Warhammer 40,000: Darktide News

Let’s talk about Classes in Darktide.

As many of you know, we just started dropping our class spotlights, and with that came a wave of feedback, thoughts, and questions. It quickly became apparent that we must clear up some of the confusion and better answer your questions.

So, here we go. While we won’t be able to address everything (still in development and working through things), we hope this is a start.

First, Classes are a new thing in Darktide and something we are really excited about. They are perfectly suited for the 40k universe and allow us to extend the play experiences in a better way than previous games like Vermintide’s careers.

While similar, classes are not the same as careers (in Vermintide). Some of this will become clearer as you jump into our Closed beta this weekend, but most of it won’t show up until the full play experience closer to launch. More specifically, you can expect a deeper narrative experience, greater range, and more options in character customization. There’s also a more profound and wider progression in weapons.

We will start with 4 classes and 70+ weapons available at launch. We really wanted to focus on quality, depth, and differentiation first - and less on the number of classes. Each class has a distinct personality, and your choice affects what cosmetics they can attain, and how they interact with teammates on their strike team. Weapons are more robust, each with their individual stats and traits specifically designed for that weapon.

While we are not ready to announce specific dates, it is safe to say that we aim to release one new class every quarter.

We haven’t fully decided if we will charge for new and upcoming classes, but that is an option we are discussing. This isn’t our way of trying to bait and switch anyone. Fatshark has always prided itself on being very player-centric. We want to stay true to that in our monetization practices. We never intend to split our player base - you can expect in-game content, such as new areas, game modes, and missions, to remain free. We’ve learned a lot, and we think we have done a good job in Vermintide with our monetization of cosmetics and careers, and we are looking to that and other areas of feedback before we make a final decision.

We hope this clears things up a little, and look forward to your feedback!

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Congrats to all the Rejects who have already been chosen to lay down their lives for the Emperor. We’re certain you’ll accomplish great things in Tertium this weekend.

As we all know, the Emperor provides - so we have now opened up for sign-ups via Steam as well. Navigate to our Steam page and click the “Request Access" button for another chance to be included in this weekend’s Closed Beta Test.



Selection is based on the same criteria as the website sign-ups were - we’re looking for a broad range of different systems/specs to test the game, but there’s no guarantee that you’ll get access by signing up.

Don’t forget to follow our socials and jump in to our Discord to keep up to date with the latest Darktide news.

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Last week, we talked about the Zealot: Preacher class. This time we’re shifting gears to an anticipated fan favorite: The Veteran: Sharpshooter class - inspired by the soldiers of the Astra Militarum – perhaps better known as the Imperial Guard.

This blog marks the halfway point for our class spotlights, exploring each of the 4 classes that will be available at launch.



“Just another day in the Imperial Guard. Official name’s the Astra Militarum, but you know what? I can’t even fragging spell that one on the regular, and my mother - Throne rest her foul-mouthed soul - told me never to use words that I couldn’t paint in the blood of my enemies. It’s good manners, ain’t it? Thing is, I’m not even part of the Guard any longer, not since that business with the commissar, the court-martial, and the holding cell.

Now I’m part of Inquisitor Grendyl’s merry band of maniacs, for better or worse. Still figuring out what that means, exactly, but most of it seems to be putting the boot in on the Emperor’s enemies and not getting summarily executed for meeting the wrong stare funny, so I guess I’m better off. At least, so long as the ammo and grub don’t run out.”

The battle-hardened soldiers of the Astra Militarum are the foremost defenders of the Imperium. They are the Hammer of the Emperor, an unstoppable mass of bodies and war machines that overwhelm the enemy with combat discipline, tenacity … and most of all, sheer weight of numbers. Life in the Imperial Guard is lived in trenches, behind bastion walls, and in the teeth of a bayonet charge. Only the very best - or luckiest - of their number survive long enough to become Veterans.

Pictured: Early concept art of the Veteran: Sharpshooter



More than anything else, Veterans are survivors. Some persevere through discipline and strict adherence to the regs. Others beg the Emperor of Mankind to see them safely through their battles. Yet more are just plain lucky. But most live on their wits and comradeship. Service in the Imperial Guard teaches you to trust the soldier standing next to you, and a Veteran - more than any - understands the benefits of teamwork.

Though they won’t always admit it, Veterans are happiest in battle, where “kill or be killed” is the only rule. They’ll stand the line with anyone who can point a gun in the right direction … though, of course, given a choice, they’d prefer to work with others of their kind. Failing that, most Veterans love fighting alongside Ogryns, who often have enough military training to grasp the idea of following orders and are invariably keen to prove themselves. Zealots are mostly welcome, though a true Veteran often becomes irritated by these holy “warriors” pretensions to martial ability.

And Psykers? Well, you can trust them for a while, but you never know when one’s going to turn …

Veteran: Sharpshooter artwork by Miguel Iglesias

Sharpshooters epitomize the Astra Militarum’s combat doctrine: overwhelming firepower honed through training and delivered unflinchingly in the heat of battle.

The Sharpshooter specializes in ranged combat drills, keeping the foe at a distance while bringing firepower to bear against high-priority targets. Though they can spray and pray with the best of them, the Sharpshooters are at their most dangerous when they take the time to place their shots where the enemy is vulnerable. Breathe in. Breathe out. Blow them away.

Pictured: Snapshot of the Veteran: Sharpshooter's Progression Gear


Drawing from extensive military experience, Veterans fight tirelessly to defend the Imperium from any heretical foes that may threaten it. The Sharpshooter, in particular, has trained long and hard in ranged combat, drawing preference for longer-range weapons such as the lasgun or autogun. 

Upon activating their ability, their movement is slowed in a trade for increased weak spot damage, accuracy, and handling. It also sharpens the senses of the Veteran, helping them identify non-ogryn elites and special enemies in a crowd or from afar.

Their Frag Grenade is all about area of effect; it is a heavy impact explosive that is used to establish control in dire situations - tearing through hordes of clumped-up foes, and disrupting dug-in enemy positions. It has a fuse timer and those that master the Frag Grenade with tactical placement and proper timing will be well-rewarded when a huge horde of heretics is turned into a bloody pulp in an instant.

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The Sharpshooter class may be a good fit for those previously unfamiliar with the Tides-franchise, as it leans heavily into the standard shooter trope.

Key Features

- Ranged Combat
- Headshots
- Good vs. Elites & Specials

Starting Loadout

- Melee: Standard-issue Munitorum Sapper Shovel
- Ranged: Kantrael Mk VII Lasgun

Tactical Action

Frag Grenade

Passive

- Increased weak spot damage
- Increased ammo capacity

Class Ability

The Sharpshooter slows down their movement to take careful aim, increasing weak spot damage as well as accuracy and handling

Coherency Bonus

Increased chance of not using any ammo

By John French



The past was waiting when the soldier closed her eyes. 

Flash… 

A blink of white just above the trench. Then the blast wave. Sound so loud it became silence. Then the world turning over and over, blurring, shivering in orange and red before she hit the trench wall. A long sliding second. Ears ringing. 

‘Medicae! Medicae!’

Shouting. 

The buzz-zip of rounds and las bolts. 

Another flash in the air, red, orange, smoke billowing up to smother the dying sun. The air shivering and then the ground rolling like an ocean wave as the shockwave ripped through it. Red mud bubbling up between seams in the trench plating as the blood soaked earth liquified. And the shouting went on, louder than the roar as another blastwave spilled over the trench lip. She could not feel her lasgun in her hands. She needed her gun, needed to get up, needed to stand. 

'Medicae!'

There was a hand in front of her. It was red. 

'Medicae…' Quieter. 'Medic…'

Why could she hear that voice?

Then she realised that the red hand in front of her eyes was hers
___________________________________________________________________

'Closing in on the drop zone! Two minutes!' The pilot's voice cut the memory away. 

She opened her eyes. The amber light of the gunship's crew compartment replaced the remembered blood. The gunship was shaking. She could feel the engines fighting gravity as it cut down through Atoma's thickening atmosphere.

'Pleasant dreams?' The witch smiled at her from across the compartment. The psyker's pupils are ragged bullet holes in yellow irises. 

'We have a visual of the drop zone,' came the pilot's voice over the cabin vox. 'Standby for depressurisation.'

The soldier fastened her rebreather mask, hands moving smoothly over buckles and catches. Two of the others were doing the same: the priest fumbling with the catches, the psyker's thin fingers moving like spider legs as they settled the mask over their mouth. Only the ogryn didn't bother.

'You're just going to hold your breath?' asked the witch. The ogryn nodded. The psyker shook his head. 'Amateurs… A miracle if we survive five seconds' The witch looked at the soldier again. 'Cadian,  right?' There was mockery dancing in his eyes. 

'Depressurise in Three,' said the pilot. 'Two… One.'

The light in the compartment blinked red. 
___________________________________________________________________

Red. 

Her hands were red. 

She did not have her gun. 

'A Cadian without a gun is a traitor to their training!' shouted the remembered voice of her sergeant at the back of her skull. She had been ten. One of hundreds standing on the drill ground while the ice wind spiralled snow from the grey sky. 'A Cadian is a soldier! A soldier is their weapon!' 

First lessons, first truths, learned long ago…

But she could not see her weapon, just the wet red of her fingers and the strobing blink of explosions above the trench lip. 

'Medicae…' she tried to shout, but the word came out as a gurgle of pink froth. This was it. No rifle. No strength to stand. Pathetic. Loathsome. Weak. Not a Cadian. Cadia had died fighting. A whole world with its death grip still on the trigger, and she… She had survived that only to die here without a weapon, calling for a medic that would not come. 

She had been born to fight on a world that existed for war, another daughter in generations of billions who stood on the edge of Hel and said to its horde come no further. People talked about the Emperor's Angels, the Space Marines who brought death like divine lightning, about how they were humanity's shield. They were real, and terrible, and beyond human, but for all their strength they could not shield mankind; mankind had to be its own shield. Armies of flesh and blood and iron and fire. Armies that could shake worlds with their tread and the voice of their guns. Armies that failed in their purpose only because of weakness… the weakness of a last soldier bleeding out in a trench without even a gun in her hand. 

Bits of body and armour lay in the red mud around her. A blink before there had been a platoon in that space, orders snapping the air, gear harnesses clinking, message runners trying to force through the press. Now everything was unmoving beneath the churning sky. unmoving and torn and glossed crimson. 

She felt something tapping her on the shoulder, slow, insistent. She forced her gaze up. A hand hung from the rung of a trench ladder above her. She could see the numerals tattooed on the digits and the prayer beads still twined in its grip. Blood was dripping from the curled ring finger to tap her on the head.

She saw the enemy then. They were on the lip of the trench above, ragged shapes in mismatched armour, dark and barbed, faces hidden by curtains of chain mail, finger bones tied to gunstocks. They moved quietly, carefully, ghosting down into the trench. She could see the markings of Imperial units under the eight pointed stars scratched and burnt onto their armour. 

Weakness… in the end that was the real enemy. Weakness that let a soldier think that they had a purpose other than to fight and die. Weakness that let treachery become betrayal. Weakness that kept her down here in the red mud…

One of the enemy troopers was just two steps away from her. She could see the rust pocks on the shin plate of his armour. Strange… the rust was almost a pattern. The trooper took another step. It had a flamer. Drops of burning, green liquid drooled from the weapon's muzzle. The weapon and the enemy's gaze turned toward her…

She came up off the ground. She did not try to hit the enemy. She went for the flamer. The enemy squeezed the weapon's trigger. Liquid flame joshed down the trench. The rest of the enemy troops were shouting now. The trooper tried to rip the flamer free from her grip. She held on, then rammed the crown of her helmet into the enemy' face. Bone shattered behind chainmail mask. She struck again, and now the enemy was falling and she wrenched the flamer from their grip. 

The other troopers were just three paces away, guns aimed, fingers pulling triggers. She looked at them for an instant, saw the tight press of figures in rusted armour and tattered fatigues. Weakness… despair and false hope and the promises of false gods. She triggered the flamer, and the world became bright. 
___________________________________________________________________

The gunship's assault ramp opened. Air hissed out as sunlight poured in. The Soldier heard the Ogryn gulp a breath of air. Blue sky filled the widening gap. The gunship banked. 

'Enjoy the view…' came the pilot's voice. 'Emperor's blessed and most valued world of Atoma. You get to see its best before you get to meet its worst.' Fog lay in a golden shroud across the curve of the ground below. Huge needle hive structures rose from the murk. Each one was the size of a mountain. 'That one just on our left as we come round – that's our girl.'

The hive was suddenly there, close enough that she could see the broken pylons and exhaust chimneys dotting its flanks. Rust and corrosion glittered on its skin. 

'Lovely isn’t it?' chuckled the pilot. 'Grand and glorious and rotten in ways it doesn't even know.' 

The Valkyrie banked hard. The priest lurched and made a sound as though they were trying not to throw up. Their grip on the grabrail slipped. The ogryn's hand caught the priest’s shoulder and yanked them back from the open door.

'Blessings of the Throne be on you,' gasped the priest. The ogryn nodded. The big-man's face was reddening as he held his breath. The gunship slammed into a spiral and dived. The side of the hive loomed close. 

Then the Soldier was down the assault ramp, running through the cloud of rust dust billowing up from the downdraft, gun in hand. Above the light of the sun was clear in the blue sky. Ahead the needle of the hive spire rose to stab the heavens. The gunship rose into the sky. The ogryn drew a breath. The psyker shifted, the priest straightened. The spire rose above them, a crooked finger of metal beckoning. A hatch once used to maintain the hive exterior, sat open just a few paces away. Rust clumped its hinges. For a second the Soldier thought she saw a pattern in the corrosion, three irregular dots, whirling and repeating across the metal. Then she blinked and could not see it anymore. 

'Doesn't look much like the frontline of a warzone does it?' said the psyker.

'This is the Imperium of man,' she said, and shrugged. 'Everywhere is the frontline.' She moved forwards 

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When creating your reject, you choose between 4 Archetypes: Zealot, Veteran, Psyker and Ogryn. Each Archetype has its own unique characteristics, allowing you to match your reject to your own particular playstyle.

This week we’re talking about those fanatical adherents to the Imperial Creed: the Zealots.



“What I cannot rouse by example, I’ll instill through spilt blood. For is it not said that if ten thousand feckless souls burn in the flames of perdition to awaken the fervor of one righteous man, then the Emperor rejoices? Aye, it is. And with good reason, for life without faith is mere existence beneath the all-consuming shadow of heresy, without so much as a candle to hold that darkness at bay. It is the fate of some to pass from this life as mere kindling, whereas mine is to light the flame. And I see that I am needed in this place, at this hour.”

Zealots are unyielding in their faith and dedicated to lifelong service to the Emperor of Mankind – whom they hold to be not only the ruler of the galaxy-spanning Imperium, but a living god who guides and protects humanity.

Fuelled by an unyielding desire to serve their Master, these holy warriors fight in the thick of the foe, smiting the heretical foe with thunder hammers, chain axes, and power mauls.

Pictured: Early concept art of the Preacher: Zealot Class



Zealots heed only the word of the God-Emperor, be it delivered through scripture, sermon or prayer. They care little for mortal laws, and disdain those who offer anything less than complete devotion to their divine master. They are unsullied champions in a galaxy seething with corruption, commanded to purge the heretic, the apostate and the mutant.

Accordingly, Zealots make for effective team mates, if not companionable ones. Ever alert for the taint of heresy, they judge their allies by their own high standards, and invariably find them worthy of rebuke, chastisement … or outright threat.

Ogryns, they deride as easily led simpletons and Psykers as freaks forever teetering on the brink of heresy and madness (not necessarily without reason). Veterans might find themselves spared a tongue-lashing … at least, so long as they prove themselves faithful and determined. Only a fellow Zealot can be expected to understand the weight of one’s burdens and, more importantly, can be trusted to remain righteous and unswerving in the face of the enemy.



Zealot: Preacher artwork by Miguel Iglesias


Preachers yearn for the release of death and arrival before the Golden Throne. Alas, it seems the Emperor yet has need of them in the mortal world and so they fight on, blows emboldened by pious rage as their lifeforce ebbs, and fury heightened by the knowledge that each scrap of pain brings them closer to reward.

Preachers care not if they live or die, so long as the foe is vanquished. Their faith hardens as they suffer injury, empowering attacks with holy wrath and strengthening their will to fight on!
Pictured: Snapshot of the Zealot: Preacher’s Progression Gear


With their passive effect of increased melee attack speed, these unyielding fanatics opt for a more practical, close-quarters confrontation as opposed to fighting at a distance. The Preacher’s affinity for close-range combat is also reflected in their starting loadout, which is an Autopistol and a Combat Axe.

Players who prefer a more aggressive, in-your-face type of playstyle may find the Preacher to be a good fit. It is important that you learn how and when to quickly switch between ranged and melee combat, since the flow of combat can be particularly hectic when you actively put yourself in the thick of it.

When the team finds itself overwhelmed, the Preacher’s class ability sends them charging into the thick of the fray, rushing their chosen target and quickly locking them in melee. It may also be particularly useful in times when they need to swiftly move out of harm's way or reach an ally in need.

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In short, as a Preacher you’ll do well against swathes of enemies as well as deal significant damage to sturdier, more armored enemies. It is crucial however to keep an eye on your health - the lower the health, the greater the damage... But if you reach zero health you will, unfortunately, die (most of the time).

Key Features

- Health Management
- High Damage Melee Attacks
- Good vs Armor

Starting Loadout

- Melee: Combat Axe
- Ranged: Autopistol

Tactical Action

Stumm Grenade

Passive

- Melee damage is increased based on missing health.
- Resists death on taking lethal damage
- Increased melee attack speed

Class Ability

The Preacher dashes forward, locking their target in melee.

Coherency Bonus

Decreases Toughness damage taken