Attention, Guardsman!

It has come to the attention of Imperial High Command that morale in your sector is dangerously low this Candlemass season, possibly due to the mysterious accidental deaths of all your Regimental Commissars. Our Tech-Adepts are hard at work fixing the “sudden involuntary discharge” issue many claim to have with your lasguns, while for the issue of your morale we have recruited His Revered Holiness Rudolph Crispin, a renowned preacher of the Adeptus Ministorum, to share a special festive story with you all.

His Reverend Holiness Rudolph Crispin:

Greetings, Guardsmen.

Gather round and hear thee a most heartwarming tale.

Twas the night before Candlemass, and all was quiet on Vortis IV. Regular shelling had permanently altered the atmosphere of the once-temperate world, causing an unnatural winter. Assigned to destroy the barbaric Orks, the Nordikan 1225th had lost all hope, the front having turned into a frozen quagmire. Even the Orks seemed to have lost the will to fight, and both sides brooded in their trenches, neither making any ground across various bitter skirmishes.

All hope seemed lost – and then…

Someone in the trenches was singing. Very faintly, the Guardsmen could hear in the vile tongue of the Orks:

“Ere we go, ere we go, ere we go”… Eager not to be outdone, the Guardsmen piped up with a rousing chorus of “The Wrath of The Emperor Is My Sword”.

As the singing continued, one Junior Private climbed out of the trench, leaving his rifle behind. On the other side, an Ork boy appeared to be doing the same. Silence fell, as the two combatants approached one another. The Ork reached his hand out, and the Private took it.

“Merry Candlemass”, said the Private, smiling. He then drew the combat knife he had hidden in his boot to perform a flawless 3-point strike, killing the Ork instantly. A cheer went up! Inspired, the once-downcast men of the Nordikan 1225th affixed bayonets and charged into no man’s land, catching the Orks completely by surprise and massacring them right down to the smallest gretchin. Spontaneous games of foot-the-ball broke out, with Guardsmen improvising using squigs or the heads of their enemies.* It was a Feast of St. Niccolo miracle! Now, when Guardsmen feel downcast, they think to the Nordikan 1225th for inspiration, and are reminded of how their sudden courage was still no excuse for their lack of zeal as their commanding officers were court-martialed and executed following the completion of the Vortis IV campaign.

There you have it, Guardsman! Faith can come from the strangest of places. This Candlemass, show your love for the Emperor with the greatest gift of all – xenocide.

Thought for the Day: “The Emperor bestows upon us the gift of intolerance.”

* For which they were later punished, and one trooper lost his foot to squig-bite.

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