“It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the vast Imperium of Man for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day so that he may never truly die.Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor’s will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat to humanity from aliens, heretics, mutants — and far, far worse. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.”

The Lost and the Damned: that is what they are called within the shackles of the Imperium of Man. They are the Outcast, the Heretic, the Witch, and the Traitor. They are all that which the Imperium fears and loathes. Beyond the confines of Imperial space they mass, giving praise to their Dark Gods and reveling in sweet blasphemy. The Screaming Vortex: it is a place no sane man would willingly travel. A place where the fabric of space and time bleeds with the power of the Warp, only the most vile of heretics call the Vortex home. Here, Traitor Space Marines cross paths with scheming Apostates and Warp-Mad Psykers commune with the Daemonic hosts. Small Warbands crop up in droves within the Vortex. Blessed by the Ruinous Powers, some of the bands rise to lofty heights, possibly even spearheading a Black Crusade against the servants of the False Emperor. For others, the fate is an ignominious death and an unmarked grave. The Covenant of Fallen Stars is one such group. Guided by cryptic writings and mad visions, they have been drawn together by the Will of the Dark Gods, but for what purpose? As they travel to distant worlds, scour ancient temples and plunder forgotten tombs of old, they must find unity in Chaos and power in madness. And every step of the way, they are haunted by cryptic visions, by Dreams of Fallen Stars. But are those dreams a warning, or a promise?

Dreams of Fallen Stars