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3rd Bjaha Sur Caballeros


Hyaenidae

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Simply wonderful. I always enjoy reading your character fiction. It's one of the things that has got me contemplating starting my own project log.

 

The story was intriguing and the model is great. I totally by it as a pre-crusade era warrior. Has the same feel as the thunder warriors.

 

The only critique I have is that at the end you have him spit on the marine he killed after he just put his helmet back on.

 

Can't wait to see more, and please don't let your other projects fall to the wayside as I love their stories as well!

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Hyaenidae: I find that there's just too much going on. And he looks very chunky in the first picture (probably the angle though, as it doesn't look so bad in the second one). Lastly, the rebreather that you've added to the helm bothers me, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

 

But anyway, minor quibbles :) I'm sure he'll look fine once painted.

 

EDIT: Actually, I think it might be the fact that the model clashes with the mental image I constructed whilst reading the fluff you wrote.

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Love the helmet design, brill kitbash of the Guard rebreathers (I need to find like, a billion of these somehow) and the dragoon head. 

 

The story, well its fantastic as always. Cannot wait for more Bjaha Sur!

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Is that model "real scale"? I ask as his shoulder guard looks like the one that the Champion from the SM Command squad uses. I really like what I've read so far smile.png
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Is that model "real scale"? I ask as his shoulder guard looks like the one that the Champion from the SM Command squad uses. I really like what I've read so far smile.png

That, my dear sir, is a Scion arm. That was the fun part for me, identifying everything. As for the head, you've got my vote, and I'm now looking at trying something similar with a Berserker helm myself.

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Is that model "real scale"? I ask as his shoulder guard looks like the one that the Champion from the SM Command squad uses. I really like what I've read so far smile.png

That, my dear sir, is a Scion arm. That was the fun part for me, identifying everything. As for the head, you've got my vote, and I'm now looking at trying something similar with a Berserker helm myself.

Ah, I must admit I don't know much about Guard units. It did throw me in any case smile.png

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  • 2 weeks later...

Whoo hoo, I finally got a few hours to paint last night!

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And, hey, he's got a buddy in the works. Mind you, there's no greenstuff yet, he's still pretty rough, so be easy. :sweat:

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Gotta go right now, but I'll be back later today with some history and regimental structure for the Bjaha Sur.

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The Warsmith strikes again. There's a depth to your work that always impresses, brother. Side project or not, there's just that little special something to your stuff. :tu:

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*Sigh* Busy, busy. Sorry for the long delay, y'all. Thanks for all your kind comments, and I'm really happy to see folks are enjoying the story and/or the mini. I really took the weathering to an extreme, using a stippling technique the Kizzdougs clued me in on, plus some brand new weathering powders that I may or may not have gone a little nuts with, lol. Some of the tribal markings didn't quite come out as hoped, but I think I got the technique down well enough now to improve on it with the next model. I feel like there is this ghost of nobility to his look, like they once represented something else, but it's so far gone as to be nearly forgotten, hidden behind woad, bone trinkets, and the scars of a million firefights. 

 

So, let's start from the top. The Bjaha Sur are the parent conglomerate of the mercenaries that pay fealty to the head of La Familia. Originally, in ancient times, before even the Dark Age, the original Bjaha Sur hailed from the now-extinct Migliaccia Hive, but were exiled for reasons unknown, sent to a holding bordering the hellish regions of the pan-pacific empires; the Bjaha Continental Ridge. Here, they rebuilt anew, using their advanced technologies that were once used to protect Kings and Queens, but now used to fulfill contracts for anyone who had enough coin. As time passed, and the once-noble mercenaries grew in strength and reach, they slowly built a security cordoned micro-empire within the Almeja Crater, the first step in controlling the Old Night shipping lanes, the vast deserts that were once Terra's oceans. What used to be tactics aimed at rapid insertion and protection duties, quickly became air assault operations and boarding actions on enemy landships and ports. Quick note, I'm imagining everything from convoys of Mad Max-esqe vehicles of tribe-families, to massive grav-frigates whose hulls were hammered during the dark age of technology, all needing protection as they travel from Hive-State to Hive-State, through the horrors of a rad-scarred Earth. As the size and scope of their mercenary/paid security/portage tasks grew, so did their need for more military forces. With deft politicking and clever and calm envoys leading the way, the Bjaha Sur signed bond-contracts with a number of cities and micro nations that depended on their military might to survive, and in return, the Bjaha Sur were able to build permanent Villa-Forts throughout the Merican Centralis region, and even beyond, eventually cutting a profitable slice out of every part of the globe, including the handful of still functioning space-ports on Old Earth. Each city surrendered command of their local militaries as a part of the deal, who were then re-organized, re-trained, and re-armed into semi-independent military contractors, many with specialities unique to their region of origin, using the open-trade routes to boost production in every city-state tenfold.

 

Each Detachment were uniformly armed with the ancient and ornate pattern of Migliaccia forged semi-powered carapace plate and chem-harness, firearms from the secretive and xenophobic Mountains of Smoke clan-enclaves, and combat airframes from the blunt but efficient weapon-factories of the FedCon Fortress-State. Outside of these items, though, each Detachment retains a strong degree of culture and weaponry from their original homelands, as well as holding unique titles and traditions. This is why you've seen the Bhaja Sur bearing different names (Caballero, Bladecatcher, Hyena, Iron Locust, etc), as well as using different languages, as each is a distinct, yet somehow uniform, organization with direct ties to each other, sworn in blood and aged oaths. As for the original Bjaha Sur military forces, they were broken into training companies and became the first Abtakha, outsiders made equal to family. This act sealed the union, and each future bond-union, of the Mercenary conglomerate, blending the culture of the adopted lands to the ways of the willing outsider, aka new recruits, who were willing to cast away their lives to become La Familia. 

 

Recruitment is simple. Survive the trip to The Villa on foot, atop the Bjaha Creciente ridgeline, the Bjaha Sur's old exile-home, which now acts as the High Command, lead by senior veterans from each Detachment who serve as equals, no matter their homeland titles. If you can survive the rad-storms, the raiders, the flesh-eaters, the muties, the abhumans, and worse besides, plus the sheer climb and the lashing winds, then you'll stumble in through the porticullis gates, are given shelter for the night, and are given an ultimatum in the morning. If you are not gone before the breaking of fast, then you are volunteering your Blood to the Bjaha Sur. There is no going back from that point, except for insanity or death. Little care is given for your past, and no questions will be asked, as long as you give your body and heart to La Familia.

 

18 months and 32 radical surgeries later, and you're either dropping your ruck on the cot at your assigned base and attempting to adapt to the culture you've been thrown into, or you're in a body bag.

 

More later, I gotta hit the rack. Night, y'all. :)

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Damn! The armour turned out really nicely. You've managed to make it look high tech, but also heavily weathered and worn. Excellent job on the tribal markings too. 

 

It's way too easy to go overboard with the weathering powders, but it looks like you've managed to avoid that :tu:

 

The one critique that I have is in regards to the feathers. I think they could be improved if you added some more striae. At the moment they look a bit like heavily weathered strips of parchment. 

 

That's just a very minor critique, though. The Bjaha is looking great.

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Damn! The armour turned out really nicely. You've managed to make it look high tech, but also heavily weathered and worn. Excellent job on the tribal markings too.

It's way too easy to go overboard with the weathering powders, but it looks like you've managed to avoid that thumbsup.gif

The one critique that I have is in regards to the feathers. I think they could be improved if you added some more striae. At the moment they look a bit like heavily weathered strips of parchment.

That's just a very minor critique, though. The Bjaha is looking great.

Thanks, man! I really appreciate the tips on the stippling weathering too, I'm glad it shows. I'll definitely keep the feathers in mind, thank you for pointing that out. happy.png

What's up brotha! Great stuff! Inspiring as per usual! Keep it coming, hope all is well with you!

Hey, brother, how's the land of the rising sun, anyway? Good to hear from you man, and it's good to see you working on your Black Consuls again.

Just don't forget those Night Lords, we have a rematch to plan........ one day.

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I love these and i love the backstory. I wish i knew more about the civil war and history of old terra. Is there anywhere i can read about it? Preferrably in newer books.

 

Also hoping you do at least a ten-man squad of these!

 

Do you do commishions? I need either a minotaurs character or a dkok- character if any of those sound fun.

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  • 3 weeks later...
We're all quite mad here... Down the rabbit hole we go, children. Follow me.


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Excripts from Interview with the Mad King, by Rememberancer Alexandr Romorov


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I hated my so-called “brothers”, the second I smelled them.


I was processed cleanly, and every implant grafted easily, except the last. The Seed ruined my perceptions, and men who I had once stood alongside gladly, I now avoided at all costs, even though we were so few in those days. It was immediate, this curse, and I hated myself for hating them. Worse, I think they pitied me. Shade and shadow,and eternal loneliness, was my only friend during those terrible days, when I wavered between madness and stubborn defiance. Only in the field did I feel anything like peace, forever scouting ahead of my brothers, both to aid them and to keep them out of the range of my torturous senses. I refused multiple recalls after engagements when we were loosed, even forcing my kin to hunt me down once, all because I needed to be away from them, so desperately. 'Just a few minutes more', I'd tell them, over and over as I weaved the swiftest path through the Hive streets away from them. Heh. That didn't go over well. There was blood.


My trial was short. Execution of our breed was nearly unthinkable back then; we were such a rare and difficult commodity to produce and maintain. But it had happened, in dire circumstances. The question was whether I had finally stayed too close to that line, the point of becoming too much a threat to be left alive. Imperial Command was still stumbling upon pockets of Tontrua Milities who had survived The Cull, as well as all sorts of other terrible things that had slept beneath Terra's broken hide, and had no desire to have another post-human wreaking havoc across the landscape.


I expected death, but was given remit. My duty, and punishment, would be to remain on Terra forever, hunting the monsters of Old Earth until their extinction, or mine. With a stroke, I was damned and blessed all at once. I would be free of my kin, free to wage war in His name, but enslaved to the Throneworld and cut off from my Legion forever, taking the mantle of the Black Shield.


I accepted willingly. And my brothers left for the stars.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


I never really wanted to meet my Father. I heard the call, of course, when he had been found, but I never responded. To be honest, I was terrified that his presence would wake up whatever made me lose my mind around my former Brothers. I would snap, and a son of the Emperor would crush me like a fly, and that would be that. No, thank you. That would not be my damn epitaph. I was trained by the Golem-Kings themselves, The Firstborn, damn it! I refused to be a traitorous smear on my Legion's honour. Even when the call became a request, then demands to present myself, with increasing anger and in the new tongue of my Father's adopted culture, I knew to respond would be damnation.


I never expected him to find me. He was just there suddenly, at the entrance to my shelter. I didn't hear him, see him....smell him. He was unarmed and unarmoured, wearing only the trappings of his cradle-world, and bearing a swathed package. In the near distance, heavy dark shapes could be seen moving in the rain, a loose patrol on the prowl, and my senses began to burn. Running wasn't an option.


He simply set the package on the ground at the step of my door, and waited for me to respond. Like a programmer-trainer trying to get near to a unwired cyber-mastiff, making slow movements and cautious eye contact. He was treating me like a rabid dog.


I didn't blame him.


“You may be cast out, but you are still my son.” His voice was much richer in real life than I would have imagined, with much less cultural inflection in his voice than I had heard in the vox-recordings. He was suppressing his own language, to make me feel at ease. I loved him for that. ”And I will not see my son sent into the darkness, without knowing him first. Or without what he might need in his trials.” He smiled then, without teeth.


I knelt down and pulled away the wrapping, which was a thick pelt of oiled rad-wolf hide, to reveal a collection of items, ranging from bottles of alcohol, shanks of dried meat, and unleavened bread, to ammunition, ropes, sharpening stones, even a single fragmentation grenade. Most prominent, though, was a brush-subdued and artificer crafted bolter, modified for mid to long range fighting, atop the pile. Other charms and items filled the package as well, loving crafted and packed for poor weather.


I looked up, my bronze mask still covering my face. “Thank you, Father. I will use it all well, and with pride. You honour and humble me.”


His eyes looked sad, suddenly. “I wish you could be alongside us, my son. Simply put, you bonded to a different group during your inception. I do not know how, but it's the only answer. That's why the presence of your gene-brothers, who have bonded to each other, drives you mad. They smell like... the wrong pack, to you. If you desired, we could try to find a way...” He trailed off, an open offer.


I shook my head at that. “My adopted family are all I need. They took me in, when all others refused. They are strange, these mortals, but they are an honest and intense community who live for each other, and I live for them. The Caballeros are my family now, Father. I hope you understand.”


He nodded once. “I do. And I will respect your decision, so long as you continue to act with honour. Fail to do so, and I will have you torn to pieces. Do you agree?”


“Yes.”


“Then there is one last point we must discuss, a matter of theatrics. You understand, of course.” He began rolling up his sleeves.


“I expected it, in some form or another, Father.” I stood. I would not be on my knees when this happened.


“I would know your face, and your name, just one time.”


“Of course, Father. I am Amidio Al-Bahram.” I removed the bronze hyena-masked helm from my head with a hiss, exposing clean-shaven and pale features, and blond-brown hair, cut short. So much like my father, yet so distant. Of course, I have his eyes. And his smile.


“I am Leman Russ. Until next winter, my son.”


I never saw the blow coming. I remember nothing after that.


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I could never return to the Legion, nor would I dare serve with another. Imperial Command wanted nothing to do with me, but my punishment and my duty beckoned. I must hunt the nightmares, until death or extinction. And the only other beings that I could find who were insane enough to do the same, did so for coin. The Bjaha Sur may be bonded to the Throne, but more as a corporation than as a military organization, and were free to take up bounties and sell their services, as long as it served humanity and it's ascension. In many ways, their old pacts resemble the rogue trader credentials given to tyrants in remit, and the many sub-contracted regiments who belonged to La Familia were given much leeway. I shadowed them on missions a few times, then aided them, then simply followed them home one day. I was welcomed with wary wares and weapons with their fire selector knobs half-turned, but after I convinced them I was no threat, I was let in with little fanfare. I was impressed by their culture of honour and close-knit family, and the swift death they brought into an engagement. I sympathized with them in some ways, as well.

Those who accidentally overdosed on combat stimms would act like I would, when the animal takes hold. The shame they feel at their actions afterwards, I understand too well.


I earned their trust, after years, and now I am La Familia, honour-pacted to the Caballeros Assault. I have nothing else. They are my family, as curious as their little lives are, and I will hunt with them; I already have, for generations of their kind. We will dive into Hell, and tear the darkness from it's lair. Yes, I hunt still to this day, and my tally of murdered monsters grows ever higher, but I no longer hunt like my former kin do. To do so would awaken....It.


My Father calls the thing in our breast a 'wolf'. I cannot see that. My beast is no calm hunter, no noble creature moving swiftly through crystal sprays of snow towards it's prey. Mine is a creature savage and cunning, finding humour in the terror I create in it's name, when it takes me. No wonder my only allies in the word are drug-addicted mercenaries.


I eat the dead. And I laugh when I do it, even as I horrify and disgust the core of my being.


I am VI Legion. But I am no Wolf.


I am The Hyena.


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Amidio Al-Bahram, Black Shield (formerly VI Legion), Cogomen 'Hyena'

Life-pacted to Caballeros Assault Company, Bjaha Sur Conglomerate -Terra-Bonded-

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