'May You Live Forever' – A Company of Bitter Iron

[apologist]

 

Turn the eyes upward.

 

That is the only direction for peace.

 

Even then, it is the cold comfort of stars. They twinkle, uncaring and mindless, through an atmosphere charged with static and heat and horror. Even then, some of those motes are not stars; and some of the twinkling marks deaths – hot, brief deaths of panicked men and women gasping silently for air in the sweat-and-oil sepulchres that are breached and venting voidcraft.

 

Other stars are mobile drop-craft. Seven good loyal Legions are descending wholesale via dropcraft, atmosphere-pod, teleport-matrix and other means; cloaking the Urgall Depression in a smothering wave of fury. They have been descending non-stop for hours. The weave of the defender's macro-cannon and defence laser mesh is fine – would we expect less from the Sons, or the Children? – but more and more make ground, where the Astartes emerge into battle.

 

Great creaks and moans mark the tormented earth; and rise up into the sky, where those same drop-craft shriek and howl like furies of lost myth. They fall, and fall, and fall for hour after hour. 

 

+++

 

I came down late, as these things are measured, though as with all things the Legions do, it was to schedule, and on-target.

 

Void-travel starts silent. A thin, keening piping creeps in first, which then builds to air-roar as the craft makes atmospheric envelope. Today, another sound overlaid the familiar noise of the Stormbird. At first, I took the additional sound to be a failing engine; or perhaps simply a quirk of the ramjets' interaction with this world's atmosphere. It was insistent, continual; harmonising with the aircraft.

 

After a moment, I realised that it was the guns. Not those on the Stormbird, though they were firing now. No, it was the constant barrage of oversized ordnance below that was forming a protean cacophony, indecipherable and absolute, that my autosenses were muting into a simple hum, like grey static. 

 

I am not primed to fear. I was not a fearful child. Such potential weakness had quickly been whipped into protective hatred by my father – my real father, that is – and sublimated into a simple drive to find something less cold and cruel. With hindsight, it was perhaps an unsound choice to have sought out the mysterious wandering leviathans of my homeworld. 

 

In any case, more prosaically, our brains are altered during gene-forging. 

 

So, I am not primed to fear – but I am not stupid. Landing on the plain below was as bluntly dangerous as landing on roiling magma. Perhaps less, as magma, in my experience, rarely tries to actively kill you. I intimated as much to the pilot-primaris, who called me an lackwit and told me to be silent, if you cannot be useful.

 

I looked about, bringing up a hand to twist a dial; correct a course measurement; compensate for the infernal heat rising from below. The world, from horizon to horizon, was afire. A number of my brethren consider my decision-making questionable; but I am nothing if not obedient. I took a moment to turn in my seat for confirmation, taking in the ranks of black-armoured, grille-masqued warriors that stood, uncharacteristically active, their fury palpable. Three stood apart from the rest, in temperament as well as detail. Two red-armoured cousins – one cold crimson-clad, the other a tongue of hot scarlet – and the Centurion, proud-crested and stoic. A brief hand signal from our officer to the pilot sent us down.

 

+++

 

As one, the Stormbirds dipped, falling in sequence as perfect as geometry, into the maze mesh of lasers. Three reached the ground intact; one in pieces. The fifth was clipped, lightly. It tumbled balletically across the sky, before a wing tip touched the ground and sent it pinwheeling across the black, black dirt, scattering debris, armour plating and its unfortunate cargo across the burnt earth before exploding.

 

+++

 

I woke to the insistent hiss of my armour stimming me awake. I am not primed to fear, which made it all the more disconcerting when I considered, muzzily, that I am not meant to suffer the effects of concussion, either. 

 

Well, I thought. That could have gone better.

 

After a moment, as my head swam, I pressed my hands into the hard, gritty earth, and pushed myself upwards, groaning. Twisting, I sat up, looking about cautiously for the Stormbird, for my boltgun, for my brothers. 

 

+++

 

[GhostMalone]

Iron Hands..... Iron Hands!!!!!!

 

 

APOLOGIST DOING IRON HANDS!!!!!!

[apologist]

This is a new blog, following hot on the heels of Officio Monstrosa (which isn't – at this point – quite finished yet). I like to start off with a story to get me in the mood (see the opening post), but I always think my blogs work a bit better with some proper models to look at, and a general idea of the plan.

 

Axiom

A couple of years back I built and painted a Sons of Horus army based on the force from Abnett's sublime Little Horus short. It's still one of my favourite pieces, and I mused on making the opposing force that the story features. That's not to say that the Iron Hands (and their allies) are somehow less interesting to me; or that they're the second choice. In fact, they're amongst my favourite Legions, and I've always been a bit unsure I could do them justice. This is that project, so wish me luck!

 

Unfortunately, I've been unable to get hold of the Meduson anthology, which I suspect will give me quite a bit of pertinent intel on poor ol' Bion Henricos and the other dramatis personae. Until I can get my hands on it, then, I'll be building up some basic troops – I thought a good way of doing that would be to explore the Iron Hands on Isstvan V. For a bit of fun, I thought I'd write the majority from the point of view of an Iron Hand in the field, rather than in the dryer 'historical text' approach I usually take.

 

Manifestation

The first test piece is this marine:

 

 

I'd love to hear what you think, and if there's anything in particular you'd like to see me tackle within the two broad themes of Little Horus and the fallout from the Isstvan Dropsite Massacre. The ideas and feedback from the forum is always hugely helpful to me.

[Dagoth Ur]

Very, Very beautiful Apologist! The conversion is immaculate, as always, and I love the bits of fluff you have thrown our way. As you seem to already gravitate towards a more personal narrator, may I propose to delve into trauma and post-human depression caused by Ferrus death and the sheer horror of Istvaan? I couldn't think of anyone more appropirate to tackle this legion combined with that topic than you. :)

[Luna707]

Man I loved that short story, wow! Your writing is always adept at encapsulate the bleak horror of 30k. What paint scheme will you going with for your Tenth?

[Bob Hunk]

It's happening Brothers! *Straps self in* 

[lionofjudah]

Do you have a green stuf 'coil/tube'pipe' roller?? -http://www.greenstuffworld.com/en/roll-maker/69-roll-maker-tube-wire-machine.html

I think this may make your job a whole lot easier;)

 

I am super stoked to see your take on the Iron tenth!! 

 

Bringing the joy into the 'verse:)

[apologist]

Thanks for all the kind feedback so far

 

 

 

The Observer

Very, Very beautiful Apologist! The conversion is immaculate, as always, and I love the bits of fluff you have thrown our way. As you seem to already gravitate towards a more personal narrator, may I propose to delve into trauma and post-human depression caused by Ferrus death and the sheer horror of Istvaan? I couldn't think of anyone more appropirate to tackle this legion combined with that topic than you.

Thanks! You've taken the words from my mouth – or concepts from my leaky brainpan, anyway. I hope you like the story below, which I plan to lead on to exactly what you're describing over the course of the blog.

 

 

 

lionofjudah

Do you have a green stuf 'coil/tube'pipe' roller??

I don't, and thank you for the link. I shall have to investigate

 

 

 

Luna707

Man I loved that short story, wow! Your writing is always adept at encapsulate the bleak horror of 30k. What paint scheme will you going with for your Tenth?

Cheers! If they're half as good as your awesome Iron Hands, I'll be well-pleased. Regarding paint scheme, here's a WIP. There are a few musings on paint scheme for discussion after the short story below.

 

Hope you enjoy!

 

+++

 

 

The first I saw was Marnos, as the crash had deposited him high up on a steep outcrop of rock with enough force to pin him there. He was, quite clearly,  dead – the bulk of his torso plate and helmet flattened, distorted by the impact. Larraman cells had quickly stemmed the dripping blood, but not before it had coagulated into monstrous cinnabar stalactites that wept from his sundered plate, yearningly reaching for the black earth below.

 

Using him as a sign, I scuttled towards the outcrop, where I found Hanic and Wellsmyth; again, both dead. They at least warranted confirmation. I harvested their ammunition, took Hanic's boltgun and Wellsmyth's sidearm and moved on. 

 

The fourth I found was alive. I could tell because he put me on the floor. It is a measure of the extent of my physical trauma that I was caught utterly – embarrassingly – off-guard. The muzzle of the salvaged boltgun was down as he swung out from behind a blackstone column and slammed his shield into me. I blinked. His foot was on my chest and his shield raised edge-on to finish me with a chop through the gorget. Time slowed.

 

 

The markings on his shield are a traditional Medusan blessing, an extract from a mantra familiar to most Medusans. The initial and final pairs operate as caesura or check-marks, marking a break between concepts in the complete text. The core four pairs then operate as a quatrain, translating from lingua-technis into Gothic as to '×'. This, of course, brings to mind the Legion's number in High Gothic format; but there is – as always with Medusan poetry – an intertwined meaning; here the X is not a script-form letter but a multiplication symbol. 

 

Vocal repetition of this mantra reinforces and strengthens the speaker; in concert with those around him, the act of sounding the mantra serves to calm the individual and bond the group. It is not spiritual; it is physiological fact. There is no hidden truth; but a real and measurable result as plain as the slate sky above or the inert surface beneath your feet. 

 

The meaning, then; is simple – increase, strength, a reduction in weakness.

 

My traumatised brain parsed the meaning, reeling off the recitation drummed into me since childhood by the Iron Fathers; desperately trying to avoid the unavoidable fact I was facing decapitation at the hands of a friend. 

 

A flicker of recognition stopped the execution. Coalstan's helmet ticked to one side, and he set aside the shield, warily, his boltgun trained on my recumbent form. I reached a hand up and he pulled me to my feet. 

 

'Ware your wearing, brathair – I barely recognised you.' He looked about, attentively. 'You are injured.' It was a bald fact. I could not know the extent of my hurt as my helm's hood – the electrovisual display – was flickering intermittently, the runes fizzing and unclear when they stabilised enough to be readable. The spirit of my armour was clearly as afflicted as my own anima. I knew I would heal, given time, but my plate required attention if I was to prove anything beyond an irritant to the enemy.

 

In any case, I had found an ally. Meridius Coalston was as staunch a member of the company as I could have hoped to find; a veteran, as dependable as lead, a breacher assault specialist. With his shield up and a firm footing, he looked like he could hold back the Warmaster's treachery alone.

 

 

+++

 

Brother Meridius Coalstan WIP

Not yet complete, I thought I'd post up this marine to get a little feedback on the decisions I've made so far. My thoughts at this point are:

 

– The eyes aren't bright enough. I can't decide whether to persevere with red, perhaps going for ann orangey-red, which will let me brighten them; or switch to a green, blue or purple, as I did on my old Iron Hands arrmy. 

 

– I've reserved the white for the weapon casing and Legion symbol. On previous Iron Hands, I've used white for all the trim, but I was a bit concerned that they looked a bit too much like Raven Guard. Thoughts on silver vs. white trim would be appreciated.

 

– Regarding basing, the two leading options are Isstvan V black soil, which has the advantages of being easy and fitting them nicely into the Drop Site Massacre background; or light stone/rubble Dwell, which will tie them into the Meduson background better and provide a strong visual contrast. At the moment I'm leaning towards Dwell, but I'd be interested to hear the board's opinions. Perhaps a completely different basing scheme entirely?

 

– I need some further decoration, detailing and unit markings to add interest to a naturally fairly dour scheme. I'm toying with basing this on a particular culture, but would also like to explore Medusa/the Iron Hands' recruiting worlds a bit more, and markings like this will allow me to show minor disparities and quirks of different cultural groups. So, more distinctive uniform detailing, or a mix?

 

+++

[GhostMalone]

A mix and because the models are so dark I think the ash grey rubble idea is better

[Isengrin]

Very enjoyable read. Details like the shield markings - no idea how you come up with stuff like that - round out the story very well. Same goes for the depiction of their pragmatism.

 

I'd say stick with the silver trim. It makes the marines look a tad grittier than white ones probably would and the bolter casing and legion symbol provide enough spark as it is. I'm not sure on the eye lenses though. A coolly glowing blue might fit them better. As for the basing, I'm all for higher contrasting rubble. Maybe mix in some red stones/sand? The idea with diverse uniform details sounds promising. A mix of medusan and recruiting world traditions could make for a great touch. 

 

Meridius is coming along nicely, but I have one little issue with the shoulder pads. The gap between pads and head makes them look a bit ill-fitted, at least to my mind. Overall, he looks great. Any plans for weathering?

[Luna707]

You're too kind apologist! Loving the continued story on Istvaan V. That bit about the shield markings is fantastic! Little details like that are one of the reasons your projects have captured my imagination so firmly!

 

I definitely would advise to go for the silver trim, how you've done it on your test model is beautiful and it would be a shame to leave out that awesome gritty color. I prefer orange/red eyes but I suppose that's entirely subjective and if you go with another color I know you will do it justice! I think they are of a good brightness as well, but my opinion is a little skewed as I'm more inclined to like darker lenses. Istvaan v bases would be interesting but I'm afraid they won't provide enough contrast with the black armor. On second thought however it would be really cool thematically to go for istvaan and maybe do a grey instead of a pure black. That would allow you some interesting opportunities like modeling melta blasts with an obsidian effect. Have you thought about adding some copper? That might provide a nice addition to the color pallete.

 

Great stuff as always!

[Memento Of Prospero]

Awesome work.

 

The path of the machine is irrefutable, the flesh is weak!

 

Welcome to the Iron Tenth!

[Bob Hunk]

Fantastic stuff Apologist, I'm really enjoying the story so far.
  

Brother Meridius Coalstan WIP
Not yet complete, I thought I'd post up this marine to get a little feedback on the decisions I've made so far. My thoughts at this point are:
 
– The eyes aren't bright enough. I can't decide whether to persevere with red, perhaps going for ann orangey-red, which will let me brighten them; or switch to a green, blue or purple, as I did on my old Iron Hands arrmy.

 

That's a tricky one. I think that perhaps they do need a little more. I'd go for either the orangey-red or blue, of the options listed above.

 

 

– I've reserved the white for the weapon casing and Legion symbol. On previous Iron Hands, I've used white for all the trim, but I was a bit concerned that they looked a bit too much like Raven Guard. Thoughts on silver vs. white trim would be appreciated.

 

I'm going to have to go with silver. :) I think white trim will look good on single models, but when you have a squad (or a company ;) ) it will break-up their shapes too much - almost like dazzle camouflage - especially when considering true scale oversized shoulder pads with elaborate rims. White will also detract from the contrast of the white legion emblem.

 

 

– Regarding basing, the two leading options are Isstvan V black soil, which has the advantages of being easy and fitting them nicely into the Drop Site Massacre background; or light stone/rubble Dwell, which will tie them into the Meduson background better and provide a strong visual contrast. At the moment I'm leaning towards Dwell, but I'd be interested to hear the board's opinions. Perhaps a completely different basing scheme entirely?

 

Yeah...I'm going have to go for the stone/rubble of Dwell on this one. 

 

 

– I need some further decoration, detailing and unit markings to add interest to a naturally fairly dour scheme. I'm toying with basing this on a particular culture, but would also like to explore Medusa/the Iron Hands' recruiting worlds a bit more, and markings like this will allow me to show minor disparities and quirks of different cultural groups. So, more distinctive uniform detailing, or a mix?

 

Definitely a mix; markings and heraldry (and the accompanying back stories) is one of the areas where you excel. :)

[DuskRaider]

Just a suggestion for the eyes... I'd go with a blue. It would offset the darkness of the black armour more, and it's also a cool color which would lend itself well to the idea that these guys are very cold and calculating, like a machine.

[Xin Ceithan]

Loving the binary poetry idea!

 

Have to agree though, that compared to your ( totally over the top ) IW, you seem to be still looking for the right " feel " to the IH paint job here. Or may be it's just me envisioning them more metallic.

 

And while I agree on the idea with the blue lenses for cold logic and light , FW pictures them with red lenses and I would like to see this developed further.

 

All in all, still stellar work. Looking forward to see this coming into it's own.

[Ironwrought Huw]

Ever since I saw over your Arius conversion (many, many moons ago...) I have longed and hoped to see you tackle the Iron Hands.

The writing is perfect. The unique and tiny characteristics that you bring to individual models really is brilliant. Consider me hooked! 

 

For what its worth, I'd firmly vote for ice-cold blue eyes for them. I think it just 'pops' better than red or green - especially since (AFAIK) none of the other black clad legions have blue helmet lenses. 

Silver (or a dark metallic) would look better on those shoulder pads than white. Have you considered brass for the trim? 

[Dagoth Ur]

Beautiful, both in painting and fluff, just as I've imagined it! :) I'd also go with blue lenses as that would deepen the black. I'd also keep the silver trims but go with a lighter shade of silver, more scratched perhaps, as now it's almost loosing itself and fading into the black.

[apologist]

Coalstan's plan had peaked the moment he had hold of his weapons after the crash: Attack. What this plan boasted in simplicity, it lacked in detail or sustainability. Though his near-subliminal movements betrayed urgency and impatience, he complied when I pointed this out.

 

Nominally, of course, I was in charge. The rank of Celeusta – a combination of co-pilot, navicalculator and transport monitor – marked me as Immunes, and as a result, I am afforded a modicum of responsibility. In the maelstrom of Isstvan, I very much regretted this.

 

I was finding it hard to think. Absently, I wondered if I had sustained brain damage of some kind – something more serious than concussion. However, even in my battered state, I could tell that two legionaries was a force unlikely to overcome four Legions in the field.

 

'Uh... Re-group. Re-arm..' I paused. 'If we can, link up with the rest of Caled and then... uh.' I paused again; this time because something – beyond the roar of battle; beyond the blaze over the crater's edge – was nagging me. 

 

'Movement!'

 

+++

 

May you.... take forever to paint.

 

I've been away, recharging the batteries in the distant north. What little hobby work I've done has revolved around putting together some of the new crates/barrels scenery (very nice – and the storage creates would make an amazing basis for a 3D space hulk), and this:

 

 

Thanks for all the valuable feedback, as a result of which I've repainted the eyes to a cool grey-blue and added some weathering using metallic paints and Charadon Granite, plus some pastel dust. The latter was simply scraped away from the barrel of a chalk pastel, then picked up on a brush and applied dry.

 

 

I like the effect; the warmth this adds to the model makes a huge difference to what is a very limited palette. In order for this to make sense, I'll likely be basing them on brickdust and marble; and make that how I build the Dwell board.

 

You'll also note the symbol of clan-company Caled; a bisected shield.

[Big Bad Squig]

I think those little changes make a world of difference to the model - I think the white and blue of the eyes work much better together than the white and red did.

[Memento Of Prospero]

The white bolter makes a huge difference, it breaks up the black nicely.

[apologist]

+ Blindhelm +

 

 

He was sixty-six years old a and a veteran of fourteen wars when he first opened his eyes.

 

Iacob Medardus was a Lexicanium of the Librarius – a low-level battle psyker tasked with creating and maintaining the Legion record's – and unique for having been born with a swathe of blank skin above his distorted mouth and nose. Such deviance saw him automatically denied training or incorporation into Legion intake as a mutant, indeed, a borderline abhuman, but his efforts in forcing his way into the recruitment trials, and his subsequent ascension – in front of four Primarchs during the inauguration of the Librarius Division itself – would make a story of their own. One for another time. We're coming under fire.

 

Held in a peculiar mix of disgust and honour by the Legion, 'Blindhelm' had a reputation that pushed him, like me, to the outskirts of the Clan-Company; where we had made a wary bond. The unease with which he was seen left him undimmed. He was filled with a simmering sense of potential and an optimism in the Crusade that made him particularly good company. He habitually wore a bandage around his smooth, blank head on those rare occasions he was called to remove his helm – a sop to others' sensibilities rather than any shame in his appearance – but otherwise preferred to live encased in his armour, which he saw as both talisman and proof of his worthiness.

 

Being associated, we had come to serve together for the Clan and even the Legion on a number of occasions. I piloted him to conclaves on the Librarius and for sundry other diplomatic missions. On some days, I saw this as an honour; on others, I wondered if the Iron Fathers simply found this an expedient way to rid themselves of us, however temporarily. We, and others like us in the Xth, presented a situation which their philosophy – hardening even now – found troublesome to reconcile.

 

Expedient, but perhaps not ideal. Certainly Medardus was capable. Certainly Medardus' particular appearance made an impression amongst the Imperium – most often revulsion. Certainly he was stoic.

 

During a mission to discuss the Ark Reach Compliances, I had been asked how I – how our Legion – could bear to serve next to a mutant. I failed to bite my tongue at the Blood Angel Equerry's question, and spent the remainder of our time on the IXth's ship in a detention cell. Sometimes I understand why Medardus was not the diplomat, and not myself.

 

+++

 

On later occasions, when I had cause to talk with those outside the Legion – to Captain Berabaddon of the Luna Wolves, Brother Helios of the Heralds, and to a gaggle of Emperor's Children who had hovered and mobbed me as soon as Iacob had departed to his guest quarters, my answer became rehearsed and measured. My silver tongue tripped easily over the words: The Gorgon himself, our great Father Manus, has spoken of Medardus as an exemplar of triumphing over weakness, a paragon of his own philosophy – and will brook no dissent from his sons, nor his brothers. Iacob Medardus is treated just like me, as any other Iron Hand deserves; with respect.

 

This was perhaps putting a certain gloss on matters. Medardus was treated with the same level of respect as myself, it was true, but as I have previously explained, it is unlikely that the bright carvers will fall over themselves to erect statues in my honour or the laymakers compose fond liturgies when I die.

 

Similarly, it was true that Ferrus Manus had personally approved Medardus joining the Iron Tenth, but it was hardly a glowing endorsement – merely a recognition of Medardus' tenacity in stealing past Astartes guards to present his case before the council of Primarchs as they discussed the wisdom and dangers of making the nascent Librarius official.

 

Iacob had intimated that the Primarch had claimed Medardus for potential induction into Legion almost too readily. The Librarian had later mused, in confidence to me, whether this was a statement, or perhaps a conciliatory gesture of mute support for two of his assembled brothers; perhaps as a calculated snub to others who had deliberately removed themselves from the discussion. Medardus recalled that the Primarch's glittering silver eyes – as bright in nearsense as they were in physical reality – had given away nothing. When Iacob had recounted this to me, I had listened to his retelling politely, glad of my own faceless helm masking my scepticism. It had seemed ridiculous. The brotherhood of Primarchs were not subject to the same jealousies and internecine politics as lesser men.

 

Another series of shells – again a misdirected barrage from the Depression – lands near us. Given current events, of course, perhaps I was more wrong than I had guessed. 

 

+++

 

Medardus' psychic talents had manifested in limited manipulation of physical matter, telepathy and electromalignancy, which made his transition to the ranks after the Edict of Nikea a foregone conclusion – he would become a communications officer (a Teller of Omens, or Arwyddius, in the tongue of Old Medusa), a junior member of the Signals Corps where the mundane part of his Librarius training – that of codifying battles and reports for Legion review – would remain most useful. Unfortunately, of course, the Edict had not taken into account Medardus' particular situation. By obediently closing his psychic nearsense, he would be as blind as his nickname suggested.

 

The Iron Fathers had a solution. It was enacted as brutally as it was swiftly – a fact that smacked to me, in hindsight, of morbid foreplanning amongst the Council. Blindhelm would have bionics fitted. In his best interests. No doubt. To return him to the line, as expediently as possible. Of course.

 

With no optic capability, swathes of his unusual brain would be harnessed to integrate cranial implants and sheets of slimy wetware. It was necessarily an experimental procedure, and one that Medardus was not guaranteed to survive. I imagined him then, strapped down, cylinders of flesh and bone being crudely bored from his skull, the resultant blood and gristle being hungrily gurgled away by the attendant vac-tubes, before probing, stroking metal delicately fingered his bared brainmeat.

 

+++

 

Iacob Medardus was sixty-six years old and a veteran of fourteen wars when he first opened his eyes.

 

It is a measure of my own weakness that after the surgery I could no longer bear to look at him unhelmed. It is a measure of his obedience and determination that he learned to see at all, yet alone rejoin the ranks. The effects of the indelicate surgery permanently stunted his previously powerful psychic ability. Even without flexing it, he told me – bravely, without self-pity – that it felt foreshortened; like a mental amputation.

 

Coalstan and I found Medardus, injured lightly, directing three more of our brothers and one Immortal in gathering and securing a supply cache. It was unexpectedly relieving to see him.

 

 

[Xin Ceithan]

Love your work!

 

Before the fluff compensators beginn spooling - I think in Angel Exterminatus, it says that The Xth "never had such an Institution" in regards to the / a Librarium per se. Could be wrong though. Or maybe different Clan companies had individual Lore keeping / psyker Outfits / outlooks?

[apologist]

Love your work!

 

Before the fluff compensators beginn spooling - I think in Angel Exterminatus, it says that The Xth "never had such an Institution" in regards to the / a Librarium per se. Could be wrong though. Or maybe different Clan companies had individual Lore keeping / psyker Outfits / outlooks?

 

Everything you have been told is a lie.

 

Or to put it another way, Medardus is unusual in more ways than one... ;)

[Xin Ceithan]

Servoskulls! Begin Audio Subroutine ref./pre-unity/Code "X Files Theme". Enable whistle mode!

 

Summon the Crunch of nefarious transphats!

 

I am so watching this !

[Big Bad Squig]

Loving the way this is progressing!