Lately, I’ve been building a Genestealer Cults army for Warhammer 40K and a band of gribbly desperadoes for Kill Team. And, well, one thing led to another and now here I am having written a bunch of lore and stuff that explains my army’s roots. What has happened to me. I even designed a bloody cult symbol.
Anyway, I like the cult because they occupy a particularly tragi-fun corner of 40K. Genestealer Cults are revolutionaries, oppressed workers of the Forge Worlds and hives who believe a god is going to come from the sky to break their chains. Unfortunately, that god is the Tyranids, voracious horrors which strip planets of all life and devour it. The cultists don’t realise that they’re preparing the way for a Tyranid invasion in which they’ll be devoured, too.
It’s Lovecraft meets Marx meets epic spacewars and it means painting lots of purple hybrid alien skin, green chitin and yellow industrial tools. I love them. And here’s a story thing I wrote which sets up Advent of the Flood’s modus operandi – or what they think it is.
The Sky’s Gift
“Our All Mother had never felt the gentle touch of rain before She first visited this world. When She emerged from the cargo hold in which She passed Her long voyage, She was besmeared with the filth of Man. But Agripinaa’s rain washed Her chitin and bone and left it gleaming once more. Our All Mother understood that she had been anointed by a gift from the sky, and She cast Her eyes down and saw it could also wash the people of this world.
“And in that moment, She determined that She would devote Her spirit to raising a brood of Her children in order to bring about a Great Flood.
“But as She embarked on Her project, the unfaithful, who hide from the purifying rain and corrupt their gene-strains with machines, tried to hunt her down. Our All Mother was forced to hide in the forgotten underways, far from the Sky’s Gift, and there in the dark She has nurtured and prepared us for Her great work.
“We have multiplied, planned and built. We have gathered weapons and machinery, and worked our influence into the world to draw secret support for our cause. Now the Flood draws near, and not before time. Just as our All Mother, we have become grimy.
“We shall wash our red robes, which signify the Sky’s Gift. We shall polish our knives, which will cut our way to freedom. We shall gush from the ground in a deluge which will purify this world. And then our All Mother shall begin her gentle vermilion reign.”