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About this blog

I'm going to use this to document the slowly-building Genestealer Cult uprising on Prawa V. I am grateful for the opportunity to show off my models and a little bit of my storytelling. I hope you enjoy.

 

For the time being, all models are painted to 'battle ready' standard while I get my painted army assembled. I intend on going back over them to do the finer details once my painting goal is achieved.

 

I welcome all constructive criticism on both the painting and the writing!

 

Entries in this blog

The first steps toward freedom

Marek returns to the outpost

Nowa Avestia loomed ahead, washed in the pale glow of the setting sun. Marek sat atop the Chimera’s hull, arms folded, eyes scanning the familiar silhouette of the outer walls. The station was as he’d left it — quiet, unassuming. Yet, as the squad dismounted and rolled through the gates, something gnawed at the back of his thoughts. The yard should have been busy. The 280th, ever a fixture at the outpost, were nowhere to be seen. No idle banter, no groups lingering near the vehicle bays. Marek’s
The first steps toward freedom

New orders for the 280th

The resistance outpost bustled with quiet activity. Low voices traded logistical updates, ration tallies, vehicle status reports. Jagiełło stood at the centre of it, near a long table littered with half-folded maps and dataslates. But when the coded chime of his personal vox-bead crackled in his ear, he stepped away without a word, moving toward a corner where the shadows gathered near the storage crates.   He pressed a finger to the side of his jaw. "Fennec. Report." Silence for a hea
The first steps toward freedom

The hunt is on

The Fennec lay low beneath the dune’s crest, body pressed into the soft slope, the sand shifting slightly beneath her weight. Through the scope, the desert station played out its quiet, predictable routine. Marek’s Chimera lumbered toward the toll booth, weathered but functional, waved through without question. There it was — the familiar pattern. The complacency.   A flicker of satisfaction stirred within her. The hunt had always held its quiet thrill, but her breathing remained stead
The first steps toward freedom

The Fennec

Eventually, the council dispersed. One by one, the squad leaders filed out—quiet nods, exchanged glances, brief murmurs as they returned to the surface. Jagiełło left without ceremony, as he had entered. I remained behind for a few moments, alone in the cellar, the dataslate still warm in my hands.   "You spoke with conviction," came a voice behind me—soft, familiar, and unsettling in how near it was without warning.   I turned. Mona stood at the foot of the stairs, her postu
The first steps toward freedom

The influence grows

This is a little montage of scenes featuring our narrator over the months since the takeover of Outpost Nowa Avestia showing his growth as the squadron's new, and until then, inexperienced sergeant. It shows, also, the slow and subtle growth of the Resistance's s influence on the every day people.   The toll booth stood hunched against the desert wind, a squat collection of hab-blocks and a corrugated checkpoint arch draped with faded banners. The squad passed through without issue, helme
The first steps toward freedom

The months pass by

In the months that followed the firefight, the desert outpost changed—and so did I.   At first, it was small things. The way the squad looked to me before moving. The quiet nods from older troopers who had once only taken orders from Rakoczy. They called me 'sergeant' now. I still wasn’t used to it, but I stopped flinching every time I heard it.   The Cult dug in, not with banners and bullets, but with quiet persistence. New faces appeared at Salvager’s Row—traders with whisp
The first steps toward freedom

An Inspector Calls

The desert wind scraped against the battered walls of the prefab inspection room. Dust swirled lazily through the open doorway where the 280th stood lined up. I was in the middle of them, standing at attention with my pulse ticking at my temple.   Lieutenant Kaśnyk paced slowly before us, the heels of his polished black boots clicking softly against the steel flooring. His long grey coat swept behind him with each step. He wasn’t tall, not towering like some officers, but he didn’t nee
The first steps toward freedom

Outpost Takeover

The outpost changed hands with almost no one the wiser. Traders still bustled through Salvager’s Row, lugging crates of scrap and half-broken machinery. The ancient water pump hissed and groaned in its battered station, supplying the lifeblood of a thousand residents. Even the toll booth, perched by the outpost’s main thoroughfare, continued to collect the Emperor’s tithe—or so the clerks believed.   In truth, the coin now lined the coffers of a new master.   Far from the pry
The first steps toward freedom

Field Promotion

Writer's note: I wasn't happy with Rakoczy's departure, so did a little rewriting of things to make it have more impact and give him the dignity he deserved as a good squad sergeant. While we didn't know him as a character, I wanted his lasting memory to be that of a good leader, leaving some big shoes to fill. Thoughts welcome.   The fires had burned low by the time Jagiełło arrived. The smoke still clung to the rafters, curling like lazy ghosts above the wreckage. I stood near the en
The first steps toward freedom

The loss of a good man

The air was thick with the acrid scent of discharged lasrifle power packs, mingling with the sharp tang of blood. The last echoes of gunfire had faded into the desert, leaving only the crackling of small fires and the laboured breathing of the wounded. I knelt by Rakoczy, his hand clutching weakly at my sleeve. His uniform was dark with blood, the wound in his side gaping, beyond any aid we could offer.   He coughed, a wet, gurgling sound. "Good fight," he muttered. "You kept your head
The first steps toward freedom

The desert waystation

Just a little context for this. The Resistance are looking to expand their influence and, working within the Imperial PDF structure, they are putting out their feelers for those who may be persuaded to come over to their side. Our narrator and his squad are visiting a desert waystation on a 'routine' patrol.   The trading post was pungent, as these places always were — the stale odour of too many bodies packed into a confined space, sweat soaked deep into the wood and threadbare rugs.
The first steps toward freedom

Awakening an ancient beast

The dust had not yet fully settled when the officer strode forward, his boots crunching over the fallen rubble. He was a broad-shouldered man with a hard-set jaw, his uniform stained with sweat and sand. Despite the years of quiet subjugation, the vestiges of military discipline clung to him like an ill-fitting coat. He turned and barked an order, his voice sharp against the thick silence.   "Get those lamps in here! Engineers, with me!"   The beams of portable floodlights cu
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