It has been created for those Warhammer 40,000 hobbyists who prefer a carefully levelled strategic playing field. Your hearts will throb and cry when you hear him.If you are new to Warhammer 40,000 and this is the first Grand Tournament mission pack you have read, then the content of this pack is intended to be perfect for use in official gaming tournaments and competitive matched play environments. Here's your captain: let him explain everything. My heart isn't made of flint or steel, and I can't talk about all our suffering without crying- so I'll have to stop talking, even when you should listen most closely to what I have to say. Tell us what Sinon has betrayed us, or who brought in the Trojan horse that has caused civil war in Rome.

Speak as eloquently as Aeneas when he told lovesick Dido about the fall of Troy-that destructive, burning night when the Greeks surprised King Priam's city.

But if white hair and wrinkles (the signs of experience) can't convince you to listen to me. The empire that once defeated many mighty kingdoms will, like a pitiful and desperate person shipwrecked on an island, collapse. If we don't, Rome will be a curse to herself. You sad-looking men, people, and sons of Rome-torn apart by conflict, scattered like a flock of birds in the wind- we'll show you how to put this broken body back together again, how to put the scattered corn back into its sheaf. Here is a captain, let him tell the tale Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. My heart is not compact of flint nor steel Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, But floods of tears will drown my oratory, And break my utterance, even in the time When it should move you to attend me most, Lending your kind commiseration. But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, Grave witnesses of true experience, Cannot induce you to attend my words, Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor, When with his solemn tongue he did discourse To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear The story of that baleful burning night When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam's Troy, Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, Or who hath brought the fatal engine in That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.

You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome, By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, O, let me teach you how to knit again This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, These broken limbs again into one body Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, And she whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to, Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, Do shameful execution on herself.

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