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Before anything else I would like to remind everyone that the Fate of Konor is a very special campaign indeed, as the events of this campaign are translating directly into the official background of Warhammer 40,000. Now is the time for your own miniatures, your own stories, to enter into the records of canon, in a way. So to celebrate this, I'm starting a Fate of Konor narrative thread.

Here we will recount our games from the Fate of Konor campaign as part of the story. To do so, what you need to do is visit https://konor.warhammer40000.com/ and see which part of the planet you are fighting over. Then explain in a compelling and narrative way how the campaign game that you played at your store factored into it, preferably tying in the game's campaign results at the end. For example, here's my first game of the campaign:

Week 1: Astaramis

As the Death Guard continued their advance across Astramis towards Hive Hellentia, forces within it had summoned Ba'hek'aash, a Herald of Nurgle, with a small plagueband to delay an enemy Necron Lord from reaching the Quintus Gate. Meeting the Necron Lord and his coterie in the desert border of the hive, Ba'hek'aash succeeded in its mission and destroyed the Necron Lord, but at great cost. Nearly all of the daemons sent had been wiped out, only managing to slay a few Necrons before destroying the Necron Lord itself. Perhaps as expected, the Necron Lord's remains were phased elsewhere and swiftly reanimated, as it had been seen at the exact same location later that day destroying a patrol of penitent engines, and it seemed uncertain that this Necron Lord was interested in a direct attack on the gate at all. Regardless of the true intentions of the Necron Lord, the forces of chaos had won precious access to the gate, and the xenos had taken valuable resources away from the Imperial war machine.

I'll gladly contribute to this!

Planet: ASTRAMIS

The Black Tusks warband had made planetfall on the blighted wastes outside Astramas' sprawling hives. The open terrain was a killing field, only the truly heroic or insane would set foot there. The Black Tusks were the latter. Formerly renegade mercenaries, now fully embraced by their pestilent patron they had mustered for the invasion of the Konor system alongside thousands of other traitors and were eager to slick their blades with Loyalist blood. But they were not mindless maniacs like many others. They were not so consumed by their hatred to be blind of their shortcomings. Their numbers were few, the Hives were well defended and word of Guilliman's approach had spread. Brute force was not their strength but they had a plan, one that would hopefully tip the scales in the favour of Chaos.

============================================================

Amid the sprawling cemeteries and mass graves in the wastelands there was a patch of eery tranquility. A small patch of greenery, untouched by war. The Imperium counted it as a holy place, a sacred grove where Saints and Priests were to be buried. The fact that none of the artillery, virus bombs, or orbital strikes that blanketed no-mans land had left this place unscathed was surely proof of its divinity? The truth was far darker, for it in fact was the resting place of a Necron Overlord and its unliving legion. A tomb ship, buried in past millennia long before humankind gazed at the stars above, was what was keeping this region in tact. Invisible shielding protected it from the war beyond, inadvertently crafting a verdant and lush micro-climate. And they rested no longer. Anrakyr the Traveler has woken the sleeping soldiers, intending to add them to his own growing force and leave Astramis behind. The Black Tusks saw an opportunity that could not be missed. They would strike out at the waking Xenos, antagonising them into action.
...
The Noxious Blightbringer staggered to his feet. The carnage of the Necron counter offence was nothing less than total. The entire Poxwalker infestation had been ruthlessly purged, every bacterium and virus cell atomised completely by the thorough application of gauss blasts. The Black Tusks themselves had suffered considerable damage, their corroded armour scorched and warped by the intensity of Telsa weaponry, their tainted flesh blackened and charred. Greenery was shredded and churned, as though long buried corpses had clawed their way free to reap terrible vengeance on the living. The truth was not far removed, the slumbering Xenos had awoken and now deprived of their commanders, slain in combat, the massed legions of skeletal mechanoids marched on the nearest identifiable threat - the Imperial garrisons. Under his grilled helm he smiled. This was a success shrouded in the guise of failure. He rang his cursed plague bell, the Toll of Cursed Rebirth hastening the regeneration of his fallen kin. The outer defenses were weakened, it was time to march on the Hive.

============================================================
Hordes of Poxwalkers flooded the streets amid bombardments or anti-infantry artillery. Plague was rife, tensions were high, and the morale of the defenders held barely in check by their stern and unforgiving officers. The Black Tusk had been approached by an unusual employer, a cloaked Astartes in black armour. The mysterious Space Marine's goals furthered their own, so the Warband accepted the contract without need for negotiation. Now, as they launched their assault on the dockyard's artillery strongpoint more shadowy Astartes ghosted them through the ruins. So long as they kept their distance and did not hinder the Warband's progress they were of no consequence, their employer's mistrust would be dealt with after the threat of bombardment had passed.
...
From his position overseeing the battle in the streets below, the shadowy employer watched events unfold. For now the waves of Poxwalkers had been held back, and the battered remains of the Black Tusk warband had retreated in the face of overwhelming defensive bombardment and the Imperial deployment of drop-troop re-enforcements. If it was not for their putrescent durability granted by their God the entire warband would be dead. But it was not a loss by any means. His compatriots stepped forward through the haze of smoke that had engulfed the upper levels of the district, all members of his own secretive warband. One was leaning heavily on an other, his armour warped and melted by a plasma blast. He was lucky to live. "It's a rout," he rasped through the vox grille of his helm. "Those Nurgle-worshipping dogs failed."
His thoughts were interrupted by a violent explosion and shouting from below. Peering over the building's ledge they saw anarchy unfold below.
the robed leader's voice was barely a whisper, heard only on account of the sensitive audio receptors and superhuman hearing of his peers. "The command structure of the defense contingency is dead. Fear and despair takes hold. Without order, without structure. In their paranoia they take the sword to their own," the corner of his mouth turned upwards in a smile. "The Voice of The Emperor will return to lead his wayward flock. Stick to the shadows brothers, you will be needed."
With his last words he stepped off the ledge and plummeted into the swirling maelstrom of smoke and debris below.
============================================================

My Night Lords army got tabled by a SW player during today's game. It might make for an interesting narrative.

I thought Fonzi had already thumbsed up the DG atleast according to the fluff.

Really looking forward to this! Konor is a great way to begin my adventures in 8th ed. I'll happily contribute to his thread. We are adding a slight narrative to our games.

Game 1 - The sons of Guilliman foolishly attempt to halt the intervention from the kin of Eldrad,

Anderain watches the failing glow behind the eye lens flicker suddenly then fade away forever. The Autarch slowly reverses his jetbike from the ruined wall he had pinned his victim to. The bisected corpse sliding off the prow of his bike on a wave of crimson. He glides over city rubble, now polluted with patches of oil and fire, blood and smoke. Around him sprawling figures scatter the ground, the transhuman litter of an Ulthwe Blitzkrieg. The Ultramarines fought bravely. Notably their leader and his bodyguard of veterans, with storm shields held high they fended off much of his Warhost's attentions. But fall they did, their mission ultimately unfulfilled. The warm glow of his victory quickly flees as his eyes found the mangled wreckage of the lost unit of Windriders. Their lives given willingly before he had even asked the question of them. A necessary sacrifice to distract his enemies so that Anderain could achieve victory that little bit earlier. Their loss pained him, he would care for their Spirit Stones personally and place them with honour into the Infinity Circuit himself . As he tears his eyes away from the ruin of his kin he finds himself under the close examination of Galarth the Flesh Weaver. Oval pools of darkest pitch gaze out at him over an ever ticking Carcharadon smile. Drinking in the pain in Anderain's soul. The ancient Homunculus rises above the body of a fallen Space Marine, his hunched, crafted frame supported upon a tail of stolen vertebrae. He jabs the man with a naked foot and is rewarded with a grunt of pain. The shark toothed smile spreads impossibly wide as he reveals a cruel looking flensing blade.
Anderain allows his bike to drift away as he feels the gentle spider silk call of another’s mind. His mind and that of Farseer Vanalia swim together, melting together to become one. “The battle is won my heart” she smiles “ Come let us whisper, I have tales to tell”.

I'll bite! been wanting to write something recently.


Week 2: Fuel-swamps of Konor:

High Magos Anguis Diode watched as his targeting calculations took effect, and within moments the Kastelen robots behind him shifted their aim, servos whining. The sound of heavy phosphor guns ripped through the air, and he was pleased to see that it had it's intended affect. The squad of Eldar Fire Drakes were all but evaporated from the torrent of fire, their bodies ripped asunder and falling into the chemical waste below them, while at the same time a squad of dire avengers were ripped apart as they darted from a clutch of trees. Diode's gaze turned towards the monstrous form of a wraithlord charging to his lines, and another silent command saw it get crushed under it's own weight thanks to the guns of his servitors.

He was pleased that his calculations were as flawless as ever, and yet it irked him that he had no knowledge on this Xenos warband. No man could fathom the games they played with fate, but Diode wanted to know why they were assaulting imperial positions when the rest of their kind seemed to help the Imperium as it fought the forces of chaos. He supposed it didn't matter too much... He mulled it over as he busied himself, giving commands to his reclamation servitors nearby. He knew that the mechanicus had centuries worth of information on the tanks known as Fire-Prisms, but he was eager to examine one himself after this battle was over. What a great opportunity to be ha-
<umm... Lord diode?>
Diode's head snapped back, his eyes scanning to the Kastelen's Datasmith through the Reptilian deathmask he wore, a bit annoyed that he was brought out of his thoughts so quickly. The data-smith pointed with his power-fist towards the front-line, and the High Magos turned to see what could be so important. He turned his abeyant in time to see the peculiar sight of a waveserpeant swoop down to ram his detachment's imperial knight, who by this point was limping back, each step sending sparks from his damaged leg and carapace. Diode cursed in binary, ashamed that even after a century and a half of combat experience the thought of ripping something apart still distracted him this much!

Diode gave the Knight's pilot a command to retreat, and as the machine stepped back he activated his abeyant's melta-array. With a flash of light the hovertank was blasted from the air, the ray piercing the ship's hull, the pieces scattering into the toxic swamp water, setting fire to a small patch where the oil floated above the run-off water. The limping knight, his carapace sparking with electrical discharge, turned and blasted the Eldar Warlock with his cannon, sending the bike's wreckage into the swamp as well. Diode let out a very human like sigh as he refreshed his processor's functions once again, getting his mind on track and canceling the scavanger's orders. They were still in a warzone after all, and though the Xenos were corpses smoldering in promethium run-off he knew the 413th had many more battles to fight. He sent his report to high command and turned his throne towards the imperial knight, activating the repair mechandrites hidden within to make the field repairs this machine so desperately needed. He set to work, repairing and sealing the damage done to the knight's chassis as a part of his mind worked on how to turn a swamp full of waste promethium into something useful...