the blankness of the eye. Surviving Excoriators report the experience as a living nightmare, a sleeping wakefulness in which they relive the bottomless woe of Dorn’s most trying time – the grievous loss of our Father-Emperor, at least as we knew him. This is both our father’s genetic blessing and his curse to his sons. To know the possibility – for even a second – of an Imperium without the Emperor. To feel what Dorn felt. The profound misery of a primarch. The paralysing fear that even one as great as he experienced, for himself and for humanity, over the Emperor’s shattered body. To live the Darkness.’

‘Such details have little meaning for me, Apothecary,’ Gideon told him. ‘The Adeptus Astartes are bred for battle. We exist only to avenge the Emperor and put the enemies of humanity to the blade. I need warriors, not dreamers. Whatever the actual nature of this affliction, it does not befit one of our calling. If it were me, I’d rather my brothers ended such a vegetative existence than watch me live on in such a senseless state.’

‘Since the Darkness can strike any of us at any time, corpus-captain, I’ll bear that in mind,’ Ezrachi promised with a subversive curl of the lip. ‘While we dwell on such matters, you should know that the procedure I intend is untried and that the brother in question might not survive it.’

‘For the calamity he has brought down on all of us, I would lose little sleep over that.’

‘I suspected as much,’ the Apothecary said. ‘I inform you only that it in turn might inform your strategy for our brothers in the contest. You do know it is possible that his suffering caused the loss of the Chapter standard rather than his failure being the cause of the Darkness.’

‘What do I care for that?’ Gideon snorted. ‘He failed his primarch. He failed his Chapter Master. He failed us all. The only care I have in this is to find use for such traitorous hands. What will you do and how long do you need?’

‘Santiarch Balshazar has his way of managing the afflicted,’ Ezrachi replied. ‘A spiritual treatment that those suffering the Darkness survive or they do not. While I respect the symbolic significance of the Santiarch’s practice and the rituals specific to our Chapter cult, my method might seem comparatively direct.’ The Apothecary indicated a point at the back of his skull, where in the fashion of the Chapter, his thinning hairline met a scarred and shaven scalp. ‘The catalepsean node is located here on the brain stem. As the implant responsible for modifying the circadian rhythms – our patterns of sleep and elongated periods of consciousness – it seems possible that a malfunctioning node could be responsible for a loss of motor control and the experience of a ‘living nightmare’. I plan to drill through the bone and insert a hypodermic lightning rod into the brain. There I shall issue a localised shock to the catalespsean node, hopefully interrupting the affliction of the Darkness and reinstating the natural function of the implant.’

‘It sounds painful.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Good,’ the corpus-captain said before taking his leave. ‘I must travel down to the surface with Usachar and Dathan. The Rites of Battle begin for the next round shortly. The Feast waits for no one. Send word if your experiment meets with success. I’ll also need informing if our fallen brother fails us once again.’

‘How do you define failure?’

‘A living death. Or an actual one,’ Gideon told the Apothecary as he left. ‘It makes very little difference to me when it comes to Zachariah Kersh.’

I am in a place… of darkness. I have never been here, yet I know it well. My mind – like my body – is in sensory overdrive. Something far beyond my genetic inheritance, beyond the rigors of Chapter indoctrination and the suprahormones roaring through my veins. This moment feels more acute, vivid and keener than any I have formerly experienced. Every molecule of my being is devoted to it, like the seconds have been honed to a razored-edge.

Despite the intensity of this experience, the world about me is dark and indistinct. Everything, from the walls to the floor beneath my feet, is cloaked in a peripheral haze. I try to focus, but anything upon which I settle my eyes assumes the quality of screaming shadow. The howling gloom spreads like a stain, running into everything else and framing me in a vision of smeared charcoal.

I wander the labyrinthine nightmare of this place, weapon in hand, searching, splattered with blood that is not my own, knowing that brothers both lost and true clash about me. There is gunfire. There is death. I can hear calls of distant anguish. I cannot make out the words but know that they are laced with venom and cold reason. The hot ring of blades fills the air, before power beyond my comprehension is unleashed in the bleakness beyond. I feel its unnaturalness wash over me. My heart hammers. I am running, fearful, but not for myself.

I erupt from the maze and come to a halt in an open space. A giant archport blazes with the light of a nearby globe, set against a pin-prick darkness. I know not this world, yet its reflected radiance draws me in. I am where I cannot have been: above Holy Terra. The vista rolls and I feel the movement deep inside of me. I am aboard a vessel. A bastion of Angels, a cathedral amongst the stars. The bridge expanse beckons.

As I step between the armoured bodies that litter the deck in anonymity, I come to realise that this is not a colossal command deck. It is a throne room. Before me are three titans: fallen and terrible in the murderous ruin they have committed, one upon the other. Two mighty brothers lie twisted and broken on the steps. Their god-flesh is still, their fratricide over. The chime of battle hangs about their corpses. Their weapons decorate the deck. My own falls to the floor

Then, the centrepiece of the slaughter. The father of all lies amongst his fallen family. The Emperor of Mankind. A beacon in the darkness. Withering to look upon, impossible not to.

I approach as one might his doom, hesitant and uncomprehending. Child-like. The moment overwhelms me and tears cascade down my blood-flecked cheeks. I fall to my knees. I weep over my Emperor, for there is nothing left to do. No higher power to whom I can appeal. With His body held to mine I roar my defiance, like an infant freshly ripped from the womb. A new coldness clings to me. It saturates me with its despair. I sink deep within myself and find a greater darkness there. An Imperium without an Emperor. A fatherless humanity. An eternity without direction.

I quake. I know only fear and fury at an empty cosmos, devoid of answers. His head, in my arms, rolls to one side. His eyelids fall open and his divine gaze fixes upon the blazing archport. Dead eyes set on the dead space beyond. But there is a figure. Something I had not seen before. There and yet not. An armoured figure that steps from the darkness into silhouette, glorious against the Terran glare. Unlike my stygian surroundings, or the Emperor, eclipsed by His own brilliance, the figure falls into harrowing focus. Its movements are slow and deliberate and as it walks towards me it grows in stature and menace.

An ally? An enemy? There are no shortage of either, dead on the deck about me. I think of my Emperor and tighten my grip on His malevolence-mauled body. I clutch only the crisp air of the bridge to my chest, for the Emperor’s hallowed form has gone. I remain kneeling, as though my legs are now part of the deck. My face is that of a simpleton and my mind is overwhelmed with a grief beyond grief. I sit. I watch. I dread.

The revenant approaches. Its searing plate is of the blackest night. Each ceramite boot is wreathed in spectral flame. I look on as its incandescent steps fracture and frost-shatter the metal of the deck beneath them. The ghost-fire curls and crooks its way about the figure as one burned at the stake. It slows to an appalling stop and looks down on my kneeling form. Before me is an Angel of Death. A brother of the beyond. Devoid of Chapter markings, the armour speaks only of the grave: a rachial nightmare of rib and bone, a skeleton set within the surface of the sacred plate. Beneath, the ghastliness goes on. The faceplate of its helmet is smashed and a ceramite shard missing. The bleach-white of a fleshless skull leers at me. The glint of a service stud. The darkness of an eye socket that burns with unnatural life. Perfect teeth that chatter horribly.

‘What are you?’ I manage, although it takes everything I have left to brave the utterance.

It says nothing, but reaches out with a raven gauntlet. A bone digit protrudes from the splintered ceramite fingertip. I watch it drift towards my face with horror. The thing touches me. And I scream.

короче базарят два чувака из ордена Сдирателей, у них капец случился, потеряли баннер роты, но некоторые не особо расстраиваются, тк это всего лишь тряпочка, но это уже не первое несчастье - потеряли первую роту, чуть не убили чаптер мастера, провал и неудачи пятой роты и пр. короче не все гладко у сынов Дорна, а тут еще надо сражаться с чемпионами Железных Рыцарей и ставленником Пуха на Пире Клинков. а потом если победят, то столкнуться еще и с чертовым Багровым Кулаком. короче, бесполезно это, тк судя по всему те круче их. ну и все это на фоне синдрома Мрака - генетическое благословение и одновременно проклятие для его сынов - узнать, что испытывал Дорн сразу после смерти Императора - самое трудное время испытаний для него: видеть Империум без Императора. и все это сопровождается отвисшей челюстью, дрожащими конечностями, потемнением в глазах у боевых братьев, поддаться этому может каждый. называют это "кошмар наяву". апотекарий хочет проветрить им мозги и поэкспериментировать с каталептическим узлом, авось получится излечить братьев. ну и потом а-ля Черный Гнев и видения Кровавых Ангелов вкратце описание как я понял Дорна в битве Импи и Гора и его чувства. потом появляется Легионер Смерти, после сна.

Изменено 19 декабря, 2011 пользователем Erenarch

[Ramzes Literus]

Эренарх в чем суть отрывка? - напиши по русски, у нас здесь пастоянно забывают о том, что это русскоязычный форум, в том числе и ты ;).

[Monique]

ОТРЫВОК ИЗ "НЕ ЗНАЯ СТРАХА"!

http://www.blacklibrary.com/Blog/know-no-fear.html

Who are the first to die?

Most commentaries will cite Honorius Luciel (Captain, 209th) and seventeen others by the hand of Sorot Tchure on the company deck of the cruiser Samothrace at mark: -00.19.45, but these are not, in fact, the first combat fatalities.

The fleet tender Campanile is mob-boarded and taken off the Tarmus Apogee approximately one hundred and thirty-six hours [sidereal] before count start as a preliminary to the Calth assault.

Three thousand, seven hundred and nine crewmembers are executed, including the shipmaster, the navigator, the echelon portmaster, two fabricators from the yards and a detail from the Neride Regulators 10th serving as deck protection.

Proof of the loss of the Campanile, delivered to Primarch Guilliman around mark: 01:30:00, demonstrates calculation and planning on behalf of the adversary and establishes what Primarch Guilliman refers to as a ‘preparatory phase of acquisition’, which refutes any claims that the conflict was born out of mistake or misadventure.

This represents a ‘precondition of malice‘ on the part of the adversary and strengthens Primarch Guilliman’s hand in that it removes any compunction to resist or fight back with full military force. There is no longer any point trying to reason with his brother, because his brother is not, in fact, mistakenly trying to kill him at all.

Lorgar has been planning it all along.

Course irregularities are noticed of the Campanile by Calth System Control at mark: -136.14.12 and again at mark: -135.01.20 and mark: -122.11.35.

Vox contact is recorded as lost at mark: -99.21.59.

Two hours later, Calth System Control marks the Campanile ‘cause for concern’ and the Master of the Port determines that a support intercept should be sent out if nothing further is received by the end of shift. There are one hundred and ninety-two thousand items of shipping traffic in the Veridian System that day because of the fleet conjunction.

The support intercept is not sent out because the Campanile resumes code transmission at mark: -88.10.21.

The crew of the Campanile is listed on the roll of the fallen in the aftermath of the battle, though none are ever seen again.

[Monique]

АДБ отвечает:

http://aarondembskibowden.wordpress.com/20...tions-answered/

К прочтению обязательно)

[Monique]

Новелла АДБ про Курца в "Примархах" называется The Prince of Crows (Принц ВорОн) и происходит в самом конце Трамасского Крестового Похода (войны ПН и ТА). ТА в ней будет мало, в основном Курц будет рассуждать, кто он и что он.

[Erenarch]

АДБ:

Grey Knights operate on that austere, inhuman level all the time. Humans are a complete mystery to them. I think that’s what’s interesting about them.

крутяк, вот за это мне и нравится АДБ

ну и как нам обещает товарищ автор будет:

- становление молодого ГК в прославленном отделении

- взаимоотношения ГК друг с другом (учитывая их псайкерскую природу, ну там телепатия, эмпатия и т.п.), с инквизитором и ее варбандой, с простыми людьми и врагами

- много пафоса, тк Дар Императора в ГК и все такое

- не будет Дреднайта

- будет одна книга вместо двух, насчет продолжения он посмотрит

- будет показано сверхотличие элиты среди маринов от простых людей, тк они ГК - убермарины

в общем, ждемс с нетерпением :)

Изменено 21 декабря, 2011 пользователем Erenarch

[hexenlord]

ну и как нам обещает товарищ автор будет:

Добавлю ещё, что он пообещал, что там в книге засветятся "известные" персонажи.

[Летающий Свин]

Арты к "Катехизму Ненависти":

http://www.blacklibrary.com/Blog/art-of-catechisms.html

[Nefelyr]

Обложка для сборника Shadows of Treachery.

http://www.blacklibrary.com/Blog/a-christmas-treat.html

Изменено 25 декабря, 2011 пользователем Nefelyr

[Суперпух]

В связи с Рождеством (мои поздравления католикам), БЛ решила приготовить всем подарки, и выпустила обои с легионом проклятых:

http://www.blacklibrary.com/images/BL/wall...d-1920x1080.jpg

меньшие размеры тут: http://www.blacklibrary.com/all-products/l...mned-ebook.html

очень даже годные имхо, если убрать эти дурацкие надписи

[hades_wench]

Рождество от АДБ:

It's Xmas and I'm feeling generous. My next Heresy novel will be called... Betrayer. Guess the main character.

[hades_wench]

Саламандр будет еще больше:

Going back to the Sallies, I mentioned that the Tome of Fire trilogy wasn’t completely done with. That’s because there’s going to be a fourth volume that will come out between Nocturne and the next book in the new trilogy (tentatively titled Rebirth at the moment, which may change if the sales and marketing daemons don’t like it…). It’s actually going to be a collection of all the short stories (including the audio) that tie-in to the series and include some of the main characters (oh, The Burning will be in there too – I know a few people have contacted me on FB about how to get hold of that one).

Contents (but not running order) looks something like this, I believe:

Vulkan’s Shield

Hell Night

Fires of War

Fireborn

Prometheus Requiem

The Burning

I’ll also be writing an exclusive novella for the book.

[harlam]

Наверное все таки сюда =|

DeathWatch: The Jerico Reach

“Scores of winged creatures are approaching the Hive complex. The larger ones are dropping organic missiles that burst on impact, and they seem to screech as they swoop down. The sound is becoming louder and louder. The screaming, Emperor preserve us, the screaming!"

–Vox recording recovered from Hive Cresson on Castobel

Back in November, we announced the upcoming release of The Jericho Reach, a supplement for Deathwatch that provides in-depth information on the struggles of Kill-teams currently operating throughout the Reach. Each chapter delves into detail on the personalities, planets, and themes of a specific salient, while providing players and Game Masters alike with important resources for integrating the setting more deeply into their campaigns.

In our first preview, we looked at the Acheros Salient, where the Battle-Brothers of the Deathwatch wage a bloody war against the Chaos-worshipping forces of Stigmartus. Next, we explored the Canis Salient and the Deathwatch’s struggle against the Tau. Today, we’ll turn our attention to the Orpheus Salient. Once the greatest accomplishment of the Achilus Crusade, this troubled sector has since languished beneath the looming shadow of Hive Fleet Dagon. Now, only the direct intervention of the Deathwatch on a few key remaining worlds can ensure a continued Imperial foothold.

Initial contact with the Tyranid foe suggested that the xenos forces were little more than a minor splinter fleet. But over the years since first contact, the Tyranid menace has shown few signs of abating, instead advancing inexorably into the Jericho Reach. This relentless swarm continues to grow, as each new triumph expands its available bio-mass. The stalwart vigilance of the Deathwatch in concert with the near-boundless sacrifices of the Achilus Crusade has blunted the pace of the xenos advance, but the tide has not yet turned. The size of Hive Fleet Dagon is so far undetermined, but one thing is certain: the forces of the Crusade and the Deathwatch are struggling to compete.

Throughout the Hive Fleet’s advance, it has continuously evolved new creatures and tactics. Several Tyranid variant strains have been observed within Hive Fleet Dagon that are believed to be completely novel, and of these, a few have even generated legends and lore among the Imperial forces that oppose them. The Dagon Overlord, for example, is a terrifying monster known for its malicious streak and its ability to drive lesser Tyranid strains to an even more hideous fervour than is typically observed. Meanwhile, the fearsome and solitary Mist Reaper is a variant of the Lictor strain with the uncanny ability to infiltrate deep into civilian areas, beyond the reach of Imperial security measures.

For more on Hive Fleet Dagon, we’re pleased to present a downloadable preview of the winged and serpentine Harpy, a massive flying terror capable of raining death onto an unsuspecting Kill-team. Learn what you will about this formidable foe, but beware: by the time you hear its telltale screams, you’re probably too late.

Превью (1,4 мб) - http://www.fantasyflightgames.com/ffg_cont...reach-harpy.pdf

Источник - http://www.fantasyflightgames.com/edge_news.asp?eidn=2949

[Дарт Йорикус]

Отрывок из Пути Отступника Торпа.

The dark eldar are a vicious lot. When they’re not conducting brutal raids on Imperial worlds, killing and maiming innocents, they’re taking part in horrible bloodsports in Commorragh. Even their sporting events are deadly, as this extract from the soon-to-be-released Path of the Renegade shows.

The race was entering its final stages. The contra-rotating packs of Reavers had thinned to include only the luckiest and most skilful riders. The gleaming strip of the raceway began to ripple and twist to test their nerve and coordination even more, sending the speeding jetbikes even closer to the cliff-like walls. One Reaver was struck by splinter fire from behind and careened straight into the crowd, plunging into the screaming mass like a fiery comet before exploding in a shower of white-hot fragments.

The vicious g-forces exerted by the twisting track were now flinging out both packs of riders so far that they passed through each other before plunging on their separate courses. Explosions of blood and viscera marked each pass. Some machines plunged straight into each other and fell locked together as a single flaming mass of tangled wreckage.

Soon only two Reavers were left, a jade-green carapaced jetbike with a bare-headed rider that threw itself against a glittering black one in a rolling dive. Bladevanes flashed as the two came together head-on, the jade-green vehicle jinking at the last second to sweep a sharpened wing above the other’s curving prow. The black-clad Reaver had anticipated the move and jerked below the onrushing jetbike, laying open the guts of his enemy with an upthrust dorsal blade. The jade-green cycle spiralled away spitting smoke and flames, disappearing out of sight. The victor roared around the track in triumph accepting the acclaim of the bloodthirsty crowd.

Now, wouldn’t Formula One be a lot more interesting with splinter rifles...?

Изменено 6 января, 2012 пользователем Йорпул

[hades_wench]

Know No Fear и Betrayer будут связаны:

АДБ: me and Dan were in touch while he was writing it, as Betrayer and The Butcher's Nails are explicitly tied to it.

[Monique]

http://www.blacklibrary.com/Blog/Unleash-t...-of-Fenris.html

Абнетт разродился новыми Волками. С картинками.

Одинокие Волки: Сага :-