Weapons39

A boltgun's magazine, loaded with sanctified, purity-sealed shells. That is all Abhor-the-Witch rounds are — the crusade's abhorrence of the sorcerer forged into ammunition, each shell blessed and reliquary-cased, a prayer with a firing cap. Where it strikes it tears rather than merely punches, carrying the Rending edge of consecrated mass-reactive fire. Against a witch the rounds bite hardest of all: fired at a fighter who bends the warp, the bolter re-rolls its failed Wound rolls, the blessing seeking the sorcerer's flesh through whatever unnatural ward he raises. This is the line Initiate's answer to the enemy no honest blade should have to face — faith made a bolt-round, aimed at the thing the Templars were sworn to purge.

The Emperor's Champion bears the Black Sword. No other may carry it. A great two-handed power blade older than most Chapters, its edge wrapped in a disruption field that shears ceramite and plate alike — swung in both hands it lands with crushing weight, cleaving deep where a lighter blade would only glance. Its ancient guard still turns a stroke aside in the press. This is the sword of the duel, raised by the chosen against the single foe he has sworn to kill: a Relic blade carrying the Power and Parry traits behind the reach of a two-handed grip.

The Crusader power maul weds a Chaplain's crozius head to a heavy power-maul haft — a veteran crusader's blessed bludgeon, wielded by a brother who has earned the right to carry the Chapter's wrath in blunt form. Wrapped in a disruption field, it lands with crushing weight, folding armour where a lighter edge would skid, and a warrior caught by its head reels from the Concussion of the blow, thrown off his footing and slowed in the exchange. It is a weapon of the press and the charge, made to stagger a hardened foe long enough for the sworn line to close and finish him.

Forged in echo of the Champion's Black Sword, the Sword Brethren blade is a two-handed master-crafted power sword — a relic-pattern greatblade granted to a veteran who has bled for it in the crusade's hardest fighting. Swung in both hands it cuts deeper than a common power weapon. It carries weight enough to shear through plate and the warrior behind it, and its exquisite craft still turns a stroke aside in the melee. Not the unique relic itself. But a blade worthy of the brotherhood whose name it bears, and the mark of a Sword Brother raised toward the Champion's shadow.

One master of the Chapter hands it to the next. The Sword of the High Marshals is borne only by the High Marshal who leads the crusade — a Master-Crafted power sword of exquisite balance, finding the gap in a guard where a common blade would turn, its ancient craft still warding a stroke aside in the melee. This is Helbrecht's pattern, and the masters' before him. A Relic that marks the warlord as surely as any banner, carried at the head of every charge.

The assault cannon is a rotary hurricane of fire, its spinning barrels spitting shells faster than any single-breech weapon can manage. Its Rapid Fire trait is that torrent made rule — a wall of rounds that overwhelms through sheer weight of impacts, not the precision of any one. The Rending edge lets the storm bite into armour it has no business cracking, chewing through hull and plate where a lesser gun would spark and glance away. It is too heavy for a foot-slogging brother to control. It belongs on a mount or a hardpoint, where the frame can soak its recoil. Fast movers, light armour — nothing that trusts to speed or a thin skin outruns a stream this dense.

The Astartes shotgun is the neophyte's weapon, a rugged short-ranged gun favoured by Scouts who fight from ambush. It throws a spreading pattern of shot, its Scattershot trait making it forgiving at close quarters and vicious against a foe caught in the open. It lacks the armour-splitting bite of a bolt weapon, but in the hands of a Scout who has let the enemy stray too near, it is more than enough to open the fight on the Chapter's terms.

The autocannon is a long-barrelled hammer, throwing heavy self-propelled shells that punch clean through light armour and reach far across the field to do it. It sits between the bolter storms and the tank-killers: strong enough to crack a transport's flank or fell a heavy trooper, but firing at a cadence that lets it worry a target rather than annihilate it in one strike. Its Knockback staggers what it does not kill outright, spoiling a foe's advance and pinning it under follow-up fire. Braced on a turret ring it is a patient, punishing gun — the mainstay armament of the Chapter's battle tanks, chosen when the crew wants reach and reliability over the all-or-nothing beam of the heavier weapons.

The bolt carbine is the trimmed-down bolt weapon of the Chapter's stealth brethren — shorter of barrel, lighter than the boltgun. It trades a measure of range and stopping power for a faster cycle, its Rapid Fire trait loosing a heavier stream of rounds at the close distances a Phobos brother prefers. This is the weapon of the swift strike. Carried by warriors who mean to be gone before the return fire lands.

The boltgun is the disciplined workhorse of the Adeptus Astartes, the weapon a battle-brother carries as naturally as he breathes. Each round is a self-propelled, mass-reactive shell that punches into a body before it detonates, so a single hit does the work of a burst from a lesser gun. Its Rapid Fire trait rewards a brother who holds his ground and pours in fire. It is not a weapon of flourish but of relentless, drilled competence — the sound of a Chapter advancing.

The bolt pistol is the boltgun's close-quarters brother — a mass-reactive sidearm compact enough to swing in one hand while a blade works in the other. It carries the same detonating bite over shorter reach. Its Pistol trait lets a brother fire even as the enemy closes to the blade. Every Marine carries one as a matter of course, the answer when the range collapses and there is no time to bring the longarm to bear.

The bolt sniper rifle is the patient weapon of the Chapter's marksmen — a long-barrelled bolt weapon built to reach across the battlefield. Its Marksman trait lets its bearer pick his target rather than take what the fight offers. Its Silent trait keeps his position hidden as enemy after enemy falls. This is a weapon of removal, not suppression: the Eliminator or Scout who carries it ends a warlord, a heavy gunner, a leader — and does it before the foe knows the strike force is in range.

The chainfist is a power fist crowned with a churning adamantine blade — built to open what even a power fist cannot. Its Power trait and that savage edge tear through bulkheads, walker plate, the thickest armour a foe can wear. Like the fist, it is Unwieldy: slow to bring to bear, no weapon for a swift exchange. It is the tool the Terminator elite reach for when a wall, a hatch or a monster's hide is all that stands between the strike force and its objective.

The chainsword is the close-quarters mainstay of the Adeptus Astartes, a blade of whirring adamantine teeth that tear rather than cut. Its Rending trait lets those teeth catch and bite through armour that would stop a plain edge, and its Parry trait turns it as readily to defence as attack. Every brother knows its use. It is not an elegant weapon but a brutal, reliable one — the rising snarl of its motor as a Marine closes to arm's reach is often the last sound a foe hears.

The combat knife is the simplest weapon a brother carries, a heavy blade for the work that guns cannot do quietly. In the hands of a Scout or Reiver its Backstab trait turns a strike from an unseen angle into a killing blow, the reward for a warrior who has closed on his prey unnoticed. It ends a sentry, a straggler or a distracted foe without a sound — the weapon of the ambush that opens a fight the enemy never knew had begun.

The crozius arcanum is the Chaplain's badge of office and his weapon of faith — a heavy mace crowned with an energy-wreathed head. Its Power trait smashes through armour, and in a Chaplain's grip each blow carries the weight of his zeal as much as his transhuman strength. Only the keepers of the Chapter's soul bear one. Where it falls, it falls as both a killing stroke and a sermon written in the enemy's ruin.

The flamer is the strike force's cleansing arm — a lung-and-tank weapon that vomits a broad tongue of burning promethium. Its Template trait catches every foe in the cone at once. Its Blaze trait sees them burn on after the flame has passed. Cover means nothing to it; the angle of a foe's armour means less. Fire finds the gaps a bolt cannot. A brother carries it to break a dug-in enemy — to purge a position the Chapter would rather not storm shot by shot.

The force weapon is a Librarian's blade, a conduit for the psychic will as much as an edge of adamantine. Its Power trait carries it through armour, and its Psi trait lets its wielder pour his mind's strength down the blade, turning a wound into something far deadlier than steel alone could inflict. Only a sanctioned psyker may bear one. In his hands it is a weapon against which armour is no defence and the warp itself is the killing agent.

The frag grenade is the strike force's standard thrown charge — a fragmentation bomb that bursts into a lethal spray of shrapnel. Its Blast trait catches a cluster of foes at once. That makes it the answer to infantry packed together, or sheltering behind cover a bolt round cannot reach. Every brother carries a few, ready to pitch into a doorway, a trench, a knot of the enemy — and break them up before the charge goes in.

The grav-gun turns the enemy's own mass into the weapon. Its Graviton trait crushes a target under a sudden, unbearable pull of gravity, and the better armoured and heavier the foe, the more savagely it is punished — plate and bone alike buckling inward. It is a specialist's arm, prized against the elite and the armoured where a conventional round might glance away. Against the lightly clad it is merely lethal; against a foe in heavy plate it is a horror.

The Astartes grenade launcher lets a single brother throw the weight of a grenade far past a mortal arm's reach. It fires two natures of round: a fragmentation shell whose Blast trait scours a cluster of foes at once, and a heavier krak charge whose Knockback trait staggers armour and walkers. One brother with it answers whatever the fight demands — massed infantry in the open, or a hard target that needs a concentrated blow — simply by choosing which round to chamber.

The hand flamer is a compact promethium weapon, a gout of burning fuel thrown from a fist-sized igniter. Its Template trait sweeps a cone of fire across everything in its path, and its Blaze trait leaves the survivors wreathed in flame. Small enough to carry as a sidearm, it is the answer to a foe who clusters or hides in cover — no aim required, only the will to set a swathe of the battlefield alight.

The heavy bolter is the boltgun's monstrous cousin — a crew-served volume of fire brought to bear by a single Astartes. It throws fist-sized mass-reactive shells in a relentless stream, its Rapid Fire trait sweeping infantry from the field and cracking light armour with the same disdain. The Unwieldy trait is the price of that firepower. It is no weapon for a brother on the move. Braced and firing, it is the anchor of a Devastator line — a wall of detonations nothing lightly held can cross.

The heavy flamer is cleansing fire made overwhelming, a broad and blistering tongue of promethium that engulfs whole squads. Its Template trait catches everything before it, its Blaze trait sees them burn long after, and its greater heat scorns cover and light armour alike. The Unwieldy trait keeps it to the hands of the heaviest-armoured brethren, who wade forward behind it. Where the flamer purges a position, the heavy flamer erases it.

The inferno pistol is a hand-held melta weapon — a stub of a gun that spits a lance of atomic heat. Its reach is contemptibly short. Within it, nothing endures: the Melta trait tears through the heaviest plate and boils the being beneath to vapour. A veteran carries it for the single moment that decides a fight. Pressed almost against a warlord or a war-engine, one shot — and whatever it was is simply gone.

The krak grenade is the frag's armour-cracking counterpart — a shaped charge that concentrates its blast into a single punching detonation. Where frag scatters, krak bites. Its Knockback trait staggers a walker or a heavily armoured foe, and its focused force cracks plate that shrugs off small-arms fire. A brother keeps one for the tank, the bulkhead, the monster a thrown fragmentation charge would only scratch.

The lascannon is the strike force's answer to armour nothing else can touch. It looses a single blinding beam of coherent light — clean through a tank's hull or a monster's flank, and out the far side. Its long reach lets a Devastator engage the enemy's heaviest assets before they can bring their own guns to bear. The Unwieldy trait is the toll of that hitting power: fired from a braced position, never on the advance. But one clean strike is all it needs.

Lightning claws are worn as a matched pair — each a set of energy-sheathed talons that flense armour to ribbons. Their Rending trait sees the blades catch and tear through plate. Their Paired trait rewards the two-weapon fighter with a flurry of extra strikes. This is the arm of the Vanguard and the Terminator assault brother: a whirl of shearing energy that buries a single foe under more blows than it can hope to turn aside.

The meltagun is a tank-killer in a brother's hands — a beam of atomic heat that reduces armour to running slag. Within its short reach the Melta trait makes a mockery of the heaviest protection, gutting a walker or a warlord in a single searing pulse. Its Scarce trait is the toll of that power: the charges are few, and a brother must choose his moment. It is the weapon a Chapter reaches for when something on the field is simply too armoured to kill any other way.

The missile launcher is the Devastator's most versatile heavy arm, a shoulder-borne tube that answers almost any threat depending on the warhead chambered. A frag missile's Blast trait scythes through massed infantry; a krak missile's Knockback trait staggers and cracks armour and walkers. Its long reach lets a brother strike across the whole battlefield, and only its Unwieldy trait — which keeps it braced rather than firing on the move — sets any limit on it. One brother, one launcher, and a Chapter has an answer to whatever it faces.

The multi-melta is a melta weapon built for the heaviest work — twin thermal beams that reduce a war-engine to a pool of glowing metal. Within its reach the Melta trait renders armour meaningless, and its shots land with a weight that fells even the largest foe outright. The Unwieldy trait ties it to a braced stance; it is one of the Devastator's heaviest burdens to carry. A Chapter fields it to kill tanks, walkers and monsters — the targets that laugh at anything less.

The plasma cannon is star-fire scaled to a siege weapon — a seething ball of plasma that bursts over its target. Its Blast trait catches everything nearby. Driven to Overcharge, it burns through the heaviest plate as readily as flesh. That same fury makes it perilous to its bearer, and its Unwieldy trait keeps it braced and deliberate. It is the Devastator's answer to armoured infantry massed together: one shell, and a knot of elite foes is scattered as ash.

The plasma gun is a soldier's share of a captured star, a rifle that hurls bolts of superheated matter through armour that would turn a boltgun's rounds aside. Fired at its safe setting it is already deadly; driven to Overcharge it fells all but the most massive foes outright. That reach comes leashed to danger — its Unstable trait can see the weapon flare and burn its bearer. A veteran carries it who trusts his own hands enough to push it.

The plasma pistol channels caged star-fire into a sidearm — a weapon for officers who can be trusted with its risks. Fired safely, it burns through armour with contemptuous ease. Pushed to Overcharge, it loses nothing to any hand weapon on the field. But that power is barely leashed: its Unstable trait means the gun can turn on the one who wields it. Its Pistol trait keeps it ready in the melee, where a Captain ends a duel with a single searing bolt.

The power fist is a gauntlet wreathed in a disruptive field, turning a brother's punch into a blow that caves in armour and shatters bone. Its Power trait ignores all but the heaviest protection. Each strike lands with crushing weight. The Unwieldy trait is the price: the fist is slow, and a swifter foe may land first — but what it does connect with rarely rises again. It is the weapon of a champion who means to break something that cannot be broken any other way.

The power sword is a blade sheathed in a crackling energy field, its edge parting armour and flesh as though they were water. Its Power trait strips away the protection a foe relies on. Its Parry trait lets its bearer turn aside a blow as surely as he lands one. It is a weapon of rank, borne by sergeants and captains — a mark of authority that is also, in a duel, the difference between the brother who walks away and the one who does not.

The storm bolter is a boltgun doubled — twin barrels firing in unison to throw out a torrent of mass-reactive shells. It is the arm of the Terminator elite, whose armour lets them stand in the open and simply drown a target in fire. Its Rapid Fire trait is that purpose in a rule: sustained, overwhelming volume that shreds a foe before it can close. Where the boltgun is discipline, the storm bolter is discipline with the brakes off.

The thunder hammer strikes with the sound and fury of a thunderclap, releasing a burst of energy on impact that hurls a foe from its feet. Its Power trait breaks armour, and its Concussion trait leaves whatever survives reeling and off-balance. The Unwieldy trait keeps it slow to swing, the burden every hammer-bearer accepts. In the hands of an Assault Terminator it is the anvil-blow of the Adeptus Astartes — one strike that ends a duel and staggers everything left standing nearby.

The Whirlwind multiple missile launcher is a battery of tubes racked over an armoured hull, salvoing a spread of missiles onto ground the crew cannot even see. It is artillery in miniature. Its Indirect Fire lets it arc ordnance over walls and ridgelines to fall on foes sheltering behind cover, and its Blast radius means a single salvo scatters a whole knot of massed infantry. The warheads are light on their own. But delivered from beyond return-fire range, dropped where the enemy thought themselves safe, they break formations apart. Unwieldy and slow to cycle, it asks patience and a spotter — and rewards both by making no position on the field truly out of reach.