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  1. One of my favorite threads I've ever read on the B&C, and one of the main reasons I got into the hobby was @Kierdale's thread for his psychopomps. I've similarly enjoyed @WarriorFish's Sundered and what I've seen of @Tallarn Commander's Warpborn. I'm also looking forward to reading about @Slave to Darkness's Khornate Word Bearers warband. I like reading about you guys' custom warbands and I'm going to channel that energy into my own hobby blog. The warband is still a WIP. I have yet to settle on a name that I really enjoy. But I do have some solid themes I want to incorporate and a paint scheme. I mocked up this digital test model with the app impcat. I think I am partial to the one with the black boots. I've also done up a test shoulder pad to see how the colors actually look in real life. I used the new Mantis Warrior Green contrast paint and then a conventional blue black for the trim. I'm going to have to come up with a method for touching up the green, otherwise I'm going to take some years off my life stressing out about painting so much black trim next to my beautiful, bright acid green. I'm choosing a leviathan's cross for the symbol for a couple of reasons. It invokes imagery of the occult It is connected to alchemy where it is a symbol for brimstone (sulfur) It looks cool Its simple enough to freehand that I don't need to mess around with transfers.
  2. Long time no see! Slowly getting back on the hobby horse. Was encoueaged by some friends to start posting again. I’ll slowly add pics of my various works over time here. first up, The Fractured! I’ve got a concept in mind of fleshing out chapters with little to no information. Both loyalist and traitors! First group will be the former chapter the Justicars, now the Fractured, who took part in the hopeless endeavor known as the abyssal crusade, and came out… worse for ware. for the lore buffs I’ll have more to come but for now just a tease! feedback, good or otherwise, is always welcome, thank you for your time!
  3. Working on my Chaos Marine army is slow-going for a bunch of reasons, but progress does happen (and hopefully soon so will more actual games). I'm currently focused on assembling/converting a couple of extra HQ choices. Firstly, a new Chaos Lord based on an Aspiring Champion from the original incarnation of my army. Tentatively named Kayne Firebringer. There's a good chance the name will change at some point (or possibly just the spelling). Based on a Primaris Reiver to get the extra stature the original version was supposed to possess. I'm trimming down the right-hand shoulder pad to add a regular CSM shoulder pad over it, and I need to remove the left hand/forearm to replace it with the CSM power fist for "I'm coming for you" effect. I'm also waiting on some Necromunda Goliath parts to give him one of the masked heads instead of the head shown in this image. Next we have Angelica, Exalted Champion of Khorne or, as I like to think of her, the Khornate Murder Princess. She's waiting for me to work out what I'm doing for her shoulder pad and to fill the gap from the cloak piece I decided against using. I have a right arm for her, with a massive blade weapon, but I think I need to sort out the torso before I can start trimming the shoulder on the arm to get it to fit. And finally, for now, the third Helbrute for my army. Unfortunately I couldn't get my camera to focus on the Cold One Head properly. All it really needs at the moment is a bit of gap-filling, but I'm tempted to add spikes and blades to the spire for the extra Godzilla factor. The heavy flamers use the spare cannisters from the Helbrute kits and nozzles from the Sister of Silence kit.
  4. Sit now and listen, I will tell you a story of failure and shame, or bitterness and slow, sinister corruption. The story of the Wretched. The birth of Wretched begins properly with a ruined fleet, destroyed in a cataclysmic confrontation in a system far from the light of the Astronomicon, far from the eyes of the Imperium, forgotten and unknown, the heraldry of each vessel obscured by black mag-plates. The might of an entire chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, mustered at once and in full strength for battle, their honors and history concealed by the colors of shame and penitence. Battle barges, strike cruisers, and escorts all rendered into shattered hulks, locked in an eternal silent embrace with the remains of the enemies they slew. Degradation of the chapter's gene-seed brought about their end. A flaw in their blood had become such that it could not be tolerated by the Imperium, and so the chapter was forced to choose a death - the slow death by organ failure and implant rejection, the shameful death of the Inquisition's fires, or the swift death of self-destruction against a foe they could not hope to defeat. The name of the Chapter that died there is as irrelevant as the enemy that killed them. I will not repeat it for you. What is relevant, are those survivors of the doomed chapter, those warriors too stubborn or unlucky to die with their brothers, when redemption in death was their last hope. These survivors, lingered in the grave of all that they had known, left to suffer the indignity of living, and in their bitter existence, gathered together slowly from the wrecks and hulks of their vessels. Lead by a last surviving chaplain, Tiberius. They might have stayed there forever in the dark were it not for the eventual arrival of a scavenger vessel. Unable or unwilling to accept a slow demise in the empty void, the survivors seized the vessel and Tiberius set them on course for the Eye of Terror, that they might again seek battle with the Emperor's enemies and die with some measure of dignity. It was in this long voyage that the cause of the Chapter's destruction festered and ripened into corruption as the surviving brothers falling into madness, despair and illness. One by one, these once-proud warriors felt the fatal flaw in their genetic grow worse, and a soul-deep bitterness grow stronger. Discontent grew, and Tiberius was murdered by his brothers who wanted to live more than they wanted to keep their honor. It is at this point in our story that along came a Spider. I don't know if he sought them out or the reverse is true. Perhaps they found one another by coincidence...but you don't really believe in such things, do you? I cannot say what bargain was struck between the survivors and the Manflayer, but a bargain was struck, and the survivors felt the touch of the Clonelord's knives as so many of us have over the millennia. Dark work was done upon those desperate few, and from their ranks were born the Wretched. Failing organs were given transplants, new and twisted glands bound into their flesh, and alchemical infusions pumped into blood vessels. Blessed with continued survival, and cursed to steal the flesh, blood and tissues from their enemies to carry on. The survivors truly became the Wretched. You might think that this success, bought at however high a price, would be some succor to the Wretched, but you would be wrong. The Wretched savor none of it, there is no relish or satisfaction in their actions, just desperate survival, a refusal to die and a bitter resentment that they lacked the strength to die when they might have still had some honor. Battle though...that is the balm on their pain, the soothing rhythms of combat drive away the self-loathing, the bitterness and regrets. The perfect way for them to channel their hatred and resentment and they find themselves getting progressively more lost in it. Do not pity the Wretched though, for they chose their path. They dealt with Fabius Bile knowing full well the damnation they embraced. Save your pity for the enemies and captives that the Wretched fall upon. Those who die against the Wretched will be carved apart and salvaged like broken machines, stripped for useful parts, and become part of the Wretched. Captives face an even worse fate - stripped naked, suspended in cages only big enough to contain their restrained forms. Tubes and catheters run from these captives, slowly draining them of blood, plasma, bone marrow, cell cultures and useful hormones. Xenos, Imperial loyalists, and heretics alike find themselves neighbors in the cages facing a slow, painful death to sustain the lives of their captors. =-=-=-=-= Another random idea I've hammered into a bit of shape. C&C welcome.
  5. Index Traitoris: Iron Gods For more than two centuries the Iron Gods have proven themselves a thorn in the side of the Adeptus Terra. They are sullied by overwhelming pride, driven by self-serving ambition, and unburdened by any kind of morality; in short, they are everything that a brotherhood of Astartes should not be. The Solios Nebula Although tiny compared to the unimaginable expanse that is the Imperium of Man, the Solios Nebula still covers a vast area of space in the northern regions of the Pacificus and Tempestus Segmenta, its tendrils penetrating deep into the heart of no less than seven different sub-sectors. Powerful, eddying currents within the warp around the Nebula make travel difficult between Segmenta at this point, and the worlds around its rim have thus become something of a galactic backwater. The area has limited strategic value and few threats besides a handful of systems infested by the omnipresent Ork menace, meaning that Imperial Navy assets and Guard Regiments tend to be quickly relocated to more important or volatile combat zones, such as the Eye of Terror in the north. The Nebula itself is sparsely populated with a handful of dead and dying stars, their powerful gravity wells drawing all manner of debris and galactic refuse into several vast asteroid fields within its borders. Empty of any resource useful to the Imperium, these fields have ever been a haven for pirates, rebels and fugitives, and for rogue traders and merchants dealing in items prohibited by the Adeptus Terra. It is believed that there are at least several dozen bases used by these miscreants hidden within the Nebula, either space stations or facilities carved into the rock of the larger asteroids. Towards the end of the forty-first Millennium, as Imperial military strength in the area has become less and less, such rebellious elements have become more and more bold, as have raiding parties of several xeno species. The Imperial response has been limited to the occasional Navy patrol along the Nebula’s border, the Commands of both Segmenta simply unable to spare the forces necessary to properly cleanse it. Without such aid, the people of the worlds around the Solios Nebula have come to watch the skies above them with fear. Talek Varn Two hundred and thirty-seven years prior to the present day, a battered vessel appeared on the augurs of one of the largest asteroid pirate bases within the Nebula. It was immediately identified as an Astartes Strike Cruiser, though all traces of Chapter insignia had been scoured from its scarred and pitted hull. Despite the ship’s appearance, the crews of both the station and of the several smaller vessels docked there were understandably nervous, fearful of the Imperium and its finest warriors. Turrets and weapon systems were brought on line, all eyes watching for the slightest sign of aggression. The cruiser hung unmoving in the void, but at the same time, unnoticed by the frightened defenders, an equally ragged Thunderhawk Gunship drifted out from behind a nearby asteroid. It coasted on minimal power towards the base, finally making contact with the airless surface. Immediately, more than two dozen Astartes clad in mismatched grey power armour spread out across the asteroid, quickly targeting and taking possession of power generators, weapon controls and the main docking bay. The weapons that had been aimed at the Cruiser were turned on the other ships, crippling the unsuspecting vessels with the first salvoes of fire. Suddenly, the Strike Cruiser came to life, repositioning itself to watch over its heavily damaged opponents, even as it disgorged a pair of Thunderhawks that moved at a stately pace towards the main dock. As they arrived, the blast doors slid aside, opened by the Marines within. The transports set down, and another fifty Astartes in similar grey armour poured out, led by a single giant wearing Tactical Dreadnought Armour. Talek Varn had come to the Solios Nebula. The inhabitants of the station trembled, sure that the Emperor’s justice had finally come. It had not. Varn had one of his men patch his vox into the station communications net. He introduced himself, declaring that the worlds of the Solios Nebula were now under his protection and that those who would serve him loyally could live, and reap both material rewards and glory. Varn added that those who refused were free to leave, though it was clear to all from the glint of savage madness in his eyes that such a departure would likely be via the nearest airlock. The Rise of a Despot Whatever Varn’s original intentions as to the worlds around the Solios Nebula, it has become clear in the intervening centuries that he is little better, perhaps even worse, than the pirates and rebels he first claimed to oppose. Though his first actions were against the other stations within the Nebula, it would seem that these strikes were intended simply to destroy his future rivals and to secure the weapons, armour plating and shield generators needed to further fortify Varn’s own base of operations. Now strongly entrenched within the Solios Nebula, Talek Varn has turned his attention to the worlds on its borders. The protection offered by him comes at a high price, a tithed tribute from each planet or system under his watchful eye. Should such tribute not be offered willingly, it will commonly be taken with brutal force, setting a frightening example for a 'chastised’ world’s neighbours. A noteworthy example of such cruelty occurred on the Agri-world, Feraxus II. The Feraxians, having suffered a poor year’s crop, refused to pay Varn’s tithe and gathered their people together behind the safety of the walls of Feraxus’ only city, with more than sixty thousand Planetary Defence Force and militia troopers ready to fight against his reavers. With typical Astartes efficiency, the Iron Gods bypassed this defence, instead quickly capturing several of the world’s orbital batteries, followed by a lightning raid that took control of the Planetary Governors command post. The governor and his staff were summarily executed, but in his rage, Varn went further. To punish the people of Feraxus for supporting their Lord’s foolish plan, he demanded that every third member of the defence force should have their eyes plucked out, so that their lack of figurative vision would be matched with literal blindness. This insane demand, backed as it was with the threat of the total destruction of the city by orbital bombardment, could not be ignored. With no choice but to comply, over twenty thousand brave soldiers, each a volunteer, each knowing that they would never see their families and friends again, marched to the Feraxian parade grounds where dozens of unwilling doctors and surgeons had been gathered. For a day and a night, the broken people of Feraxus lamented and the pirate lord watched coldly as his vile commands were carried out. Since that black time in their history, though the Feraxians hate Varn more than they ever did before, never again have they dared to refuse him his rightful tribute. Talek Varn addressing the Revolutionary Congress of Cordis III: ”I care nothing for this world’s petty squabbles! Where is my damned tribute?” Talek Varn has proved himself to be an egotistical brute, a megalomaniac with a vicious streak a light year across. How such a flawed individual ever rose to become an Astartes is unknown, as no Chapter has ever stepped forward to accept responsibility for their fallen son. However, he is at the same time a ferocious and skilled warrior, a cunning tactician and a charismatic leader; ruling his little empire with a mixture of respect and fear. His view of the Imperium at large and of the Emperor himself appears to be one of indifference and even contempt. However, that is not to say that Varn has turned to the worship of the Dark Gods of Chaos, as he is equally scornful of them and their deluded followers. Rather, he believes in just two maxims; that only strength truly determines what is right, and that whatever a man can take, hold and keep is lawfully his. Varn’s long term goals are somewhat unclear, but it would appear that his primary focus in life is simply the advancement of his own power and glory. Iron Gods Talek Varn’s followers take their name from one of their first exploratory raids out of the Solios Nebula, on the Feral World of Ksergha IV. The superstitious and primitive tribespeople, who had never before seen the mighty warriors of the Astartes, called them ‘iron gods’ due to their inhuman size and strength, and their total imperviousness to the hunter’s crude spears and slings. It is said that the name appealed immediately to the pirate lord’s ego. Mharkad and the Iron Beast: Besides the Rhino transports and Drop Pods that are common in any Astartes force, the Iron Gods have only two heavily armoured vehicles. The Iron Beast is an ancient Land Raider, Varn’s own battle chariot, that he has had retrofitted to match the much feared ‘Crusader’ pattern. Interred in the metal body of a Dreadnought, Brother Mharkad is Talek Varn’s deadliest warrior and his most fervent supporter. No-one knows how long Mharkad has endured his cold half life, but it is clear that much of his mind is gone, with only his prodigious battle skills remaining. His speech and attitude are those of an ill-tempered child, but he is utterly obedient and fiercely loyal to his lord. Though there have been those among the Iron Gods who have thought to depose and replace their cruel master, Mharkad has ever stood ready to protect Varn from his enemies both within and without. The Iron Gods are a diverse group of warriors, believed to hail from countless different Chapters. Outcasts, renegades or survivors, they are united by desperation, ambition and greed; and drawn by the promise of power and glory. When each one arrives at the gates of the stronghold Varn has constructed for himself from the foundations of the asteroid base, they must renounce all ties of loyalty to their former lives, giving themselves over completely to the Iron Gods. They remove all traces of their Chapter’s heritage from their armour, replacing them with featureless, anonymous grey. With this simple act, one that most Astartes would consider a terrible heresy in itself, the new recruit dies to his life of self-sacrifice and duty, and is reborn into one of bloody piracy. It is uncertain exactly how many warriors have joined with Talek Varn over the years, but Imperial sources estimate that he can bring more than one hundred and twenty Astartes to the field of battle when required. In battle, the Iron Gods organization is far more fluid than that of a typical Codex-following force. The forces of Talek Varn are experienced veterans of countless conflicts. Each warrior is well equipped with bolter, bolt pistol and chain blade or axe. Marksmanship, skill at arms or proven loyalty is rewarded with the gift of more esoteric weaponry, such as plasma or melta guns or power blades and fists. Several units are equipped with heavier weapons to provide longer ranged fire support, but these are primarily simpler armaments such as heavy bolters and missile launchers that are therefore more easily maintained. Each squad is typically led into combat by one of Varn’s own retinue, a favoured champion who will fight at their head and ensure that their lord’s orders are followed to the letter. A single squad formed of the most loyal of these veteran warriors is permitted the greatest honour of all, to fight beside their master as his personal bodyguard, equipped with the finest arms and armour Varn has at his disposal. The Gods’ combat doctrine appears to focus on short ranged firefights and close quarter combat. This is perhaps primarily due to their propensity for ship-to-ship boarding actions, Talek Varn’s view being that any vessels travelling within his realm are as much in his debt as the worlds, and therefore just as due to pay him homage. The Magos Early in the history of the Iron Gods, Talek Varn led his reavers against a small convoy of ships travelling along the border of the Solios Nebula. The ships were bearing the cog badge of the Adeptus Mechanicus and carried in their massive holds medical and technical supplies that, if successfully taken, would enable the Iron Gods to keep on fighting for several years. However, what Varn found aboard the lead vessel proved to be a far greater treasure. The command ship’s gun servitors and Skitarii guards fought fiercely to begin with, but when it became clear that the Astartes could not be stopped, the defenders suddenly put up their weapons and retreated to a final position outside the bridge. Varn and his men were understandably surprised, and even more so when the ship’s commander opened a vox link to the Iron Gods. He introduced himself as Magos Octavius, indicated that he had no interest in giving his own life in a futile attempt to protect the property of the Adeptus Mechanicus and requested that he might speak to the pirate leader in order to reach some mutually beneficial arrangement. Varn is said to have smiled, recognizing in the Magos’ voice ambition, greed and a strong distaste for his masters. These were things he understood, things he could use. Octavius joined the Iron Gods that day, bringing with him the desperately needed skills and resources that would keep Varn’s forces operating at peak efficiency for many decades to come. The Magos is a small, wizened man, whose body is riddled with countless bionic enhancements, spidery servo limbs carrying the myriad blades, saws and drills that are the tools of his trade. Octavius firmly believes himself to be Varn’s intellectual superior and that he must one day surely be the inheritor of the pirate lord’s little empire. However, he knows that he lacks Varn’s brutal charisma and the sheer force of personality needed to command a force as unruly as the Iron Gods. Hence, he is content to wait, biding his time and building his strength. In the meantime, he cannot help but take every opportunity to direct thinly veiled slights and slurs at his hated master, knowing himself to be safe from Varn’s prideful rages because of his unique position. However, Talek Varn is far more intelligent than the Magos gives him credit for, and is well aware of Octavius’ machinations. While Varn despises ‘the worm’ for his skulking ways and snidely delivered barbs, at the same time he enjoys the mental sparring matches between them, revelling in the challenge of outsmarting a clever opponent. There are some among the Iron Gods that say that it is for this reason, as much as the need for Octavius’ specialized skills, that Varn has allowed him to live as long as he has. In reality, the two men are far more similar than either would care to admit; both thoroughly disenchanted with the thankless role a vast and uncaring Imperium saw fit to give them, both now seeking nothing more than to claw what they can from a dying galaxy before madness and death overrun all. Even with the expertise provided by the Magos, technological resources among the Iron Gods are limited. Weapons, ammunition and most vehicle parts can be manufactured by Octavius’ small work force of servitors and tech-slaves, but other, more advanced items – most specifically bionics – are a rare and precious commodity. While waiting for many months or perhaps even years for the Magos himself to be able to procure or build a bionic replacement, it is not uncommon for Iron Gods who have lost limbs in battle to make use of more crude prosthetics; and even for those who have lost a hand to fix a blade or other weapon directly to the vambrace of their power armour so as not to lose any of their effectiveness in combat. Among the cynical and bitter warriors of Talek Varn, these temporary substitutes are caustically referred to as ‘the Magos’ Gift’. The Imperium For the Planetary Governors and Navy Captains around the Solios Nebula, the Iron Gods are the most fearsome threat imaginable. In the opinion of more than a few among their number, Varn’s demands of tribute are not excessive and that it costs far less to simply pay him and thus be safe from his cruel retribution. Further, when his requests have been met, Varn has provided his strength to these worlds when needed, most recently helping the hives of Talathi Prime to eradicate a Genestealer cult that had infiltrated their home. Whether Talek Varn was moved to act by some vestigial sense of honour or loyalty, or simply by egotistical fury that one of ‘his’ worlds had been attacked, is uncertain. Whichever is true, local support for the Iron Gods grew significantly because of it. However, the execution of the Governor of Talathi Prime shortly afterwards by Inquisitor De Corte has meant that few planetary lords are now willing to request Varn’s aid openly. However, while it would likely be galling for the master of the Iron Gods to hear, the truth is that all his actions register as little more than a pinprick against the Adeptus Terra. In the aftermath of Abaddon’s thirteenth Black Crusade, the ongoing wars around the Armageddon system against Waagh Ghazghull, and the newly emergent threat of Hive Fleet Leviathan; Talek Varn and his followers are less than nothing. The Imperium’s view is that the Iron Gods may be safely ignored until such time as sufficient strength can be spared to crush them utterly. While this is probably a correct assumption, the Lords of Terra must be careful. The power of Talek Varn grows with every year, and if no action is taken against him, the Imperium may one day find itself with another Huron Blackheart firmly entrenched deep within its borders. In his time ruling over the pirates of the Solios Nebula, Talek Varn has made many enemies. Foremost among them must surely be Lord Admiral Griev of the Imperial Navy, a veteran commander seemingly obsessed with destroying Varn and all those who follow him. Why Griev is so compelled to act against Varn is uncertain, but many speculate that for a man like the Lord Admiral, whose whole life has ever revolved around duty and unbending discipline, the very existence of a force like the Iron Gods is anathema, an affront to his uncompromising sense of what is right and wrong. The grey bearded Fleet officer has driven the forces under his command relentlessly, becoming almost tyrannical in his eagerness to find and annihilate his enemy. However, though in recent years Griev has captured or destroyed several vessels believed to be part of Talek Varn’s pirate fleet, he has never been able to bring the lord of the Iron Gods himself to battle. The Lord Admiral ever seeks from his superiors the strength he needs to hunt Varn down, but given his lack of success thus far, the Naval Segmentum HQ has been unwilling to waste even more ships in what currently seems to them to be a fruitless endeavour. Rumours abound within the corridors of power at Hydraphur that the Lord Admiral’s obsession has driven him into madness, and that it can be only a matter of time before he loses his command entirely. Lord Admiral Griev to the Naval Authorities at Hydraphur: ”Talek Varn is a rabid dog that needs to be put down! Give me but a dozen more ships and I shall see it done.” That Griev has been allowed to continue in his vindictive quest at all is largely due to the patronage of another servant of the Imperium, the shadowy figure of Inquisitor De Corte. Although only recently given the full rank of Inquisitor, De Corte is a shrewd and thorough investigator, and is convinced that the Iron Gods are a far greater threat than many of his peers realize. Much of the Inquisitor’s fear stems from his belief that he has discovered a pattern in many of the items taken as tribute by the pirate lord in the years since the desertion of the traitor Magos Octavius. De Corte feels sure that the ambitious master of the Iron Gods has put his Mechanicus ally to work sourcing and building a compact genetics laboratory complete with its own cloning facilities, with the obvious goal of replicating Astartes gene seed. Even more worrying to De Corte is the possibility that this goal has already been attained, as several of the Iron Gods most recent raids, on worlds such as Ksergha IV and the hives of Cordis VII, have been accompanied by unconfirmed reports of the abduction of a handful of prepubescent male children. De Corte’s many critics claim that the young Inquisitor’s theories are absurd, that there is not the slightest chance that Talek Varn could have gained the power to create warriors of the Adeptus Astartes, and that De Corte is simply trying to make more of his first assignment than is truly there. However, in the unlikely event he should be correct, the threat posed by the Iron Gods may prove to be far greater than any of the servants of Terra ever realized. Gene-seed The individual genetic legacies of Talek Varn and his reavers are a matter of much debate among Imperial scholars. Some believe Varn’s prideful attitude marks him as a son of Rogal Dorn, whereas others suggest that his savage ferocity and disrespect for authority indicate that he must be a scion of either the White Scars or Space Wolves. However, the simple truth of the matter is that Varn could have been recruited into the ranks of the Adeptus Astartes by any one of the many hundreds of Chapters currently in existence. Similarly, whether his original followers hail from the same Chapter as their master, or if he perhaps gathered them from across the breadth of the Imperium before he ever came to the Solios Nebula, is equally unknown. Whatever the case, neither Varn, nor any of the Iron Gods, is known to have divulged the truth to anyone outside their own ranks; nor are they ever likely to. The pirate lord knows that there is only one thing that could ruin his dreams of carving out an empire at the heart of the Emperor’s realm – that even a single Chapter should turn its full attention to the Iron Gods before he is ready to face them. Thus, he is vigilant that none of his followers should ever reveal anything about their individual histories that might bring the vengeful anger of their former brethren down upon the Solios Nebula. Battle Cry “Blood and glory!” ***** About the Author/Acknowledgements: Lysimachus has been a certifiable 40K fluff-nut, particularly in regard to the mighty Astartes, for the best part of 15 years; and is honoured to have several IA’s, IT’s and a short story accepted into the B+C’s excellent Librarium. Special thanks on this piece must go to Octavulg, Barret, Severus 6, GHY, Ace Debonair and everyone else who’s helped turn some fairly random ideas into a finished article. http://www.bolterandchainsword.com/topic/182562-it-iron-gods/
  6. From the album: Untitled Album

    Corpsemaster of the Red Corsairs
  7. Chapter Name: The Baleful Hounds (formerly Hounds of the Hunt) Founding: Ultima founding Chapter world: None Chapter Monastery: aboard the battle barge "Iron Chariot" Chapter Master: Taras "Lord of the Hunt" Gene-Seed: gene legacy is listed as coming from the 5th legion. War cry: "Today we hunt, tonight we feast!" Known descendants: None Main colors: Dark grey and white Insignia: a dog head with spiked collar with a broken chain. Chapter origin and history: During the Ultima founding the Hounds of the Hunt where founded as a fleet based chapter who's main goal was to give chase to splinter fleets or retreating contingents. Due to the tendency of the retreating enemy forces containing warlords or attempting to lead the Astarties into traps, the Hounds quickly adopted lightning strike tactics that used almost wreckless speed and vigor. Often the hounds will go for a decapitating blow, destroying the enemys command structure, leaving the rest of the force in disarray. Due to the peculiar culture and honor system of the chapter, the hounds have let escape more than a dozen high profile and powerful chaos and xeno warlords. Communication and rumors being as volatile as they are with the current state of the Imperium, these actions went unnoticed for years. Eventually reports from reliable sources painted a disturbing picture for the Inquisition. One confirmed account was of the Hounds granting Golgoth the Afflictor safe passage off a battle field after being firmly surrounded by joint imperial forces. The Inquisition sent message to the Hounds to cease their actions, but they merely replied that the foes had won their freedom honorably and the hounds only answered to the Emperor. Soon after Felkis, head of the Warseers had a vision showing him a fleet of inquisitorial forces coming to exterminate the chapter. It seams the Inquisition had decided to declare the Hounds heriticus excomunicatus for their wreckless and uncontrollable nature. Felkis warned the chapter, and as his visions had never been wrong before, Taras belived him without question. The chapter packed up all of their ships to the brim with extra supplies and spare primaris gene seed. They also reqositioned ships, manpower and supplies from an Astra militarum force in the sector before word got to them of the Hounds excomunication. They then escaped into the rift and the Inquisition was surprised to see the chapter long gone when they arrived. After their escape they changed their name to The Baleful Hounds. The chapter then underwent some major changes. Firstly the chapter restructured itself, no longer set up like a codex compliant chapter, but taking in other renagade space marines and astra militarum groups who swore fealty to Taras. The chapter size has swelled well above the standard 1000 marines and many many more human solders and workers. Despite being declared excomunicatus, the chapter still believes in and worships the Emperor. Taras was once offered patronage from a greater demon of Khorne not long after their escape. His only condition was the chapter slaughter all their Warseers and, lay their skulls at his feet. Taras slew the greater demon in response and its skull adornes his trophy wrack to this day. Even tho the hounds belive themselves champions of humanity, they will still slay any Imperial force that gets in their way. Culture: The Hounds are set up in the visage of old knightly orders of antiquity. Ranks within the chapter are as follows. Lord of the Hunt - Chapter Master Duke - Company captains Viscounts - chapter Ainchents and Champions Warseers - Librarians Troubadours - Chaplains Barons - first company/terminator honors Paladins - Apothocarys Knight captains - squad Sargents Knights - rank and file Marines Squires - neophytes Serfs - any none astartes human Maybe due to their long solitary missions away from other imperial forces or a flaw in their geneseed, the hounds are extremely prideful and dont respect the authority of any none Astartes. Despite their arrogance, the chapter believes in a strict honor system. Any foe to emerge victorious after a dule will be granted their life, aslong as they do not stain their honor by returning to the battle. The chapter will also honor any deals made and will avoid unnecessary killing of none combatants. Gradually the hunting tactics and honor dules became a game to the hounds, where warlords and champions where great feats to be claimed. This traditionary hunting game became integral to the command structure of the Hounds. To gain rank within the Hounds, individuals would have to defeat worthy foes in 1v1 combat. Due to fierce competitiveness, many young aspiring members of the chapter will challenge opponents outside their ability. Apart of their kightly structure, each marine is allowed two squires. These are generally young astra militarum soilders who have caught the marines eye in combat. These squires are trained up to be neophites. Only after slaying an enemy Astartes are they granted rank of knight and gain the right to declare dules and start training their own squires. After battle the Hounds often host a feast to toast their victory and honor their fallen. These feasts can become rather lively with the frequent accompaniment of music, boastful recounts of the battles more interesting moments, or the showing off of newly recovered trophies. The final toast of the feast will be made using blood from fallen brothers mixed with a mead like alchohol in their honor. Often Troubadours withing the chapter will recite heroic feats of chapter individuals as often as holy scripture to inspire their brothers. Since the reclamation of geneseed is such a highly important task, all Paladins within the chapter are hand picked from some of the most skilled fighters. The post is highly respected within the chapter tho many hope to never receive the title as they are forbidden from declaring dules.
  8. So, here's my entry for this IG Challenge. It's based on a sidebar from my IT: Black Hammers, but it's one I thought had potential to be expanded into a proper story. Word count is over 2k so I'm actually in for a Silver on this Challenge! :D Anyway, c+c is, as always, very welcome! For The Emperor Lord Julien van de Carmetine stood with the favoured members of his court and looked down across the Carmetine Plaza from the grand balcony of his palace. Three dozen courtesan dancers whirled elegantly in perfect synchronicity with the flawless playing of his personal orchestra. Six Companies of the Carmetine Household Guard stood at attention in their crimson and gold uniforms, ceremonial laslocks and long halberds shouldered precisely. At the centre of the square stood a great bronze statue, the top of its head almost level with the balcony they stood upon. Commisioned by Julien and only completed and installed a few days ago, it depicted the Dark Prince himself, a glorious being of grace and power, surrounded by cavorting spirits. An observer might well note that the statue's long, elegant limbs and beautiful face held many similarities to Julien's own proud bearing and aquiline features. First Adviser Cascus, an older man gross with gluttonous excess, bustled out to the balcony from within the palace, panting between words and performing a florid, if slightly hurried bow. "My most noble and vigorous Lord, I have returned. Your new allies approach, they bring a gift from their master who even now leads the assault against your hated foes." Lord Julien nodded, unsurprised at the thought that even the traitor Astartes came to offer him tribute. It was all too fitting that now, as House Carmetine came into its birthright, that such servants of the Powers should arrive to do obeisance before him. For countless decades, the proud scions of Tybur-Al's Hive Secundus had been forced to bow and scrape towards the tyrants of Hive Primus. Despite its vast wealth and wisdom, Julien's family had been sidelined and ignored - although admittedly, this had allowed the members of the House to focus on enjoying their riches, and their extravagant feasts and revelries had become famous across the planet. Under Julien, however, the Van de Carmetines had prepared to right the wrongs done to them, to cast off the shackles of the planetary governor and the Imperium itself and bring a new age of perfection and glory to Tybur-Al. The armies built by Julien had stood ready to begin their revolution and by some dark fortitude, the Astartes had arrived exactly on time! Well, near exactly. Perhaps ideally General Equerìsta and his staff might have been given another six months, or a year, to complete the training and equipment of Secundus' forces… but undoubtedly the advantages of having a spearhead of the mightiest warriors known to humanity would outweigh any deficiencies in tactics or ammunition? By most accounts, their assault against Hive Primus was already in full flow. A smaller group, aboard a single transport, had requested - in truth demanded - an audience with House Carmetine. "And what do you make of them, Cascus? Are they as grand as the legends suggest?" Cascus paused uncomfortably, wiping his brow with a delicate silk handkerchief as he pondered his next words. "They are... they are not quite as I expected, my grand Lord... they..." Guard Captain Toreda spoke softly, "They have arrived, Lord." Taken aback, Julien spun to look out into darkness at the far edge of the plaza. He had expected a grand procession of troops marching in perfect formation, heard far before they were seen, splendid even beyond his own personal Guard. Instead the Astartes warriors, clad in black and perhaps only a score in number, were quietly moving in two files down either side of the grand promenade that crossed the plaza towards the palace. Each squad walked with their weapons held ready, with a casual yet alert gait that seemed more suited to a patrol traversing enemy territory than a visiting honour guard. However, Julien had to concede that in spite of their informal approach, the Astartes had an imposing presence, their bulky shapes surrounded by an aura of power and fear. Between the advancing squads a third unit also approached, in a similarly loose formation. Even at this distance, Julien could see that although fewer in numbers, they were even more imposing, dwarfing the power armoured troopers. Could these perhaps be the mythical 'Terminators'? Finally, behind this central squad another group appeared at the plaza's edge. These smaller figures, perhaps a half dozen in number, were clearly not Astartes. Human servants of some sort? They clustered around and struggled to carry a long, obviously heavy object. Julien's curiosity was piqued - could this be the gift Cascus mentioned? As the Astartes drew closer, he could make out more details of their appearance. The Lord sniffed, understanding Cascus' prior reticence. The vaunted warriors looked to be nothing more than filthy savages! Their black and white armour plates were mismatched and battered, covered in random sigils, dirty furs and scraps of skin and bone. Though most wore full armour a few went unhelmed, displaying long, shaggy beards or wearing crude leather hoods. All wore one icon in common, a simple warhammer clearly visible white on black, though Julien had no idea of its meaning. The music of his Orchestra faltered as the Traitor Marines moved implacably forward to stand before the balcony, musicians silenced and displaced by towering warriors. A few even left their instruments behind them on the ground in their hurry. Dancers likewise stuttered to a stop, looking nervously from their master to his guests. One of the massive brutes at the centre stepped forward. Julien frowned at the Terminator, his own nascent gifts making him suddenly aware of a disturbing aura of authority and psychic power that surrounded the giant. He was older, his long white beard caught up in scraggly braids, and his skin was lined and weather-beaten. His armour was even more covered in sigils and totems than his men and a large and ancient looking leather-bound book hung from his waist. Some kind of primitive Sorcerer? The psyker looked up at the palace and called out, his voice cold and harshly accented. "I am Abartach of the Black Hammers. Who rules here?" Lord Julien stepped forward, flanked by Cascus and his personal herald. The First Cryer had a deep, booming voice that carried across the square. "You have the honour of addressing Lord Julien Van de Carmetine, scion of the House Van de Carmetine, undisputed master of Hive Secundus, rightful Lord of Tybur-Al…" As the herald continued, the Sorcerer looked curiously at Julien, then at the statue beside him, then back at the Lord on his balcony. He spoke again, interrupting the cryer in a gruff but amused rumble. "You think yourself a suitable avatar for the Dark Prince himself, then?" Lord Julien frowned, unsure if he was more offended by the barbarian's disrespectful tone or by his ruining of the cryer's perfect protocol. He leaned forward on the balustrade. "Are you mocking me, sir?" he hissed. "Even for an Astartes, that would be very unwise. My powers are beyond your understanding! I will soon rule this planet in the name of Slaanesh and those who stand against me will suffer..." Then, to Julien's stunned amazement, the grizzled old psyker ignored his words and turned away from the balcony towards the bondsmen who were depositing the long bundle at the base of the great bronze statue. Calmly he bent down to the object. It was wrapped in mismatched furs, these held in place by leather thongs and crudely carved stone clasps. Long strips of parchment inscribed with runes and chaotic symbols wove between the clasps. Julien's tirade stuttered to a stop as Abartach reached out with his massively armoured gauntlets, tearing off seals, ripping through parchments and crushing stone charms into powder. Carefully he unwrapped the furs, revealing the object within. He called out, "We bring a gift to this world." The old Astartes carefully lifted it from its wrappings and held it up for all to see. It was a long spear, a brutal, broad-bladed weapon formed of brass and gore-blackened steel. Even clad in his monstrous armour, the weapon was still slightly too big for the Sorcerer, seeming proportioned for an even larger user. Julien looked down at it with distaste, even repulsion. Something about the spear felt wrong, even more so than the old psyker. It felt like an enemy. His heightened senses could immediately pick out the smell of fresh blood in the air around the plaza, though he could see no source. Abartach continued, "This is the Spear of C'Harak, Bloodthirster of the Sixth Rank. The HeartEater, Khorne's Huntsman, Bane of Tranquility. For nearly six millennia the Spear has held C'Harak's essence prisoner, allowing no outlet for his fury and bloodlust." He paused, looking up at Julien with a cold, mirthless grin. Then he spun the great spear around in his hands, turned and drove its blade through the heart of the great statue with a deafening clang. In the horrified silence that followed, Abartach spoke in a satisfied whisper that only Julien's exceptional hearing could make out. "You are welcome to one another." Incandescent with rage, Julien turned to order Toreda to take the mad old psyker and his troops into custody. Before he could speak, Abartach whispered again, even more softly. Julien paused for a fraction of a second, dumbfounded. What had the Sorcerer said? It sounded like… "For the Emperor." With a roar like some gargantuan beast, the heavy cannon carried by one of the other Terminators opened fire, followed immediately by the bolt guns carried by the rest of the Black Hammers. Household Guard and performers scattered en masse, desperately seeking cover from the thunderously loud fusillade. Chips of stone burst from the balcony and Cascus was torn apart by a torrent of shells. His blood misted and sizzled against the edge of Julien's personal force field and for a moment the Lord was blinded. "Return fire!" he screamed at his underlings from behind the thick balustrade. "I will have their heads mounted above my gates for this treachery! I will…" Julien's vision cleared and as he peered down onto the plaza he could see Guardsmen unshouldering their weapons and readying to return fire over the scores of fallen bodies of what had been their front ranks. But the Black Hammers were no longer attacking. In fact, they had used the chaos caused by their first volley to do the opposite, retreating across the plaza and away into the darkness. "What in the name of the Dark Prince is happening here?" Julien shrieked, turning to look back into the palace. "Where have they gone?" "My Lord?" Toreda ducked forward, cradling a limp and bloody left arm. He seemed equally bemused, though that might have been shock from his wound. "Report from Comms, my Lord. Message from Hive Primus. The invaders have been repulsed, they pulled out again with barely a shot fired, before the defence had even put together a proper counterattack?" Julien whirled again, trying to pierce the blackness beyond the square, trying to understand the madness of the Astartes actions. As he did, he noticed something odd. The bloody vapour that still filled the air above Cascus' remains was not settling as it should. Rather it moved, drawn in a gradually forming spiral as though by some invisible force out over the lip of the balcony. The Lord Carmetine stepped forward and saw with growing fear that the bloody trail was not alone, being joined by similar liquid spirals from the countless corpses in the plaza and flowing together at a central point. The spear buried in Julien's statue. Julien gaped, the unease within him growing stronger and stronger, turning into sick horror. Something, a vast bloody crimson shape, was forming beside the hideous weapon. In the air around him, Julien could feel a pressure building. He almost felt he could hear the blowing of brazen horns, then a bellowing growl of rage and hatred echoed across the plaza. With a whimper of abject terror, the true master of Tybur-Al fled into his palace, desperate to find some refuge and yet knowing that there would be none. *** Abartach led his squads quickly up through the great Hive towards the landing pad, watching for any possible counter by its confused soldiery. He expected none. The Black Hammers strike had been too swift, too hard and too inexplicable for the enemy Command to respond effectively, even if given double the meager amount of time they actually had left. He grinned. Just as the Codex dictated. The psyker activated his comm link. "Lord Agamon? Mission accomplished. Package delivered." He listened for a moment, then nodded. "Aye Lord. Pulling out. Rendezvous in 18 minutes." ***
  9. Origins The Knights Adamant were a chapter of Ultramarine gene-stock. Up until their distinguished service in quelling a devastating Hrud migration from the Ghoul Stars, the chapter was fleet based. The Knights Adamant had never previously encountered a threat as grave as the Hrud, and the conflict left a mark on the chapter culture. The Hrud’s ability to accelerate entropy, prematurely aging enemy troops and degrading enemy materiel make them a particularly deadly species of alien. The chapter watched in horror as entire Agri-Worlds withered and died, and whole hives collapsed under their own weight as the steel girders holding them up oxidized and crumbled. The effect on the Imperial Guard regiments the chapter was fighting alongside was even more chilling. Young conscripts grew old and frail in a matter of minutes. Fuel lines degraded as if they had not been maintained for decades and vehicles would not function, no matter how the machine spirit was appeased. Not even the transhuman physiology of the marines of the Knights Adamant kept them safe. By the end of the campaign, barely enough marines to field two companies survived. The highest ranking officer still surviving, and not interred in a dreadnought, was a techmarine named Nikola Carnot. In a controversial move, Carnot took up the mantle of Chapter Master. To calm suspicions about his dual dedication to the chapter and to Mars, Carnot formally renounced his vows to the Machine Cult, a slight that would not be forgotten for the rest of the chapter’s service. Carnot also declared that the chapter would begin construction of a fortress monastery on the surface of MX-115, a planet recently reclassified from Hive World to Dead World, where the Hrud incursion had been most destructive. The post-apocalyptic landscape of the planet served as a morbid reminder of what was lost, and the threats that humanity needed protection from. Possibly due to the analytical mind of their Chapter Master, or possibly due to the macabre landscape where they made their home, the Knights Adamant became obsessed with entropy as a physical quantity. It alone determined the fate of any chemical reaction or process. To the chapter, entropy proved an even greater threat than any xenos ever would. They scoured the sector for ancient texts and data repositories where the sages of antiquity described the esoteric rules by which entropy determines all of existence. These heretical texts marked the downfall of the chapter, for in opening their minds to the idea that there existed a fundamental property of the universe that not even the might of the Imperium – not even the might of the Emperor Himself – could overcome, they had damned themselves. Over the next few centuries, the Knights Adamantine returned to near full strength. A silent feud with the Machine Cult of Mars had left the armouries of the chapter with fewer vehicles than the Codex dictates, but the chapter was flush with marines and their genestocks were full. Carnot had also tasked his chaplains with compiling the Index Thermodynamica, a treatise outlining how best to limit the resources lost to the great thief of entropy. Under the oversight of the chaplaincy, squads were sent out to the worlds that the chapter recruited from to conduct an inventory of each of the planets in the sub-sector. The results of the inventory were grim. The planets were found to be excessively wasteful. Imperial bureaucracy, a corrupt and greedy nobility, and an ill maintained infrastructure was losing trillions of units of entropy every year, far in excess of what was deemed necessary by the Index Thermodynamica. At these rates, the planets would survive a scant few millennia before becoming useless in the defense and support of the Imperium. Furious, Chapter Master Carnot penned an ultimatum to the offending planetary governors and noble houses who ruled the planets in the sub-sector. In it he demanded that if the planets were to continue to enjoy the aegis of the Knights’ Adamantine protection, they would have to make steps to comply with the Index Thermodynamica. The response from the planetary leader’s was silence. The terms were wholly unacceptable. The austerity measures outlined in the Index described a level of luxury, while far in excess of the living conditions that the planets menials laboured under, were unthinkable to the upper classes who enjoyed the lion’s share of the fruits of the planets’ industry. Astropathic messages were sent out to the Ecclessiarchy, the Inquisition, and anyone else who would listen, describing the heretical text penned by the renegade Astartes holding the sub-sector hostage. Within months a fleet of vessels led by Inquisitor Pangloss broke system and began a bombardment of MX-115. The orbital defense batteries fired back on the fleet but were quickly overwhelmed. Beyond the automated defenses, no response came from the surface. No chapter vessels were found at anchor in orbit. The planet had been deserted. Inquisitorial scouts reported back from the surface that the fortress monastery was deserted. Signs of internal violence were present, and the corpses of scores of marines as well as no few dreadnoughts lay shattered in the halls of the fortress. The librarium, reclusiam, and armoury were cleared out, but most curious of all was the geneseed repository. Signs of a great fire, and the remnants of demonic formulae were all that remained. Homeworld Coming soon. Combat Doctrine Coming soon. Organisation Coming soon. Beliefs Coming soon. Geneseed Coming soon. Battlecry “No future! No hope!”
  10. Corpus Brethren Fierce alien hunters prized by the Deathwatch and famed in song across the Imperium's outermost planets, the ivory-armoured Sentinels once roamed the borders of human space. The Chapter maintained no homeworld, but swept through space aboard a trio of Battle Barges, taking recruits from those savages stout enough to endure their victory feasts. Trophies taken from exotic alien species were prized among battle-brothers, and decorated the armour of elite warriors. When the Warp Storm Dionys engulfed dozens of star systems, only sheer bad luck saw the nomadic Chapter caught in its chaotic wake. At first, the Sentinels outright ignored the call to be judged for mutation – it took overt threats from the infamously purist and equally mobile Red Scorpions to bring the Chapter to heel. This insolence would reflect poorly on the Sentinels when gene-seed inspection revealed a hyperactive omophagea – leaving them no choice but to accept a doomed, penitent invasion of the Eye of Terror. Masters of the spaceborne hunt, the Sentinels easily evaded the heretic fleets that scattered the Abyssal Crusade to make planetfall on the daemon world of Oliensis. Initial auspex scans revealed the planet's organic crust, and soon they had fully mapped its true form – a morbidly obese humanoid, curled into a foetal ball. Undaunted and proud, the Sentinels elected to begin the hunt regardless. The goat-headed hedonists who inhabited Oliensis were no match for the Chapter's swift assault and deadly ambush. Nor were the gaudily-painted Noise Marines who came to their aid, adding the screech of sonic weaponry to the mad bleats of Slaaneshi revelry. The hunt raged between tree-trunk bristles, across rivers of drool, and into cave-like pores, and with each conquest the Sentinels feasted anew. As supplies ran low, these celebrations were supplemented by the meat of flesh-cultists and horned tumour-spawn, growing louder and fiercer and crueler without end. By the time the Sentinels claimed victory over Oliensis, the horned pagans who had survived their hunt worshipped the Astartes as hungry gods. Chaplain Cuhullin, whose milk-white armour now twitched with thin red veins, welcomed all to the final feast. At his words, the planet itself stirred. The ground split and broke into a canyon maw beneath the Chapter, swallowing every warrior and vehicle whole. It took weeks for the survivors to gnaw their way free with chainsword and fang, but those who had tasted the daemon world's gory mantle found it an ambrosia beyond any victory they had ever known. Reborn and renamed, the Corpus Brethren retain their old aptitude for lightning assaults and desire for exotic trophies. What drives them now is hunger, an insatiable gluttony that has seen them butcher a Tyranid bio-titan, rampage across multiple systems in pursuit of a shipment of ajidamal spice, and round up the noble class of an entire Hive World into pens for slaughter. Accompanied by Chaos Spawn hunting hounds, horn-headed cultists, and trumpeting Noise Marines, the Corpus Brethren inspire primal dread in the very worlds they once kept safe. Renegade Trait Warlord Trait Stratagem Artefact Of Chaos ********* Slight tweaks to the backstory of the Corpus Brethren – trying to give them a bit more agency in their fall, and emphasizing the hunger/consumption aspect to give them a unique Slaaneshi gimmick. In mechanical terms, I eschewed actually representing that consumption stuff for lack of space; Feeder Tendrils or Hyper-Evolution would have been fun, but I needed to get across the speed and savage hunting skill of the Corpus Brethren. I also wanted to actually encourage the Corpus Brethren to be Slaaneshi, without resorting to the "must be SLAANESH" stuff found in the errata for Vigilus Ablaze – pretty difficult when the primary benefit of being Slaaneshi is a boost against Imperial armies (yay?) and extra Shooting (not really appropriate). The Renegade Trait is more-or-less a clone of the Evil Sunz, but with a Slaanesh restriction on falling-back-and-charging. You get a boost to pile in/consolidate, but your +2 Movement boost applies only to Possessed, not "basically every vehicle" like it does for Evil Sunz. The Warlord Trait is a straightforward Raven Guard-style no-Overwatch, allowing you to rush your Chaos Lord or Daemon Prince into combat and have your hungry hordes follow behind unimpeded. The Stratagem is the inverse of a Harlequins Stratagem (Cegorach's Jest), allowing you to punish enemies who attempt to fall back. Honestly, I feel like this ought to be a standard rule for Falling Back, albeit with an Overwatch-style "hit on 6s" limit. In the meantime, this means that when you get into close combat, it's painful for the enemy to get out. Originally it just let you charge them again, but I feel like this lets your opponent actually get what they want (falling back) with a penalty, rather than just denying them the opportunity to flee. I was tempted to add something about applying Death to the False Emperor to that unit for the rest of the battle, to encourage Slaaneshi marks rather than brute-forcing it, but it's already complex enough and that feels like I'd be edging into a higher CP cost. Finally, the Artefact of Chaos supports that lone wolf no-Overwatch charge your Warlord is good for, by letting him heal himself with kills. It's broadly balanced against the Parasite's Kiss (+1 attack, +2AP, +1D, vs 1 shot on the charge and D3 damage) and is also available to Dark Apostles (because why not).
  11. Kythnos

    DSC03675

    From the album: Iron Warriors

  12. Kythnos

    DSC03672

    From the album: Iron Warriors

  13. From the album: World Eaters/ Khorne Daemonkin

    Exalted Champion, Dark Apostle, Renegades, CSM, Heretic Astartes, World Eaters, khorne
  14. From the album: Pictures

    Iron Within, Iron Get Out

    © Games Workshop

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