Most of the time cultists are pictured as meatshields and speed bumps, but can they be used for anything else? Maybe they're good in a stew??
To satisfy my inner Alpha Legionaire, how do you think a single chaos cultist could infiltrate and corrupt a society that has never heard of the Imperium or Chaos?
Cultists weaken the planetary infrastructure, either by infiltration or direct force, then summon their masters to finish the job.
Particularly cunning or vicious cultists may end up becoming Chaos Marines, if I recall.
>how do you think a single chaos cultist could infiltrate and corrupt a society that has never heard of the Imperium or Chaos?
Become a charismatic leader (or convince an existing one) and teach the masses there's a different, better way. Cue Chaos.
Hweee captooored eet for kaaaaaaayyyyyosssss
Cultists who are useful or excel rarely stay cultists for long.
Cultists chan captured all our hearts.
They summon Daemons and Chaos Space Marines to their location. Great at infiltration. Sacrificial regents.
And in rare cases, warlords.
This.
Also Cultists can fuck shit up when it comes to fighting regular humans instead of fighting Space Marines.
Imagine a legion of Hooligans on cocaine swarming a police station where a dozen police officers are armed with m60's and a fuckton of ammo.
That's how it goes down until Chaos arrives.
Being a hooligan on cocaine won't help you much when your chest cavity is hollowed out by an Arbitrator's bolter.
Quantity is a quality all its own.
As a Word Bearers player, I love the use of cultist flesh bags to cushion my space marine force.
The Adeputs Arbeitus has bolters? Cool.
But killing one, ten, or a hundred cultists in a horde doesn't do much other than feed Khorne.
Which can help summon daemons if done correctly.
Kind of a shitty position for the home team
Seeing as cultists are used far more often than actual marines in chaos space marine lists, I would imagine they are useful.
You are supposed to imagine Arbitrator's cutting down swarms of cultists with bolter fire but the millions of them still attacking.
Face it, Cultist VS Guardsmen/Arbiters is the same match as Chaos Marine vs Loyalist Marine, except on a smaller scale.
Forge world rules can let you take renegades with improved BS and AP 3 hotshot lasguns, making them even more delicious.
Of course, if you look at them the wrong way, their morale breaks or they get knocked over by a gentle breeze.
> "...how shall we proceed with the attack Lord Abaddon?"
> Shit, take those billion retards that worship us and have them bum rush the loyalists until we have a meat wall and the loyalists have no ammo.
Brilliant strategy. Almost worthy of CREEEEEEEEEEE-
Well, the fewer points they have to spend on their Troops, the more points they can spend on Heldrakes.
Ehhhhhhh, most planetary rebellions seem to have the cultists HEAVILY out numbering the local PDF, especially on something like a hive world.
I wouldn't say that. Chaos Marines aren't any more swarmy than loyalists, and may even be more skilled than their counterparts, with the warp and all that.
If Chaos Marines outnumber loyalists when they engage them, it's because they have cultist and renegade and daemon support.
> Chaos Marines aren't any more swarmy than loyalists
> Chaos Marines outnumber loyalists when they engage them, it's because they have cultist and renegade and daemon support.
World Eaters user.
World.
Eaters.
Literally the definition of meat wave
I... I'd do anything for the dark masters
Go to Ground on an objective and pray they survive.
Chaos cults can actually be rather deadly given the right circumstances.
>Purple cultist pubes.
That's pretty adorable.
>blue board
MODS
Goddamnit
I got knocked over by a gentle breeze once.
It kinda hurt.
I wonder how being in the center of a World Eater attack feel like.
Well you're going to die. Your death will be a lot less painful than it might be with a lot of other chaos marines though. World eaters are just there to kill, torture isn't their agenda.
So I guess there is panic, but not the same kind of panic if it were night lords, or emperor's children.
> 40 seconds
> 40 seconds was all it had taken from Outpost #4A to fall, from initial contact to final transmission
> The Commissar stands there unmoving, cigar slowly burning away, staring at the Vox unit
> Outpost #4C is broadcasting that their auspex has detected approaching enemy
> You lean agaisnt the bunker wall and raise your recaf cup to your mouth, trying to steady yourself.
> Outpost #4C reports the auspex readings are off the charts
> The enemy is upon them
> Through the fire port, you see the bright lights illuminate the horizon and hear the distant sound of a thousand bolter's and lasguns discharging
> The vox unit now broadcasts only gunfire.
> Explosions illuminate the valley in the distance
> The ground trembles as Outpost's #4C's ammo stock goes up in flames.
> A man on the Vox unit desperately calls for aerial support. Artillery support. Anything he says.
> None of them are comming.
> The man screams.
> The Vox broadcasts static now.
> 40 seconds,
> 40 seconds had passed since Outpost #4C had reported enemy detection to this final broadcast.
> The Commissar nods.
> All men around you ready themselves.
> You drop the recaf and take your station by the Heavy Bolter. The man to your side does the same.
> For a moment both of you nod at each other and them pull your respective charging handles.
> The boltshell falls to the reciever and slams into place.
> The ground starts to tremble.
> For a moment, there is quiet.
> The ground trembles, but all sound around you dies away.
> You press your face the Heavy Bolter and scan the horizon, looking for anything that you might center your sights on.
> "Flares". says the Commissar, his sword and bolt-pistol already drawn.
> Somewhere in the fortress, Guardsmen fire flares towards the skies.
> They rocket towards the sky and start their slow descent, like shooting stars of hope.
> Maybe the enemy took a different direction.
> Maybe they would proceed to the Capital and ignore the fortress, buying time for the Astartes to arrive.
> The flares long reaching lights touch the base of the valley
> Maybe they trully marched on past.
> There is nothing.
> Nothing but darkness.
> Hope rekindles inside you.
> Then you see them.
> A million thousand charging figures.
> Chainaxes, Chainswords, Power-Flails and other crude weapons thrust in the sky
> Mismatched pieces of armor colored silver, white or blood red.
> Snarling, leather like faces, pointed teeth.
> Banners of bone and skin and skull.
> Your stomach knots inside you.
> "Fire!" yells the Commissar.
> You slam your finger home
> The silence is stabbed by the hoar of a hundred heavy bolters and a thousand small arms fire.
> The dark valley turns as bright as day as it's illuminated by tracer rounds and las-fire.
> Grenades and rockets find their home, but the enemy keeps comming.
> Tracer rounds are deflected up or back agaisnt the enemy's armor.
> The Guardsman to your side suddently finds himself missing the entirety of his upper body due to a stray ricochet.
> Like a wave of metal and flesh, the enemy keeps swarming over their valley
> Over the deafening roar of weapon discharge, they are so close now that you can hear their own roaring and chanting
> "KILL, MAIM, BURN!" they chant
> Some roar
> Some bite their lips into bloody wounds
> Most of them twitch and foam at the mouth, ignoring their missing limbs or wounds caused by gun fire.
> Like a tsunami of armored steel, they clash agaisnt the foot of the fortress.
> You fire your gun madly at all direction, not knowing if you should aim for the ones climbing up, or the ones still charging at the valley
> The enemy fall dead where they stand, but it does nothing to slow the ones behind them
> As one falls, the other uses his fallen brother as a stepping stone for climbing, or a a suitable meat shield.
> The Heavy Bolter now glows white-hot, and still it spills deadly metal down the enemy
> And still they advance, clambering and climbing, yelling, roaring, chanting.
> You aim down and see the angry eyes of one of them. You fire in his direction.
> You aim to the side and see another taking off the head of one of his fallen compatriots, holding the grizzly throphy in the sky and roaring as others charge around him.
> A great gauntleted hand reaches into the firing port. It's fingers close around on the head of the Guardsman to your left. He screams as the hand drags him out the firing port, squeezing his shoulders through the opening too small to fit a man.
> The Commissar shots at random, and yells at you to retreat
> The power is out
> You retreat to the center of the room
> With your illuminator, you see hands and feet moving past the firing ports
> "FIRE! FIRE AT WILL" yells the Commissar
> The small room becomes illuminated with bolt fire and lasgun discharge
> Something is hammering at the celling.
> Something is hammering at the wall
> There are screams everywhere. Bloodcurling screams of desperate men
> A great figure crashes throught the celling. A dozen more fall after him.
> 40 seconds.
> 40 seconds was all that had passed since you had taken your station to when the giant mailed fist cracked down on your face and the giant axe swung down on your head.
Best movie
> You awaken among the dead
> Your jaw is dislocated, there is only empty space where your teeth once stood
> Your arm is gone at the shoulder. The medicae implants in your armor have stopped the bleeding momentarily
> Strewn around you, are the corpses of the guardsmen you once commanded, or whatever remained of them.
> You sit, and with your only good arm, you instinctively pic up you Commissariat cap from the pile of guts it lays
> Sitting agaisnt a wall, you look around you
> The room is dark. The screaming and firing has died down. The badly damaged Vox unit quietly reports pleads of reinforcement and screams of terror amidst the static
> The enemy has reached the Capital
> You try to stand, and to your surprise, you hear a thick, heavly accented voice
> "I salute you for your resilience, futile as it is"
> You barely have time to look at the heavily armoured Astartes standing by the breach in the wall
> His faceplate is molded into an horrific expression of rage and murder. From his respirator a thick smog comes out
> One hand graps an Astartes pattern Plasma Pistol. The other, an oversized, cruel looking Chain-Axe etched with runes
> "Heretic!" You manage to say before the Astartes grabs you by the neck and wanks out your head