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Found 3 results

  1. I'm going to put links to any of my tutorials at the start of this thread for easy navigation. Below this will be the original first post. Greenstuff Smoothing Video Greenstuff Smoothing Video 2 Making capes from tissue Changing model colors in Photoshop A better paint stripper than Simple Green. Let's get this going again. Starting off with the 4 Iron Warriors Chaos Lords I'll be trying to complete for Grotsmasha's Captain Conversion Challenge, one for each chaos god. First up, Maesteros, follower of Slaanesh and the path of martial perfection. http://i.imgur.com/v8JToIv.jpg Parts list so far is finecast legs from the beaky Sternguard, Khorne Berzerker torso with the lower beltbuckle area cut away and replaced with a length of plastic tubing to elongate the abdomen, Mark IV Maximus helm from Red Scorpions veteran upgrade pack, and a chaos marine left arm. The crest has been removed from the helm and armor studs added to differentiate it somewhat from the loyalist version. Unlike what the fluff tells us about Chaos Marines, I think they would all be scavenging any loyalists they killed, and there will be parts from all over the various marine kits that I own used in these conversions to reflect that. http://i.imgur.com/dbUXWpA.jpg More GS work on the legs and foot, and I removed the studs from the leg because they looked like crap and replaced them with the same .05 rivets I used on the helm. I like the bigger armor studs anyway. I tried to modify the face plate of the helmet to bulk it up a bit make the eye area look more sinister, but after a few days of looking at it now, I'm not sure if I like it. http://i.imgur.com/WDEpdpQ.jpg Finally getting around to decorating the chest. Small cuts from a strip of plastic half-round for the anchor points of the tubes, which will be covered up later with GS. Hooray for the tube making tool! Also, tip of the hat to Darth Potato for showing me the picture that inspired the chest decorations: http://i.imgur.com/hsDcdWU.jpg Evolution of the polearm he's using: http://i.imgur.com/IMyQpjP.jpg http://i.imgur.com/oBU0K0k.jpg It was originally way too long, so I shortened it up and changed the angle that it sits at, but it might still be a bit too long. Still have no idea what to do for the right arm. Next up is Borgestus, follower of Nurgle, and a few shots of trial poses for him: http://i.imgur.com/kuwvKnw.jpghttp://i.imgur.com/nIJcvRa.jpg I really wanted a two-handed pose, but it's proving to be a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, thanks to the bulkiness of the terminator armor, so it will probably be the second pose or maybe another variation. I've also done a lot of work on building a new torso for this guy, and I'll try to have progress pictures of that posted later today. Parts list as shown is loyalist termie legs (because the chaos termie legs all look HORRIBLE), chaos termie toso, and GK head and arms. As of now, the torso front is from a GK and has been chopped up and modified quite a lot. Last, is Varko, follower of the Blood God. I originally thought of giving him a very still and static pose to contrast the raging fury most Khorne marines are modeled with, but most of the Four are already going to be posed like that, and what can I say? I love action poses. So, going way back to the hallowed antiquity of 40k for the inspiration: http://i.imgur.com/ppc34uB.jpg I've always liked that art for the sense of frenetic motion it imparts, and I think GW tried to capture that feel with their plastic berzerkers and failed miserably. Instead of this, we got marines with ork hands that looked like they're ice skating. My rough sketch of Varko: http://i.imgur.com/E1eNPL9.jpg The right arm has no hand on it because I'm going to have to do a lot of work on it to get the pose I'm wanting, but I stuck it on there to check the overall balance of the figure. My first idea was to give him twin lightning claws, but, I gotta be honest, it's a real pain in the butt trying to get a pose with those things that doesn't look goofy, aside from the Wolverine pose with the hands out to the side, of which there have already been several figures from GW with that pose and I didn't want to replicate it. Instead, he'll be hefting two power axes and my bits order for the second one should be here in a few days. Parts list is loyalist assault legs (because the khorne berzerker ones suck and they've never made a good replacement for chaos), chaos torso that may or may not change, right arm from BA Death Company, left arm from FW Red Scorpion veteran upgrade pack, and head from FW Khorne Berzerker upgrade pack with the Ears of Khorneâ„¢ removed, and the axe is from a one of the Chosen in the Dark Vengeance box set. As always, thanks for looking. -BCK
  2. Bloodied Waters +++++DATE OF TRANSMISSION: 910.M41+++++ +++++SYSTEM: SIGARD SYSTEM+++++ +++++PLANET/COLONY: MILITARY COLONY 29378 "ANDERA"+++++ Flee, for the love of the tyrant, whoever finds this message, flee. They came from the dark, clad in pale grey and black. We laid out traps for them, welded gates shut, isolated them but... it didn't help us at all, it made everything worse. After brief encounters in the lower levels, the invaders managed to destroy the generators. Everything is dark, it has been for two weeks. The heating has been defunct for nearly three days, I believe. It is hard to tell the time . Even the Mantis Warriors assigned to this station were no match for the Pale Nomads. We'd seen brutal Astartes, aye, the Executioners. But they were laughing and yowling maniacs that threw themselves into the breach, hungry for glory and blood. Those...those creatures were different. Silent and shrouded in fresh blood. Like revenants they broke free from the dark and tore us apart. They did not heed our initial warnings, nor the piss-soaked begging and pleading that followed. We were wrong. We were foolish to turn away from His light. I see that now. This is why they are here, these revenants. To collect the blood that we had refused Him-on-the-throne. http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20170323_205449_zpslqamrcnl.jpg I remember how Ianosh and his regiment had tried to work out a peace treaty with them. He had tracked them to a habitation bay, which is where he also chose to confront them. Stupid moron. I was in safe distance then, I believe. Who knows how close some of them may have been. I'd seen everything through the inbuilt transmiter in Ianosh's helm. The creatures had stood still, covered in viscera and greasy tissue, their oily-black eyes locked on the men who were laying down their lasguns. In a matter of seconds, the men had died. Punishment was to be absolute. I could hear the crunching of bones and the tearing of flesh through the vox. I shudder at the merest thought of what they had done. That the Emperor would employ such savage beasts to punish us, who would've guessed. We all had long since capitulated, laid down our weapons, but to no avail. They won't stop until only they dwell in this darkness. Their shadow lies upon this iron tomb. Our tomb. My tomb. http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20170323_205519_zpslamuh4rj.jpg I am starving. I haven't eaten in almost two weeks. Had I the chance, I'd eat one of the soldiers, no doubt. I am no strong man, I know. But I am afraid to leave. Sometimes I awake from my night-horrors, only to see the surrounding dark as I gasp and claw for fresh air. I hear them more frequently now, the hard clanging of ceramite upon steel is one of a kind, much like the hiss and the thrumming of tactical dreadnought armor. Never seen such a pattern. Colonel Baruhk had called it the "Tartaros" pattern, whatever that is supposed to mean. Old fool had died of a heartattack. Lucky bastard. The rest of us is stuck in this iron will, too desperate to fight, yet too scared to pull the trigger. Dear Emperor upon Terra, if you hear this, end me in my sleep, I beg you. http://i411.photobucket.com/albums/pp194/hodoalmir/_20170323_205640_zpsndc3mvli.jpg My time is comming to an end. I can barely hold my tablet, not to speak of typing. I miss the sun of Badab Primaris. Well, I miss the sun in general. Haven't seen her in, I believe, a month's time. No light at all, not a single lumen. I've forgotten how water tastes, only thing I had was piss and blood. I am sick of raw meat, just can't stomach it. The warm, slightly steaming, acidic pile next to me is testament to that. I have no ammo anymore, but I have a knife. The desperation is too strong. I can't take it anymore. Emperor forgive me. ------------------------------------- Inquisitorial annotation: Subject was found with a slit throat, presumably self-induced. It is to be noted that, according to transcripts of the Red Scorpions chapter, the Carcharodons Astra had left this particular station 9 standard-Terran days after the initial assault. Who, or what, the subject had heard, is unknown. Fear and famine induced hallucination is possible. +++++END OF TRANSMISSION+++++
  3. http://i.imgur.com/SwVkTqj.jpg http://i.imgur.com/uXLLZ3d.jpg Our Honour was Loyalty For more than five thousand years, the Astral Claws stood shoulder to shoulder with the finest of the Imperium's warriors, their deeds legendary and their honour unquestioned. Loyal to the Emperor's throne, they exemplified the ideals of the Adeptus Astartes, strong and fearless as the golden lion of their heraldry. It was their glorious record of exemplary service that saw their standard placed in the Hall of Heroes at the Eternity Gate and won them the singular honor of overall command to the Maelstrom Warderers. And above them all was Lufgt Huron, a true hero of his age, believed to be second only to legends of ancient past. The Astral Claws watched over the Maelstrom and paid the blood price of vigilance. When brothers fell and were drawn away, they remained ever watchful. When the caress of madness and corruption spilled into reality, they remained ever watchful. When their pleas for aid were met with not but silence, they alone remained ever watchful. Fate is a cruel and pitiless wheel that spins the thread of an eternal tragedy. Perhaps Fate might have written a different path if another had sat on the throne of Badab, but it was Lufgt Huron who took the throne of thorns and assumed the mantle of eternal guardian to the Ruin Storm. The Astral Claws stood at the teetering precipice of annihilation, of failure in their duty to the Emperor. In pride, the Astral Claws sought to defy the hand of Fate. In desperation, they did everything to uphold their loyalty and sowed the roots of their own damnation. Rains of Badab Primaris 913 M.41 Something was wrong. He ran even as he cursed under his breath, bolter held close to his chest, ceramite boots wading through mud and sewer muck in a naked rush for the next turn. His brothers were with him, though in truth there had been few of them left even before they made it back to Badab Primaris. Still the runic symbols of his helmet's display flashed the runic display of his squad over his right eye. Twenty sigils of Tactical Cohort Squad Haakon, twenty loyal warriors of the Tyrant... and twelve of those sigils were now dulled out, their lives and deeds of honour memorialized by little more than a recognizing that they dead. Their gene-seeds unrecovered, their names unwritten in the Archives of the Forlorn. In the distance he could still hear the resonating boom of the Sacrosanct Bell's toll to offer mourning to those lost souls in the far distance from the highest tower of the Palace of Thorns. That alone was to be his comfort, the elegy of the bell and the knowledge that he would be joining his brothers soon. "Cylca." The sound of his own name was enough to drag the Space Marine from melancholy, drift on heel as he darted into the branching path of the sewer tunnel and slammed his back to the wall. He knew the command without it even being given, the same routine check for ammunition one that had been played out for the past four hours. How strange it was to have known this entire war without worry for ammunition to now count every bolt round with a blessing in the final hours of their dying home world. "18 rounds, Sergeant. No spares." "One spare." A familiar voice cut in a fresh bolt magazine was tossed his way. Cycla caught the sickle clip and thumbed it his hand lightly. With a small and weary smile he offered a nod to Ichoma, his closest brother returning the curt gesture with that scarred MK IV helm. Forty-eight bolt rounds. Cycla offered a small vow that he would take the lives of twenty-four Star-Phantoms before the Sacrosanct Bell tolled for his loss as well. For the last four hours Tactical Cohort Squad Haakon and their kindred squads had been fighting a losing battle with the Star Phantoms in the sewer caverns, defending every passage and line that they could, laying down their lives in the muck and mud to keep the invading forces away from the Defense grids that lay beneath the Palace of Thrones. But something was wrong. In the past hour the ground beneath them had begun to lurch, not the deafening rupture of orbital bombardment or detonating structures above them, but rather something far deeper below them where the atomic generators of the hive cities still lay. Even now the earth shook beneath their feet, sewer water quivering in chaotic ripple patterns across the brackish surface. For a moment, while he time to recover his breathing and what remained of his squad took stock of their ammunition, Brother Cycla looked upwards, the ceiling above them cracked and buckled to reveal the tortured sky above. Heaven was burning, clouds of bruised and tortured sky obscuring all notion of sunlight, a storm brewing a deluge of torrential rain and cobwebbed lightning... Even amidst such a hurricane, their beautiful city burned and crumbled against the wrath of the Imperium, everything they had bled for, everything they had fought for with tooth and nail was brought to ruin and ashes... He closed his eyes even as the rain battered against his silver helm, emerald lenses staring unblinking into the weeping sky of Badab Primaris. He would die here... They all would. The question now was a matter of when and how. With a deep breath he opened his eyes once more and looked to his squad, surveying over each of them and lastly to his sergeant. Veteran sergeant Haakon returned his gaze for a moment, no gesture or words between them, yet the quiet passing of time was enough for them. "We need to stall them here." Sergeant Haakon began to speak, relaying the digital feed of the sewer system to the rest of the squad, his words rushed with little time for them left to remain here, lest they be caught off guard. Even now, as Cylca peered around the corner he could see no sign of the enemy, but he could hear their boots stomping through the mud towards them. "Veteran Squad Sjaal are setting up explosives at the joining passages up ahead, but they need time to reach the point and set the krak charges. We will stay here and stall the enemy for as long as we can." "I will stay." Every Space Marine, including Cycla turned to face Ichoma, the warrior standing in his baroque power, bolter crunching to his shoulder plate in a readied position. "With the confining space of the corridors, there's too many of us to make any proper use of our fire power. Our best bet would be to maintain singular sentry at this corner and the opposite to maximize the overwatch field. More than two would simply be a waste of man power. With respect, sergeant, the rest of you should move forward to take defensive positions further on or meet up with Squad Sjaal." In silence, Cylca looked down at his hand, peering at the fresh sickle magazine that his brother had offered him, staring at the exposed bolt casings as though they might offer him some form of parting wisdom. "I will stay with him, sergeant." This time it was Cycla spoke up, looking over to Ichoma for a moment who seemed rather stunned. "Like you said.. Two would maximize the killing field. You can't be at two corners, right?" Without a word, Ichoma offered another silent nod of thanks to his brother, the two warriors looking to their sergeant now for some form of confirmation or refusal... The obvious death wish was not denied. -------- Four. He had killed four Star Phantoms, a far cry for what he had hoped but even as the flashing runes warned him that he had expended the last of his ammunition he felt no sense of shame or lost pride. Bringing the smoking weapon to his forehead for a moment he offered up a silent thanks to the machine spirit before tossing it into the muck where the weapon disappeared beneath the brackish water. Drawing his combat sword, Cycla spared a glance over to Ichoma, his brother fallen silent after the second return of volley fire when a bolt round had caught the warrior in the eye lens and sent him down with a quarter of his head missing, slumped unmoving against the wall. Ichoma had taken six of the Star Phantoms down, and Cycla made a new vow that he would at least meet his brother's tally. He could hear them moving along the passage now, cautiously as they had no idea he had already run out of ammunition. Again he stared at the sky above through the broken ruin of a sewer roofing, the rain still pouring down from the sky above as a mother that weeped for the murder of her children. His breathing was ragged, his muscles ached, his wounds searing... yet it all seemed to bleed away in the rain, the water soothing him even though it never came into contact with his skin. He would die here, that much was certain. It is a death that is inevitable. But it is a death that that he had chosen. On his own terms. In his own way. Sword in hand. Fighting to the bitter end. Battle Brother Cycla of the Astral Claws Legionary Tactical Cohort Squad Haakon Pict-feed taken at the siege of the Palace of Thorns, sub-terranean sewer system Subject announced K.I.A. from close-ranged bolter fire He died with his blade broken and his vow kept. http://i.imgur.com/WSC93xa.jpg http://i.imgur.com/y4GbMiE.jpg http://i.imgur.com/XGnkEvh.jpg http://i.imgur.com/roFIoMN.jpg http://i.imgur.com/pc3iu5D.jpg
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