As everyone knows, the only way to get anywhere without taking fucking forever is to use the Warp. That is, unless you are the Eldar, in which case you can go much faster with Webways as long as you don't get lost. Or you are the Tyranids and can use gravitational Star Trek bullshit. Or you are the Necrons and can screw the laws of physics seven ways till Sunday. Or you are the Tau who invent new and less-shitty-then-previous but still-shitty-non-Warp-limit-as-x-goes-to-the-speed-of-light drives like every 20-30 years. So maybe not everyone knows. But everyone definitely knows that all sorts of fucked up shit lives in the Warp, whose ONLY goal is to fuck you up (both literally and metaphorically) in 57 (or more) different variations. The Gellar Field prevents this from happening, so the Servants of the Imperium can go to your planet and kill your Chaos-worshiping ass!
The Warp, Giant Space Cathedrals and You
Its been mentioned a few times in the fluff that while the Gellar field on Imperial ships most definitely has a mechanical component, the field is reinforced by all the giant statues and gold bling that the humans of the setting feel the need to shove on every square inch of the hull. It actually makes a kind of sense when you think about it: The warp is a realm governed not by boring old logic but rather the thoughts and feelings of everyone in real space. Since Imperial ships are already borderline worshiped by humans as the physical manifestation of humanities might and manifest destiny to rule the stars, turning them into actual space borne cathedrals (I.E. places of worship) could have an effect similar to the old belief that demons can't enter holy ground.
Let's Take an Example
The Orks are a fantastic test case of what happens when someone who doesn't use Gellar Fields travels through the Warp.
The Orks can use a similar device to a Gellar Field, that focuses the power of the WAAAGH! into an energy field to keep the Daemons and other warp monsters away. It involves jamming Really Big Teef onto the ship in an effort to frighten passing Warp-monsters. Hell yeah! This may or may not be a kind of ferryman payment to Gork or Mork for safe passage. Of course, if that technique doesn't work, the Orks will usually just give the unlucky daemons that tried to board their spacecraft a good stompin'. Either way, the Orks like both outcomes.
Many grassroots WAAAGH!s get underway by hitching a ride on a passing Space Hulk. These are convenient because they can enter and exit the Warp (saving on having to make a very complicated Warp Drive), have tons of cargo space (for all of the boyz to ride in), and frequently come equipped with friendly passengers such as Genestealers, Daemons, Chaos Cultists, or other some forgotten horror (for in-flight entertainment). This travel method, while common for Orks, would be utterly disastrous for any other race. Space Hulks have no guidance systems: they can spend decades in the Warp and come out right where (and when) they started, or spend a few days in the Warp and arrive hundreds of years in the past around a totally uninhabited planet. While all of this waiting around is happening, the totally unshielded Hulk is ripe for invasion from Daemons, who not only look at Realspace beings as a food source but are actively drawn to anything Real that happens to pass by. Brainsuckers, sanity-feeders, life-drainers, and eight-million copies of Radical Larry are on standby to slither into the Hulk and track down any Ork stupid enough to have hitched a ride in the first place. All of that would be bad enough, but because the Warp and Realspace don't mix well, Space Hulks are constantly in danger of of doing things like phasing into themselves, having infinitely-looping corridors and generally getting all M.C. Escher.
It's lucky for the Orks that they don't care much. Any other race would be driven mad, slaughtered entirely, and/or be devastated to learn that they arrived decades too late (or hundreds of years too early) to stop the conflict they were sent to fight. Orks by contrast will readily fight anything and everything, including themselves (and terrifying horror-movie antagonists) as a general first response to unpleasant or unfamiliar circumstances. Due to their below-average intelligence they generally take eldritch horror with a puzzled chin-scratch and eventual dismissal (or assault and battery). Ork WAAAGH!s are also fairly independent of things like nations or strategic timelines, so "showing up too late" is almost always a non-issue. (In one instance the Orks in question showed up too early, catching their own WAAAGH! right before it left. Long story short, the Warboss killed his past self to get two of his favorite gun and the WAAAGH! stopped in its tracks) The above is not to say that Orks who hitch a ride on Space Hulks are perfectly fine. They aren't. Many would-be WAAAGH!s begin and end when the horde jumps aboard a Space Hulk, and it shows up on the other side of the galaxy with a few thousand new sets of Ork skeletons inside.
Now i realize that this is gonna need some dumbing down, think of the Gellar Field as ways to enter a party. The Imperial way is to sneak in without drawing attention and getting swamped by the crowd. The Ork way of doing things is to jump into the sea as long and as annoying as possible, either annoying everything away or, much like a college Frat party, drawing in things either like-minded or things FAR worse. but then again these are Orks we're talking about, they probably think whatever jumps on to their boat is just some fighting practice until they reach wherever they seem to be going.
Going to Shit, Possibly Literally So
As of the opening of the Great Rift, Nurgle has devised an insidious new plague that has allowed him to bypass the shielding of the Gellar Fields. The
"Gellarpox" *BLAM* Engineer's Syndrome works by infecting the laborers who maintain the Gellar Field generators, and more importantly it spreads through the generator itself (luckily, said generator has to be malfunctioning, but even a single minor malfunction can cause it to be infected). The infected humans show no initial symptoms other than strange dreams, but are subtly compelled to sabotage their work so the Gellar Field begins to weaken. When the time is right, they mutate and the infected generator turns into a horrific mass of biomechanical infectious tissue that endlessly spawns mutants, abominations, and the occasional daemon, almost certainly dooming the voidship the generator was formerly a part of.