Focus sur les titres Black Library anciens et encore inédits en France

LIEUTENANT KAGE, CONVICT of the 13th Penal Legion and probably its longest surviving recruit, has once more come to the attention of his ruthless old commanding officer, the Colonel. Joined with a brand new team of Last Chancers, Kage is sent on a suicide mission to the war-torn planet of Armageddon to hunt down and assassinate one of the most dangerous traitors to the Imperium – former planetary overlord Herman von Strab. However, the Third Armageddon War is still raging fiercely and the Last Chancers will have to fight through orks, rebels and even the planet itself if they are to succeed in their mission.

Warp-dreams
It’s a dream. A nightmare, in fact. I can tell, because I know I went to sleep on my bunk as normal, wrapped in a thin grey blanket, and there’s no other way I could have ended up plummeting down a chasm into a roaring inferno. But it’s not really a nightmare, because I’m calm about the whole thing. I should have been terrified as I plunged down into the fiery depths, falling through smoke, my skin burning from my flesh, the flesh blowing away from my bones as ash.
It’s a warp-dream, horribly real in every sensation, more lifelike than life itself. Everything is sharper, clearer, more bright and focussed. Through eyeballs that have long since exploded into steam, I can see the cracks and crannies of the chasm wall, and small red eyes peering back at me through the fumes. The wind that screams into my cindered ears is sharp and loud. The flames that lick up from below, bursting forth from a river of boiling magma, are searing hot.
So why is there no pain? Why am I not afraid?
I don’t feel as if I’m dying, just changing. I was once a clumsy, pain-ridden, emotional husk of a body, but now I am unfettered by its restrictions and my soul is allowed to burst free. Wings erupt from my back, and suddenly I’m soaring on the thermals, swooping and diving amongst the rising flames.
I laugh, though there is no sound. I delight in the freedom, the ease of movement as I climb upwards through the smoke and then kick my legs back and dive headfirst towards theinferno. The heat washes over me like a soft caress; the blistering heat is like the warm touch of a lover awakening me.
It feels beautiful, and I feel beautiful to be experiencing it.
And then something shudders within me. Something casts me free in the same way that I freed my own body. It takes my wings with it and soars up out of sight, leaving me falling towards the flames.
The terror starts then. It wells up from the pit of my stomach and a scream is wrenched from my lips. My horror bursts forth in a wordless screech as the heat blisters my entire being.
Unimaginable pain infuses me; every fibre of my soul suffers vibrant agony. Perhaps this is damnation. Maybe this is the Abyssal Chaos that I am doomed to be thrown into once my mortal life is ended. To know joy, liberty, and then have it taken away as Iam damned for my sins – that is true torture.
I WAKE WITH sweat coating my body. With a shuddering gasp, I take in a lungful of the warm, stale ship’s air. I hate warpdreams. This one has been plaguing me for several weeks, although it’s the first time I’ve had the sensation of fear. Usually it ends with me soaring majestically out of the chasm and disappearing into a halo of pure light. Reality crashes into my senses, and for a moment I feel a disassociation with everything around me. For a split second it feels like I’m watching it from behind my own eyes. And then everything feels normal again. The bunk throbs with the vibrations that come from the ship’s deck. The air is filled with a steady humming from the machinery that keeps us alive in this hostile environment. The snores and heavy breathing of the other Last Chancers accompanies the relentless droning of the ship’s systems, and I sit up and listen, trying to detect some oddity, some change in the eternal harmony that would have woken me. It all sounds normal though. I thought perhaps we might have dropped from warp, after all we must be somewhere near our destination. We’ve been travelling for nearly a year now. A single, long, virtually impossible warp jump. I’ve never heard of such a thing before, I didn’t even know it was possible. Usually a ship Annihilation Squad 3will jump into warp space for a short time, and then jump back into the real galaxy a week, or perhaps a month later. Ships that jump further get lost, or are destroyed. I’ve heard tales of ships that got caught in warp storms, only to emerge five hundred years later, their crews aged by just a few months. And I’ve also heard of ships that have disappeared for only a week or two, and are then found drifting, the crew nothing but ashes, the ships’ logs showing that they died of old age.

Kashim9999 a écrit:Des romans w40k de BL non traduits en français, il doit y en avoir pas mal, non?

Quelqu'un a une idée de la proportion de romans traduits en français sur l'ensemble des romans? (en anglais donc)

The vile shadow of Chaos falls across the Gothic Sector at the onslaught of Warmaster Abaddon's infernal Black Crusade. Fighting a desperate rearguard action, the Imperial Battlefleet has no choice but to sacrifice dozens of planets and millions of lives to buy precious time for their scattered fleets to regroup. But what possible chance can they have when Abaddon's unholy forces have the power not just to kill men, but also to murder worlds?

Roboutte Guilliman a écrit:

Kashim9999 a écrit:Des romans w40k de BL non traduits en français, il doit y en avoir pas mal, non?

Quelqu'un a une idée de la proportion de romans traduits en français sur l'ensemble des romans? (en anglais donc)

Je dirais 10%.... car il a fallut longtemps avant qu'ils se mettent a traduire, et les vieux titres ne l'ont jamais été... et même maintenant, tout n'est pas traduit
j'aurais du continuer a les acheter en anglais....

His Company destroyed, an Apothecary of the Avenging Sons Space Marines must fulfill his oaths and safeguard the gene-seed of both the living and the dead.

Spoiler:

Battle Sister Aescarion of the Ebon Chalice pursues Castus, Champion of Nurgle, determined to bring him to repentance.

Spoiler:

A young boy is troubled by his nightmares, in particular by a beguiling Voice that seeks to lead him on a crusade against monsters.

Ferag Lion-Wolf, Champion of Tzeentch details his rise to glory as a servant of the capricious Changer of Ways...

Colonel Soth of the Ulbaran VIIIth Regiment of the Imperial Guard finds himself ordered to hold a position against Eldar raiders. His regiment, turned out for ceremonial duties and therefore under-equipped and impractically dressed, must prove themselves as combat capable, physically and mentally.

Almost forty summers ago, the monsters came to Pasternach. They slew everyone they saw and threatened to wipe the community out completely. And then the angels arrived. These tale is set on a world without much technology and to see a space marine is quite something amazing.

Commissar Von Klas is a numbered man. When the Dark Eldar came for his regiment, they decreed that ten percent of the humans be kept for entertainment. Von Klas is the last of them, the one in a million, and he intends to give his Dark Eldar captors the greatest show they'll ever see.

The Titans of the Adeptus Mechanicus are the mightiest and most glorious engines of war controlled by humanity.

Spoiler:

Xavier, a new Battle-Brother of the 4th Company of the Salamanders Space Marine Chapter discover that no matter how courageous, careful and experienced in combat you are, the most important factor in warfare is still intelligence.

THE MASSIVE, SLAB-SIDED fuselage of the Thunderhawk gunship shook and rattled as it plunged through the upper atmosphere of the planet Slato. The roaring of its massive jets and the rumbling of the air against the armoured hull filled the interior with a deafening cacophony. The air glowed around the falling gunship as the armoured beak of its cockpit and the leading edge of its stubby wings glowed white-hot with the friction of its entry from orbit.
Brother Ramesis, chaplain of the 4th Company of the Salamanders Space Marine Chapter, felt the craft hit an area of low pressure and drop several hundred feet in a couple of seconds, pushing him up into the harness which secured him to the inner side of the gunship’s fuselage. As the Thunderhawk plummeted deeper into the thick cloud of Slato’s skies the passage became smoother, and half a minute later the pilot activated the standby lights. The padded restraints arched up into the wall above Ramesis’s head with a hiss of hydraulics and he stretched his arms, the servos within his powered armour whirring quietly as they matched the movement. He felt pressure on his back as the Thunderhawk’s machinery implanted his backpack into the socket along his armour’s spine, then dropped the ablative shoulder pads down on either side of his head. Now fully armoured, Ramesis stood up and walked steadily along the decking of the Thunderhawk, passing his gaze over the twenty-six assembled Space Marines. Each was conducting their own pre-battle rituals: checking weapons, commsor armour one last time, wishing each other the Emperor’s benevolence or just praying quietly.
Ramesis activated a rune set into a bulkhead and the door to the small chapel-room slid out of sight. Stepping inside, the chaplain lit an ornate brazier in the middle of the altar and then knelt on one knee before it, bringing his clenched fists to his forehead in a sign of worship. Standing, he took his rosarius, the Shield of the Emperor, from the reliquary to the left of the altar. Kneeling again, he cupped the great arcane device in both hands, running his fingers around its circular edge, seeing his face mirrored in the twelve gems set in concentric circles on its black enamelled surface.
‘Beneficent Emperor, who rules the stars and guideth mankind,’ Ramesis chanted as his thumbs gently pressed the jewels on the rosarius in the ritual pattern, ‘Cast thy divine protection over me, your eternal servant. Though I gladly shed my blood in your honour, keep me from ignoble death so that I might continue to serve thy greatness. I live that I might serve thee. As I serve thee in life, may I serve thee in death.’ As he completed his ritual, the rosarius hummed into life.
Ramesis could feel the Emperor’s protective aura pulsing from its depths and it gladdened his soul. Hanging the rosarius’s heavy chain around his neck, Ramesis stood and turned to the reliquary to the right. From within the intricately carved wooden box, fashioned by his own hand during his time as a Chaplain Novitiate, Ramesis took out his crozius arcanum, grasping its two-foot haft tightly in both gauntleted hands. Again Ramesis knelt before the altar clutching the crozius to his chest, its eagle-shaped head resting against the similar eagle blazon embossed on the armoured plastron across his chest.
‘Beneficent Emperor, who ruleth the stars and guideth mankind. Guideth my hand that I might smite thine enemies. Invest this weapon with thine anger. Let mine arm be the instrument of thy divine wrath. As you keep me in life, let me bring death to thine enemies.’
With the invocation complete, Ramesis slid the firing stud in the haft of the crozius into its forward, active position. With a simple press of his finger, the eagle of the crozius would be surrounded by a shimmering disruption field, capable of smashing bone and shattering the thickest armour. Truly, the ways of the Machine God are miraculous, Ramesis thought.

Khârn the Betrayer leads an outnumbered unit of Khorne Berzerkers into combat with Slaaneshi cultists led by a Daemon of immense power and finds that amidst the constant death, pain and carnage, even his damned soul can be touched with joy.

Press-ganged and made into a gunner on the Imperial ship Retribution, Nathan discovers that there are far, far worse things that can happen to you in the grim darkness of the galaxy than simple forced labour...

Chaplain De Haan of the Word Bearers has a vision; the exodite Eldar ground underfoot, his mighty towers piercing the sky and great sacrifice made to Chaos. And for it all to happen, all he has to do is set his eyes on the heart of Varantha...

A tale of Hive Fleet Kraken and a fugitive Adeptus Mechanicus Genetor.

Spoiler:

On the medieval world of Sigmatus, the hated Imperium is flexing its power with ruthless efficiency. The rebels have a plan to fight back: summon a daemon from the warp and unleash it upon their enemies. In this tale we follow Dathan from a Village in the middle of nowhere and Hycilla, the wise dreamer girl (psyker). We also find Gavalon, the most powerful sorcerer on Sigmatus and leader of the forces against the Imperium and Nimian a boy who is a vessel to a daemon called Sathorael. On the other side of the conflict we have the Governador Orloc and the Inquisitor Balberith.

EVEN THOUGH GAVALON’S makeshift army had barely begun to come together, let alone seen any action, the noise and the stink of the encampment were becoming unbearable. There were too many beastmen in it, and too many men who were almost as careless in their hygiene.
Had the profession of sorcery been kinder to its followers, a man like Gavalon would have been immune to all offensive odours, and if it had been kinder still the reek of beastmen might have seemed a delicate perfume, but the world was not a kind place, even to the most faithful servant of the truest god. In the end, Gavalon had to step out of his tent in search of fresher air, but he did not find it.
In order to take his mind off the noisome quality of the air, Gavalon looked up – with a great deal of pride and a little trepidation – at the banner fluttering above his multicoloured tent, which stood out bright and clear even against the cloudless violet sky. The image painted upon it was that of a huge eye rimmed in red, with a thin purple iris surrounding a huge black pupil. A cataract of white fire jetted from the centre of the pupil, extending into a beam as wide as the banner’s hem. The fluttering device was not magically active at present, but it was menacing even as a mere image.
The eye on the banner was the all-seeing eye, the withering eye, whose gaze could blast minds and scorch them clean of any vestige of rational thought when the banner came to life. The banner that bore such an eye was more than a weapon: it was the potent symbol of Gavalon’s power and authority. It was the badge of the most powerful sorcerer in Gulzacandra, which meant the most powerful in all the world nowadays.
Gavalon was known to everyone who knew his name as Gavalon the Great, although his enemies had applied less flattering epithets to him in the days before their extermination.
Five lifetimes ago, if the intelligence of lore and legend could be trusted, the most powerful sorcerer in Gulzacandra would have been the smallest digit on a hand of five fingers, each finger symbolizing one of the five civilizations which shared the world’s three continents. But four lifetimes ago the stars had slowed their ceaseless movement in the night-sky and the Imperium had fallen from the sky in a shower of slow meteors.
Within ten years, Gavalon had been told, the Imperium had taken absolute control of Kalazendra, and within a further twenty-five years three other civilizations – Zendamora, Bulzavara and Yevelkana – had become mere puppets, slaves to imported law. Only Zendamora had been joined to Kalazendra but the seas that divided the world had not been barrier enough to protect Bulzavara and Yevelkana, or the island of Melmayaka that lay half-way between the westernmost cape of Kalazendra and the easternmost extremity of Gulzacandra. Only the girth of the world, and the wastelands and high mountains that divided the landmass shared by Yevelkana and Gulzacandra, had kept Gavalon’s homeland safe from invasion… until now.