WARHAMMER 40,000: SPACE MARINE
Hur-hur-hur, tabletop wargamers. Basement-dwelling,
can’t-get-a-date, chubtastic pizza-assimilating Jeff Albertsons
playing bang-bangs with painstakingly Humbrol-swaddled toy
Well, the stereotype goes something like that, but stereotypes are
So, onto the latest Warhammer incarnation to escape the
shackles of tabletoppedness. Being from Games Workshop we admit to
preparedness for something turgid and turn-based, likely involving
hexagons. So, imagine our glee (note, not the capitalised type, now
THAT’s dorky) upon discovering a rip-roaring, actionificent
third-person shooter bulging with cool melee weapons, oomphtastic
ranged kill-inducers, jetpacks and enough red stuff to get any blood
bank through the severest of world plasmatic crises – and no
honeycomb grid in sight! We learned something today.
Initially it looks like the Romans are fielding an NFL team this
season. These Space Marine dudes are buff. Really buff. That they’ve
been pumped full of enhancements, backup organs (they’ve two hearts,
like Phil Collins sang about, even though he doesn’t even have one)
and more growth hormone than has sprayed the West Coast Eagles’
clubroom urinals likely responsible. We’re guessing that their
sexist attitudes are innate.
Anyway, a ‘Forge World’ has been invaded by fucktonnes of mutie
Shreks called ‘Orks’, who’ve thick Mockney accents. If they don’t
exterminate you then they’ll likely tell you to dry your eyes mate
before attempting to flog you a motor. As Space Marine Captain
Titus, you and troops must Ork-estrate (bam!) the eradication of
these not-so-little green men.
Cue that funky weaponry (white boy). Even your standard melee little
friend, the chainsword, jovially extracts claret enough to make
George Romero greenishly-envious (shit, he may be an Ork, kill
him!). Seamlessly flip between close and distant combat, absorb Ork
lifeforce and do it for the humans, alone or online.
Space Marine eschews brains for brawn and sexes up the
tabletop. Fuck the stereotypes.