It all started innocently enough. I picked up Metaphor: ReFantazio, a JRPG promising a deep dive into high fantasy, filled with quests, mystical lands, and races both familiar and new. The game’s immersive storytelling and enchanting world became a daily escape, pulling me deeper with each session. I became engrossed in the Kingdom of Euchronia, where humans, elves, dwarves, and other beings coexist in a tapestry woven with ancient magic and epic destinies. With the Archetype system, I could tailor each character’s abilities to fit their story and my playstyle, experimenting and refining as I went along. My protagonist and his companion, Gallica, traversed a landscape where magic and myth thrived, a place where heroes were shaped by choices and where hope was always within reach.
But after weeks in Euchronia’s vibrant world, I began craving something different. High fantasy had inspired me, but I wanted a new experience, something that would balance this lush optimism with a harsher, grittier perspective. I sought a narrative that explored what happens when hope fades and heroism gives way to survival. It was then that I stumbled upon the grim, dystopian universe of Warhammer 40,000. The stark contrast was captivating, yet I found unexpected similarities too. Like the classic fantasy races in Metaphor: ReFantazio, Warhammer 40K offered factions rich in culture and history, with intricate conflicts and legacies that had spanned millennia. However, unlike the light and magic of Euchronia, the future of Warhammer was shrouded in darkness.
Among the myriad factions in Warhammer 40K, the Death Guard stood out to me immediately. Here was a legion with a history as tragic and layered as any tale of cursed knights or fallen kings. They were originally defenders of humanity, Space Marines renowned for their endurance and fearlessness. Yet their determination to overcome any obstacle led them down a path of no return. Under the influence of Mortarion, their Primarch, they made a pact with Nurgle, the Chaos God of decay, to survive a deadly plague, trading their humanity and honor for eternal resilience. The Death Guard transformed from noble warriors into grotesque harbingers of disease, condemned to an eternity of rot. Their story felt like a dark mirror to the heroic quests in Metaphor, an exploration of what happens when pride and ambition drive warriors beyond redemption.
Though vastly different, both Metaphor and Warhammer 40K delve into themes of transformation, sacrifice, and the consequences of unchecked ambition. In Metaphor, curses could be broken, darkness could be conquered, and heroes could rise anew. In Warhammer, however, redemption is rare; sacrifices are more often punishments, a reminder that fate can be merciless. Despite this bleak outlook, I found something oddly inspiring in the Death Guard’s lore—a story of resilience, even if it’s twisted by the influence of Chaos. The Death Guard are tragic figures, and their moral ambiguity gives them depth. They are victims of their own pride, cursed with an immortality that’s more suffering than salvation, and their decay embodies a beauty in the grotesque, a haunting reminder of how easily hope can be corrupted.
My fascination with the Death Guard’s lore soon transformed into a passion for painting the miniatures. Each model was a study in decay, a perfect canvas for experimenting with corrosion, rust, and filth. Instead of vibrant colors and gleaming armor, I was working with muted greens, browns, and ochres, capturing the textures of disease and rot. Where Metaphor inspired with its bright, ethereal designs, the Death Guard demanded an almost visceral creativity. Painting them became an exercise in storytelling, as each detail—a rusted weapon, a patch of infected flesh—told a part of their tale. The contrast was deeply satisfying, challenging me in new ways as I shifted from the hopeful fantasy of Metaphor to the gritty realism of Warhammer.
This transition was more than just aesthetic; it was a shift in mindset. Painting my Death Guard army became a therapeutic, almost meditative routine, as I tried to capture the essence of decay and despair. The process was unexpectedly immersive, with each model feeling like a unique expression of the Death Guard’s eternal suffering. It drew me deeper into the lore, with Mortarion’s backstory and the Plague Marines’ descent into Chaos coming alive with each brushstroke. Where Metaphor showed me a world of heroes fighting to save their lands, my Death Guard army became a tribute to warriors cursed to fight forever, transformed by a universe that offered only harsh lessons.
As I painted, I connected with the broader Warhammer community, a group of fans who shared my fascination with the darker aspects of fantasy. Here, others were just as passionate about creating and sharing their armies, discussing lore, and trading painting techniques. The conversations felt similar to the ones I’d had around Metaphor, with fans theorising about plot twists or uncovering hidden meanings, only this time, it was a communal appreciation for the tragedy and inevitability of the Death Guard’s fate.
The experience of painting my army and connecting with the community deepened my engagement with Warhammer 40K. I found that it balanced the optimism I’d discovered in Metaphor with a different kind of depth, a story where survival came at a cost and where warriors were shaped as much by their failures as their victories. The juxtaposition of these two worlds—the high fantasy of Metaphor and the grim reality of Warhammer—enriched my appreciation for storytelling. Each offered a perspective on courage and resilience, yet through vastly different lenses. In one, hope and destiny reign; in the other, struggle and survival dominate. Together, they created a narrative spectrum, showing that whether in the luminous lands of Euchronia or the decaying future of the Death Guard, there is always something powerful to be found in the journey.
Now, I find myself fully committed to both worlds, painting my Death Guard army as a tribute to the fallen warriors of Warhammer 40K while still cherishing the hope and heroism of Metaphor: ReFantazio. The journey from high fantasy to dark realism has been unexpected but deeply fulfilling, showing me how vastly different worlds can still offer insights into courage, loss, and the endless resilience of those who fight against fate—whether to save their kingdoms or simply survive the decay.]
