Publisher blurb:
Suffer not the Alien, the Herectic, the Mutant!
Sergeant Kravos knelt in the rubble. His armor, once pristine and proud, now bore the scars of a hundred desperate battles. The light of a dying sun filtered through the shattered remains of the hive city, illuminating the twisted bodies of the dead.
"Sergeant?" A voice crackled in his vox-bead, laced with static. "Sergeant Kravos, respond."
Kravos lifted his head, feeling the weight of centuries pressing down upon him. "Kravos here," he growled. "Objective secured. The xeno filth has been purged."
There was a pause, filled with the distant thunder of artillery. "Casualties?" the voice asked, as if it were an afterthought.
Kravos looked out over the sea of broken bodies, some human, some decidedly not. "Total," he said flatly. "The Prophets called many souls today."
"Understood," the voice replied, emotionless, efficient. "Return to the rally point for debrief and repair. The Technarch will see you made ready for the next engagement."
Kravos wanted to laugh. Made ready. Just another piece of equipment to be patched before being thrown back into the grinder. He couldn't remember how many times he'd died, waking on a cold slab with new scars and missing memories. All he knew was the weight of his duty, the unrelenting imperative to stand and fight, no matter the cost.
He struggled to his feet, feeling the servos in his armor whine in protest. He was tired, down to his very soul, but there could be no rest. The enemies of the Prophets were legion, and he would meet them with fire and fury until his last breath, and beyond.
"For the Prophets," he whispered, the words a bitter sacrament on his tongue. "For the Prophets, we praise the fallen."
Sergeant Kravos shouldered his boltgun and marched into the gathering darkness.
And this story was just beginning.
Praise the Fallen
Brothers and sisters, heed the call! In a galaxy where hope is a fleeting dream and survival is a miracle, YOU are the last line of defense. YOU are the ones who will stand against the encroaching darkness, even as it peels away your humanity, piece by screaming piece.
Praise the Fallen thrusts you into a universe that will feel achingly familiar to veterans of the 41st millennium - a place where war is the only constant, where faith is measured in blood spilled and worlds burned. Like the heroes of the legions, you'll take up arms against horrific foes and march unflinchingly into the meat grinder.
But this isn't just another bug hunt. Praise the Fallen drags you down into the mud and blood, into the shattered minds and hollowed souls of those who die over and over again in service to a cause that lost all meaning generations ago. You'll stare into the abyss of what endless war can do to a human being... and you'll discover what stares back.
The rules of the game are as bleak and unforgiving as the setting. There are no "experience points" or "level ups" here - only the gradual erosion of everything that once made you human. You'll gain power, oh yes, but only by embracing the twisting, corrupting influence of the emptiness that now lurks where your heart used to be.
As a GM, you'll have all the tools you need to craft harrowing tales of sacrifice and damnation. You'll challenge your players with impossible choices, test the limits of their loyalty, and force them to confront the reality that in this universe, even a "victory" can break the spirit. Will they hold the line as their comrades fall screaming around them? Will they follow orders they know will doom entire worlds? What will they become in the name of duty?
Ready your boltgun, check your mag-locks, and prepare to Praise the Fallen. Because in this future, the only thing crueler than the foe is the cause you serve.
SUFFER NOT THE ALIEN, THE MUTANT, THE HERETIC.
WE DIE IN GLORY! THE PROPHETS LIVE!
PRAISE THE FALLEN!