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CustomTitle

  1. 1515 downloads

    First part of a commission by Atia, Grand Master Laertes, and depthcharge12. Incaladine Mechanicum logo in black, white, red, and yellow.
  2. CLASSIFICATION: *Primary Level Intelligence* CLEARANCE: *Vermillion* DATE: *451.M41* AUTHOR: *Visual Record Unit 3140* LOCATION: -UNKNOWN- SUBJECT: *Debriefing* ++Audio activation code accepted++ ++Vid-capture initializing++ ++Warning. No Authorised interrogator present++ ++Override accepted++ ++Interrogation room 337 Alpha++ ++Astartes prisoner - No discernible marks of allegiance++ ++Record starts++ Many of my brothers would call me a traitor. Thinking of many of them, I will gladly take such title and all that comes with it. I know this to be the truth, as I would call them all but the same. But what is the opinion of masses to one such as I? I know what I am, despite the millennia of confusion, the centuries of pain and the eternity of war. I know I am a true warrior of the Astartes. The Imperium as a whole has forgotten what we did for it. Ten millennia of stagnancy, one hundred centuries of religious dogma and degeneracy. Can your mind wrap its tiny self around such thoughts? You are but one of countless others, all of whom have been born, lived and died pointlessly more times than even a mind such as mine could calculate. If an intellect such as mine, built from stock of the very homeworld of our species, engineered by science and technologies that have never been replicated since, cannot contemplate such wonders, what chance does one such as you have? It almost makes me smile. I know you are watching me, my hidden observers. Your hearts beating so eagerly inside your chests, your shuddering breaths with each word I grace you. I hear the scratching of your scriveners as they take everything in triplicate, the hushed whispers you share when you think you have captured some unknown nugget of information from the pittance I allow you to absorb. It's almost amusing. But alas my friends, I tire of talking to these blank walls. You have me here for a reason, I allowed you the grace of my presence for far too long to continue the almost oppressive lull. But you still give me nothing. ++Access panel opens++ ++SCANNING++ ++SCANNING++ ++SCANNING++ ++Identity confirmed++ ++Inquisitor Lhyras Zhoul. Ordo Hereticus++ Ah! Finally we meet. I was beginning to grow tired of these games. Please, take a seat. No, you don't have to say anything. You are here to listen, not speak. I will make this simple for you, as we do not have a lot of time. No, questions are not needed just yet. We will get to them later. I know you have the pict-captures, I know you have the images of them all. Bring them out and I will tell you everything. I will answer all of your questions before you even ask. But first, the simplest answer of all. My name is Barquiel Myda. I am a true son of the First Legion. Born of Terra. Forged by war. And this is the truth. ++Record ends++ Hello to all. I am a bit of a hobby tornado and am always starting projects that never get finished. But me and a few of my buddies have all jumped on a new year/new army wagon at the moment and I have fallen on The Fallen! This army will be my go to this year and I am aiming for about 2500 points. I also want to try and build/model it all so it can be played as either Dark Angels or CSM. So it's gonna be interesting! First and foremost, let's see some pictures of what we have so far! First off the build pile. Tactical squad/CSM squad. We have the SGT/Champion. Two standard marines. I am doing a little bit of size variation to these guys, I can't understand the idea of marines all being so uniform in size. Here's the second brother compared to a standard veteran. Next up is the SGT/Champion for the first Veteran/Fallen squad. I imagine this squad is made up of former Destroyers, so I wanted him to look a bit more brutal in his bearing. I have always loved the Destroyers. Brothers who were shunned by their own legions, in so many cases they were openly hated. It almost makes you want to betray your oaths to the Imperium and strike out on your own! Last but not least, some glorious Devastators/Havocs. There's something about a missile launcher that makes me happy. I think it's the ability to destroy dreadnoughts. That's it from me tonight. I have a whole mess of other bits that I have started for this army so far, but I am trying to make myself stay on target with this! Until next time.
  3. I've been thinking about getting into the Horus Heresy, spacifically Night Lords, and I want to kit them out with the iconic "chaos" style power packs, and while using ones from the 40K CSM kits is the obvious chioce, those tend to have bits of chaos iconogrophy in hard to remove places(not to mention the excessive cost of buying squads of CSM just for backpacks). are there any good places to get non-chaos "chaos" powerpacks?
  4. I fielded a 3500pts variant of this army a few nights ago for an Extermination (Mission 6) game and it worked really well as an alpha strike list. Ideally, you need to go first – the aim is to swamp your opponent with infiltration. Alpha Legion 3000pts – Coils of the Hydra HQ Armillus Dynat - [200] Troops 10x Legion Tactical Marines – Bolt Pistol/Chainswords – Sergeant Power Fist - [165] Rhino - Infiltrate – [35] 10x Legion Tactical Marines – Bolt Pistol/Chainswords – Sergeant Power Fist - [165] Rhino - Infiltrate – [35] 10x Legion Tactical Marines – Bolt Pistol/Chainswords – Sergeant Power Fist - [165] Rhino - Infiltrate – [35] 5x Support Squad – Meltaguns - (Armillus Dynat) - [175] Drop Pod – Deep Strike - [35] Elites 10x Cataphractii Terminators – 5x Chain Fists – 5x Power Fists – Deep Strike – 2x Reaper Auto Cannons - [430] 10x Dark Fury Assault Squad - Infiltrate – [325] 3x Laser Destroyer Rapier - Infiltrate or Outflank – [165] 3x Laser Destroyer Rapier - Infiltrate or Outflank – [165] Fast Attack Xiphon Pattern Interceptor – Chaff Launchers – [210] Primaris Lightning Fighter- 4x Kraken- Ground Attack Auguries - [195] Heavy Support 1x Land Raider Proteus – Explorator Augury Web – Armoured Ceramite – [270] Legion Whirlwind Scorpius – 115 Legion Whirlwind Scorpius – 115 Start turn 1 by · Drop pod Support Team + Armillus straight into enemy deployment to deal with heavy support. · Rhino’s flat out towards enemy deployment (Who cares if they die… it’s more about bringing the fight straight into their deployment - if your playing objectives you may want to do this differently). · Infiltrating all of your Laser Destroyer Rapiers in range of anything you wish to remove. · Infiltrate Dark Fury’s so they can hold middle board or start covering ground for a turn 2-3 charge. Follow this up in turn 2 with · Either disrupt enemy reserves so they suffer a total of -2 to reserve rolls or give yourself the bonus using the Proteus. · Attempt to Deep Strike your deathstar of Terminators - (Armillus provides re-rollable Deep Strike to a single squad) by turn 3 this will eat anything… · Hopefully get your flyers in – (Xiphon for Anti-Air/Primaris for Anti-Lord-of-Wars). · Disembarking the troops if they still have their Rhino’s. Finish up around turn 3 by · Declaring every charge you possibly can – Dark Fury’s, Termies, Legion Tacticals… Detaching Armillus from the support squad can be useful for separate charges. · Mop up with your remaining Whirlwinds, Proteus sponsons, flyers and Rapiers. Would love any suggestions or further ideas – I originally ran Armillus inside the Proteus and he took care of any enemy drops on the back-board heavy support. I figured the Cognis bonus on the support squad + more chaos in their deployment would come in handy. If you don’t get first turn it would be a good idea to outflank the Rapiers and Dark Fury squad.
  5. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing... Chaos, it was the only word to describe it. The Valiant Guardian, it was a battle carrier forged in orbit over sacred Mars. A warship of the Imperial Navy’s Forth Grand Fleet and in service to the Imperial Army’s Nineteenth Terran Regiment. The Valiant Guardian which had served loyally for one hundred and eighteen years, had been destroyed. Her engines had roared in acceleration and propelled her forward into the battlefleet’s formation. In her bull rush she had collided with the destroyer Ares obliterating her starboard batteries. Two smaller escorts were destroyed entirely when her prow rammed through them. As she reached the center of the formation, amongst the two battleships Glory Claimed and Righteous Conquest, her warp core had gone critical and ignited. Then there was a flash of blinding light. Her remains had been incinerated along with hundreds of escape pods, transports, and attack craft. The Valiant Guardian ceased to exist. It seemed she was lost with all hands. What ensued was a tidal wave of destruction, confusion, and disarray. Seven other vessels were damaged in the blast. Four orbital survey stations had gone silent as their psykers hemorrhaged from the proximity to the death screams of so many souls burned at the warps touch. Several dozen transport shuttles and escort craft were unaccounted for. Casualty reports continued to stream in and the numbers of the dead and dying rose. Anyone and anything in service to the Master of Mankind was on alert. Every soul had been on a war footing since the traitor forces had turned on the Imperium yet this sector had been well behind the lines of engagement despite the raging warp storms. Was it an act of sabotage or purely grave misfortune that caused the Valiant Guardian to come about its disastrous end? On the surface of the world below the Imperial Army command were abuzz with activity. Guardsmen took up positions and manned orbital defense batteries. Flights of fighter craft and gunships took to the skies. Another army had formed from emergency response personnel and citizens who were involuntary chosen to aid them. Within the Tower, the planetary governor and the generals of the Imperial Army convened at the sectors primary headquarters. Amongst all the near insanity the loss of the Valiant Guardian had wrought a flight of three Valkyrie gunships were returning to base. In the wastes beyond the Tower and the sprawling military complex that surrounded it survivors had signaled a distress call from an escape pod hours after the incident. Reportedly they were crewmen from the bridge of the Valiant Guardian. They were to be returned to the Tower for interrogation and scrutiny. --- Their approach was low and close to the red soil of the planet. Their engines kicked up clouds of dust behind them. As they neared the Tower warnings blared to life as a network of defensive batteries took aim. The pilots immediately voxed their security clearances and sighed with relief when the guns of the base had gone idle and were no longer pointed at them. Everyone was on edge. Terminal Flight Command with the Tower ordered the three gunships to land at pad twenty nine as they flew into proximity of the base. The survivors were to be immediately taken into custody by Intelligence and debriefed without delay. There were too many questions that needed answering for the loss of a battle cruiser and the destruction it caused. The valkyries began maneuvers as their landing gear descended. Landing pad twenty nine was connected directly to the Tower and more than capable of servicing no less than four medium sized void transports. Such vessels could carry their own compliment of gunships if necessary. Flight crews instructed and waved down the fliers. Several platoons of guardsmen and a cadre of stormtroopers stood waiting on the deck. Medicae crews were present but had been walled off by the armed soldiers. When the final bird touched down and their engines began to decrease power they moved in. That was when the explosions happened. This time it was not the destruction of a warship or the raining debris from orbit. Fixed explosive blasts from the interior of the valkyries blew off the rear hatches. The force of the explosion launched them forward into groups of waiting guardsmen and stormtroopers. Knocked from their feet by detonations soldiers crawled onto their hands and knees. They barely had a moment to fathom what had happened before the true killing started. From within the belly of the valkyries predators leapt out with bolters firing. They were astartes of a sinister cunning and a breed apart from their brethren. Their armor shimmered in the sun with the blue-green sheen of a lizards scale. The cameoline upon their backs mimicking the terrain about them playing tricks to the unenhanced eye. In squads disembarking from the valkyries they made their way across the landing pad twenty nine in combat formations. They continued to gun down the unsuspecting defenders. They moved from cover to cover providing suppressive fire. There would be no armored elements at this sector but heavy weapons teams were not to be ruled out. Nor could one afford to be caught out in the open against the versatile walkers that began to stalk their way towards them, On legs resembling those of avian creatures they marched over the debris. Easily stepping over anything beneath them they opened fire on the attackers. Their heavy bolters pinned down several of the astartes. While their leader and his plasmacannon incinerated one astartes that was prepping its missile launcher. The attackers risked breaking cover to open fire and push forward. The service tunnels were only a few dozen meters away. Yet if they could not reach them the mission would be a failure and the great efforts to spring this assault wasted. The valkyries that had ushered them into the defenses of the Tower roared as their engine engaged full power. They lifted and hovered above the landing pad with their weapons firing. Their lascannons making quick work of the advancing sentinels responding to the assault. One valkyrie had been hit by the plasmacannon but its death would not be in vain. Applying thrust it aimed for its would-be killer. Just several feet above the astartes it raced forward with its fuselage knocking the sentinel from its feet. They came down in a fiery ball of blue flame as the plasma coils overloaded and detonated. The resulting explosion igniting the remaining promethium of the valkyrie. With that sacrifice the astartes had vanished. Following predetermined routes they began to spread through the Tower. Within minutes vital defense and communication systems began to fail or reboot. Random fires began to burn uncontrollably on several floors. Dozens of rooms were found to be occupied by the recently deceased, betrayed by those they thought brothers in arms. The Tower was under siege from within. This base would fall like so many others to the unseen blade. There would be no salvation from the Alpha Legion. --- So awhile back I got very interested in the Alpha Legion once again. Thanks to kizzdougs take on them something snapped in the black matter of my brain. Was it a my own choice to build up the Alpha Legion or some visual-subliminal-control trigger I will never know. What I do know is that I am stoked about them. What really got them going for me was the fact that my friends and I were playing Heralds of Ruin and it just screamed XX Legion. Small teams stalking the battlefield for their secretive tasks. Loved it. With this log I would like to catalog my building and painting of such an enigma of a Legion. However, you will not only find those adorned in their colors here. The Alpha Legion are known for infiltration, false flags, and the use of operatives. So do not be surprised if you see an Ultramarine tactical squad appear in this log. Or say a unit of Skitarii, Cadian, or even a Flesh Tearer. For nothing is as it seems. Now enough chit chat. We all know loose lips sink ships. So let me show you some pictures: There is quite a bit still do but I was just so darned proud of myself for finally getting this going. If you clicked on the kizzdougs link you will see what I am aiming to do. Just need more paint, time, and practice. So far this is what I have..or is it? Stay tuned, operative!
  6. The 38th Harrow, known as the ‘Children of Eris’ to their Imperial counterparts, represent a prime example of the XX Legion’s core ideology taken to the point of excess. Leading the Sons of Strife is a core of 18 captains, who have all committed themselves fully to the study and examination of the methodologies and mindsets of the 18 Legions and their allies. Most of them are noted as having gone so far in their quest for knowledge that they have infiltrated the Legion of their study for long periods of time, compelled to get a closer look at the inner workings of their subjects. Although some have inevitably lost parts of themselves along this journey, filling in those empty spaces with traits representative of the Legions they've devoted themselves to, such extremes only serve to further the Harrow’s chief objective: the evolution of a Chapter-sized force into an adaptable microcosm of assets and tactics taken from every Space Marine Legion under the Imperium's banner. These 18 captains, or ‘Praecursors’ as they’re referred to within the Harrow, serve as the executive body at the head of the 38th, passing the title of Harrowmaster freely between one another as the need arises, maintaining a mutable quality about their command structure. Contrary to this mutable quality however, there exists a tradition, established early within the Harrow’s formation that has dictated every move since. Each Cohort features a specialized sect of Space Marines dubbed the ‘Oblivitii,’ drawn from the rank and file of the Legion to serve as agents of mayhem, fully committed to learning the way of war taught by the Legion of their respective Praecursor’s study, and equipped accordingly with the pilfered wargear of that Legion’s specialists. This leads to all but one of the 18 Cohorts within the 38th Harrow of the Alpha Legion to sport a unique unit of Legionnaires who bear the heraldry and armaments of entirely different Legions than the rest of their Strifeborn brethren, corresponding with those infiltrated by their respective Praecursors so long ago. With the outbreak of the Horus Heresy, these Oblivitii have been used for increasingly nefarious ends alongside the assets of the XX Legion proper, proving invaluable in the Harrowings carried out against Loyalist forces of the Legiones Astartes, but as with all wars, casualties are unavoidable. Each loss suffered by the 38th, be it their Oblivitii specialists or their leading Praecursors, is a hefty blow dealt to the Harrow. In cases of a Praecursor's death, an Oblivitii in service to that particular Praecursor is elected to assume their late captain's position, taking on not only their title, but their identity as well. In cases of an Oblivitii's death, a Legionnaire is drawn from the closest unit in function to that of the Cohort's Oblivitii, who is then subject to the same extensive training and field preparation required to impersonate the members of another Legion's specialist units. But alas, one could not avoid the heavy losses sustained by all participating forces of the Horus Heresy, and these same losses would doom the Harrow's chief objective to failure as it became too difficult to maintain, ultimately splitting the 38th apart at the seams in the wake of the conflict taking place within the XX Legion. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hey everyone, and welcome to my hobby thread. I've been sorta bad at staying consistent when it comes to these sorts of things, but I'm hoping to turn that around. Here, I'll be updating regularly as I build and paint my Alpha Legion force, along with some of their human auxiliaries, and some special guest stars from a certain VIII Legion I'm also collecting at the moment. You can expect me to write some fluff for my Children of Eris and their associates when the mood strikes me, building up the miscellany of characters present within the 38th Harrow and their allies. That said, let's get started with my army so far: Armillus Dynat and Autilon Skorr Contemptor-Mortis Dreadnought Seeker Sergeant Oblivitii of the XVII, the Gal Vorbak Veteran Tactical Squad Nuncio-vox and Sergeant
  7. + CXXVI Grand Company - IV Legio Astartes + Arahak slammed his pauldron against the rockrete of the bastion wall. Gunfire blazed all around him, tracer fire stitching the skies and shredding the troop lander's as they descended towards the fortress. The thick mud on the approach to the wall erupted as heavy caliber shells detonated among his squad mates, a cracked helmet slammed into the wall beside him, the pulped head rolling free. Arahak swung out and hauled himself up the heavy duty siege ladder; its thick rungs braced to support the weight of so many Astartes warriors. He was ten rungs up when a fellow legionary plummeted to the ground below; the impact crunch curled Arahak's lip inside his battle helm. His legs pushed him upwards, biceps pumping as he hauled himself ever upwards. He fired with his right hand, sending mass reactive bolts screaming up at his assailants while he pulled with his left. The Astartes above him reached the top of the wall and leaped over the battlements into the brawl just out of sight. Arahak growled in his helm as a solid shot pinged off his backpack, a warning sigil flickering into life across his dirty visor. He blinked it out of the way and brought up his gun-camera feed. Then he was over, someone heaving against him from below. He landed hard onto the rockrete battlement and tucked his shoulder underneath him, with a barrel roll he came up firing. Two bolts soared through the air and pitched the enemy off their feet; the once gold armour of his foe, cracked and spurting blood. It took but a second to survey and analyse the battle swarming around him. Arahak surged to his feet, firing from his hip. His camera feed jerked as he blasted golden armoured warriors from their feet. More of his brethren were taking the wall top now, he could hear their grunts of exertion and the heavy stomp of their foot falls. He could hear the flickering of their chain mail banner. The wall top was theirs; Arahak's lips split in a silent snarl as he flicked his bolter to burst fire. Streams of shells sped out and soon enough the number of enemy resisting the push of his allies had whittled to nothing. A golden warrior pushed himself up onto his elbows, blood drooling through the grille of his helmet. Arahak raised his bolter and put a round through the warriors visor. He sniffed and ejected his spent magazine. A single warrior stood facing the tide of gun metal grey Astartes that now dominated the wall top. Missing an arm and his breath coming in haggard rasps, the Imperial Fist opposed the approaching figures with his power sword held by his side. Like starving wolves surrounding a wounded bear in the dead of winter the enemy formed a ring around him. The sounds of battle raged on around them, but it was clear the fortress wall had all but fallen and the resistance was confined to the keep. Striding from the breach at the wall top came a tall warrior clad in blood splattered battle plate, the red crest splayed across his helm misted dust and soot around his broad shoulders. The rustle of his pteruges across his iron clad thighs signaled the warriors crowding the Imperial Fist to part. Sergeant Khanat of the 126th Grand Company strode into the circle to face the survivor. "I am Captain Veru-" The Imperial Fists skull exploded in a shower of gore, splattering the face plates of the Iron Warriors behind him. Khanat turned to the nearest warrior and his voice hissed over the unit-vox. "Legionary Arahak, inform the warsmith we have taken the wall. We are proceeding below. Meet Kharnasus as he comes up with the support weapons and help him secure the wall top for the arrival of command." Khanat didn't even wait for an acknowledgement. He prowled his way down the inner stair case of the bastion wall, heading for the keep. Barban Falk would have his victory. After a long reflection process I have thrown off my shackles and embraced the traitorous side of the Heresy. I present the start of my IVth Legion Blog. This army is in its infancy and located in both California and England. I'm hoping by the end of this year I have it fully formed and ready to attend some meet ups and regular gaming as I'll be moving to California in the near future. Thank you for reading and seeing where I've decided to lay my loyalty. Iron Within.
  8. Iron Warriors 49th Grand Company "The Iron Hounds" Who do you kill for, cousin? Who would you die for? The Imperium betrayed the Emperor as surely as the Emperor betrayed his sons. Do not seek your Way there. What reward do you see your brothers earning from the Gods of the Warp? Do not seek your Way there. Hwaet! I will tell you of the true Way. - Excerpt from "Sayings of the Warsmith" http://i78.photobucket.com/albums/j91/montismo/hosting/49th-grand-company-300-v2_zps14101c7b.jpg http://i78.photobucket.com/albums/j91/montismo/hosting/ironhound-300_zps39d9223c.jpg Origins All of this? An illusion. A floating world of dreams and fancy. Nothing more, but nothing less. We eat, drink, and sing. We make war, we make art. We float along. That is all. TThe 49th Grand Company Iron Hounds was an autonomous battle group of the Iron Warriors Legion formed during the latter stages of the Great Crusade. The purpose of the unit was to draw out the bulk of enemy maneuver units in the early stages of a planetary assault, by whatever means necessary, so that enemy formations could be assessed and their weaknesses exploited by follow-on units of the main assault force. The 49th was rumoured to be one of Perturabos exile postings for Legion personnel who were deemed loyal but of unorthodox temperament. Nothing much is said of the 49th during the subsequent Horus Heresy and their place within the IV Legion Order of Battle during any of the major engagements is not known. Following the Horus Heresy the 49th Grand Company fled with the bulk of the Legion into the Eye of Terror but did not stay long on Medrengard. Their last known location under their original Warsmith was a battle fought in the ruins of an unrecorded Crone World against a warband of the III Legion. Following this conflict no word of the 49th Grand Company was heard of on Medrengard for several millennia. It wasnt until the run-up to Abaddons 7th Black Crusade that the 49th Grand Company returned to the homeworld of the IV Legion in their unusual spacehulk, their armour rededicated in orange and black, and a new Warsmith at their head. They ventured forth with the Iron Warriors flotilla during the break out of the Eye of Terror, but took advantage of the confusion of the so-called Ghost War, slipping the leash of the Warmaster and headed for the fringes of galactic civilisation. There they reestablished themselves as mercenaries and pirates, known only to the galaxy at large as the Iron Hounds space marines chapter. Homeworld The boundless vastness of the great Galaxy is my enclosed property, and I bury the dead on my own premises. The Iron Hounds are a fleet based warband. Though they control a number standard warships and their escorts, it is the ancient space hulk The Child of Calamity that is truly their home, and it is far and away their most dangerous asset. Its origin is obscured by dozens of void ships from multiple species, many of which are lost to history, all captured in an impossible framework of leviathan girders and protected by enormous sheets of armour and modular collections of weapons. The outer layers of the spacehulk features the ships and structures of the many auxiliaries and clients of the warband, refugees from burned worlds and shattered cultures who have sworn their service to the Warsmith in return for the dubious haven of the The Child of Calamity. The overall result is as deadly as a star fort, defying Imperial classification, bristling with weapons and launch bays, capable of housing hundreds of marines and their thousands of auxiliaries, able even to maintain and land Dark Mechanicum war engines and superheavy battle tanks. Deep within the bowels of the monstrous hulk, protected by dark, labyrinthine passages where the fey and otherworldly mislead and snatch away the careless, lies the Warsmith's fortress. A virtual city, the home of the Iron Hounds is crafted of stone and iron inside the cavernous holds of the ancient, forgotten vessel at the center of the hulk. The towers, barracks, temples, manufactorums, monuments, and museums of the fortress are connected by open plazas and promenades, with the skies and environs cloaked in visions of lost planets and histories that never were. At the center of this web, high above the other structures like an Olympian temple, is the throne room, where the Warsmith holds court with his subjects and guests, and communes with the ancient and bizarre gestalt machine spirit which controls the space hulk. Combat Doctrine The Old Gods are always watching, and it is a sin to leave them bored. Me, I like the big guns. Nothing builds dramatic tension quite like a cannonade. The Iron Hounds favour attack through combined arms, depending heavily on their unique war engines and aerial assets. Mobility and firepower are central themes, with the Iron Hounds breaking radically from their parent Legion's image of protracted siege specialists. Swiftly bringing as many heavy weapons forward to fire as rapidly as possible, the Iron Hounds seek to overwhelm defenses early in the fight then destroy the survivors of the initial bombardment piecemeal. When a swift and decisive victory cannot be claimed, the Iron Hounds will often simply leave, preferring the exhilaration of the initial attack to the boredom of a steady campaign. Indeed, when withdrawal has been impossible or delayed, the Iron Hounds are known to seek out honour duels from the enemy, challenge one another in acts of suicidal daring, or even play deadly pranks upon ostensible allies. Tradition & Culture Tradition is a duty. Without it we have no identity. Without it we are just another group of rabble, clawing at the edges of the Imperium. The culture of the Iron Hounds is a curious mixture of romantic literature, heroic age poetry, and the mystical philosophies of several tribes of Ancient Terra, deliberately blended by the new Warsmith to achieve his own hidden ends. Outwardly they resemble most strongly the ancient Saexn and Skandic warrior cultures, and have superficial similarities with Fenrisian culture. Carefully selected Hindik and Nihon aspects guide the inner culture of the warband, demanding that individual space marines pursue self control through refinement of the mind in imitation of ancient Zen practices. This exercise of internal control and focus allows them to face the vagaries of fate stoically. Even more radical than this, however, is a peculiar assembly of myth and legend they have developed concerning the nature of the gods and reality itself. Waelheim & The Old Dead Gods He refused to believe unless he could see it for himself, which is not unreasonable. I told him to go ask the Old Warsmith and his brothers down in the Armoury, but he cried out that talking to Dreadnoughts was liable to get him killed. Of course it would get him killed! How else do you see Waelheim? The new Warsmith hardened his heart and will toward the Ruinous Powers. To be mutated into a Chaos Spawn, enslaved through daemonic ascension, or to have his soul torn apart in the Warp was all the same to him. The Long War was ashes in his mouth, and the Great Game a bitter joke. The Imperium was a perverted shadow of what it once was, and the glorious promise of the Great Crusade a scorned memory. Redemption was instead revealed through the Warsmith's twisted vision of The War in Heaven. When the Ruinous Powers formed and overthrew the gods of the Eldar, so too must they have usurped the true gods of Mankind. The 10,000 gods of human history were but multiple facets of the same basic truth, a central pre-Chaos pantheon, and they were not destroyed when the Ruinous Powers overthrew them. They reside in a sanctuary realm beyond the Warp that the Iron Hounds call Waelheim, and a divinity known as Khalder moves freely from that realm and the Warp. The Iron Hounds believe that the Old Dead Gods are always watching, calling out to Mankind. Khalder is their herald, who gathers those worthy of them. Souls that are fearless, those that die glorious deaths in combat and with clean souls, these will burn bright in the eyes of Khalder. He will pluck them from the Sea of Souls and spirit them away to the Pure Land of Waelheim to live in a warrior's paradise with Mankind's most ancient forefathers. So the Iron Hounds fervently believe. Organisation & Disposition Do not bother me with details. Except the good ones. The Iron Hounds are organised into specialised companies: Battle, Assault, Attack, Support, and Reserve. In addition to this is the Comitatus, which is essentially a veteran Terminator company, as well as the war machines of the Armoury and the specialists of the Apothecarion and the Temple. In support of the main space marine forces the Iron Hounds also make extensive use of unaugmented human auxiliaries. At the head of all this is a council known as the Isarnhauld, a group composed of company captains, masters of the warband, and favored sergeants and champions. While their organisation is not far from codex adherent loyalists, their method of arranging a task force is more haphazard. The Warsmith chooses a force commander and gives him a mission. It is up to that force commander to assemble an appropriate task force by petitioning individual leaders throughout the warband to join their respective squads to his efforts. The interpersonal relationships of the warbands leaders is hugely important, and a good deal of charisma and luck is necessary to cajole an effective force into existence. It is unusual for an entire company to go to war under its own captain and fight as cohesive force, but not unknown. The captaincy of a particular company is largely administrative and a matter of title. Gene-seed & Purity Nothing of lasting value can be achieved by being a slavish plaything to the creatures from another dimension that dare to call themselves "gods" or "daemons". They exist to be subdued, used, then disposed of. The galaxy belongs to Humanity, and Humanity belongs to the Legions. Make them to know their proper place, bind them into iron and brass, yours to command, or suffer not their unclean presence. The Iron Hounds maintain a rigorous apothecary program. As well as retrieving the gene-seed of fallen battle-brothers, the progenoids of noteworthy adversaries are highly sought after. While the Iron Hounds prefer the gene-seed of their Primarch, pragmatism and all-important purity outweighs any prejudice in selection. The apothecary-brothers also serve a religious function, zealously excising mutations, which are seen an impediment to earning Khalder's favoring eye. The summary execution of battle-brothers who succumb to becoming Chaos Spawn or are in danger of daemonic ascension is also a duty of the grim apothecaries. The warband makes extensive use of cybernetic augmentation enabled by the advanced facilities aboard the Child of Calamity, and it is not unheard of for long-lived veterans to be more cybernetic than flesh. Past a certain point, survival in this manner is considered unlucky or ill-fated. Alongside the apothecaries, the Iron Hounds also maintain a corps of warriors who function similar to chaplains. Where the apothecaries excise sin from the flesh, these priests focus the minds of the Iron Hounds. On top of attending meditation sessions and ritual, each herjar-brother is expected to practice an art, and to pursue it with dedication and zeal during the down time between battles. A favorite among the Iron Hounds is epic poetry, though more creative herjar-brothers sculpt or paint, while the more eccentric become experts on obscure scholarly topics. The priests monitor these activities, assigning deadlines for new content and organising exhibitions to ensure the constant engagement of the warriors' minds. Herjar-brothers who fall behind in their artistic or scholarly endeavors are censured, with the priests having broad power to inflict punishment on stubborn warriors to ensure that the chaos of the warp does not find purchase within undisciplined minds. Battlecry Yes, a dream. That is all. But there are idylls and nightmares. I bring terror in order to cleanse the soul. I bring death in order to release the soul. They call me evil, but they have no understanding. I bring darkness in order to exalt the light. Most commonly heard is "To Waelheim! To Waelheim!" Also heard is the old Legion battle cry, "Iron Within! Iron Without!"
  9. Index Traitoris The Thornbacks Origins Barren "There is no deeper meaning, Iron Brother." Semesius interjected coldly as he examined the inner workings of his right hand. A slow smile spread on his face as he caught a glimpse of an ironical tear glistening on the inquiring marine's face, "Hm, the weak lean on meaning. Inancas showed us that. In time you will overcome it," he clenched his bionic fist, testing servos and gears, "or become just another weakness for us to remove." Among the later Chapters created during the 25th founding of the Adeptus Astartes was a successor Chapter of the Red Talons known as the White Hawks, created to crusade the fringes of Segmentum Pacificus. Though the Chapter's centuries of service were honorable, the White Hawks did not endure a millennium. Their downfall, caused from within, was rooted in the Chapter's founding. The same reading of the Emperor's tarot that called for the new Chapter made an unusual specification: the founding Chapter Master was to be the Red Talons' youngest first company veteran. A handful within the training cadre, led by one Captain Iacomas Inancas, was vehemently opposed to the tarot's appointment of Chapter Master. The marine indicated by the tarot was known as Agreus Nomios. If records are to be believed, Nomios was the youngest inductee to the Red Talons' first company. The subject largely of awe and respect turned to one of disbelief, and suspicion when the training cadre was informed, but as soldiers, and brothers, the remaining marines fell in. As the Chapter grew through the decades, there was no outward sign of disquiet, but as the decades stretched into centuries, with each passing act by the Chapter Master, the malcontent grew in certain hearts. What Nomios and his faithful brothers called adaptation and welcome change, Inancas claimed to be the trampling of their gene-fathers' traditions beneath their boots. What Inancas called the preservation of their gene-legacy, Nomios regarded as undermining authority. Even so, Inancas swayed many marines, both veteran and neophyte, with a silver tongue. What had started as little more than collective mistrust of the Chapter Master grew into a vitriolic hate shared by an ever growing following. The situation came to a head during an oratory by Nomios broadcast to the entire fleet as it made its way to a new battlezone as the fleet passed a temperate deathworld known as Direita II. Few remember what words were actually said. Some believe Nomios suggested that the traditions of their primogenitors contradicted the true wishes of the Primarch. Others justify what happened next by claiming that Nomios decried the Talons and the Iron Hands as fools with heretical beliefs. Whatever the words, the result was almost immediate, and some still say it was the plan all along. Ships loyal to Captain Inancas broke formation, and cut off communication with the rest of the fleet. Those marines loyal to Nomios that found themselves on traitor vessels were taken by surprise and quickly subdued, while on the other ships, marines under Inancas were inciting chaos with sabotage and ambushes, ensuring that their deaths would cost the loyalists dearly. Civil war erupted. Many of those that remained at the Chapter Master's side were the skilled pilots for which the White Hawks were reputed, while those that followed Inancas were more from the assault elements, favoring bloody boarding actions and personal combat. Within minutes, fleet guns had been turned on former brothers. The element of surprise gave Captain Inancas' smaller fleet time to concentrate fire on the Monastery Barge, the Black Castle, crippling its weapons and engines and setting it adrift. The battle raged for little more than a day and night above the planet. The Black Castle was soon caught in the planet's gravity, and pulled from the sky even as repairs to its engines were being completed. In the rest of the fleet, Nomios' pilots had not been able to hold back Inancas' assaults, and several loyalist ships were captured with the help of those traitors still on board, while a number of others were scuttled by the loyalists to keep them out of enemy hands. Their staggering losses notwithstanding, a strike team of Nomios' most trusted brothers, along with the Chapter Master himself, infiltrated Inancas' ship, the Void Rogue and attacked him on its bridge. Captain Inancas challenged Nomios to a duel, discarding all his weapons except a combat knife. Nomios accepted, but as the duel went on, it began to turn in the traitor Captain's favor. Raging as his own blade was knocked away, Nomios landed a punch on the soft armor beneath Inancas' raised arm and triggered hidden digital weapons, a burst lazer that all but removed Inancas' right arm. The Captain had enough time to claim Nomios an unworthy coward before his throat was slit by his own knife. Nomios and his marines abandoned the ship after locking into a crash course with the planet. Their attack, however, did not go unnoticed. Inancas had dispatched his own team before being cornered, and the bomb on Nomios' Thunderhawk detonated spectacularly as it made its escape from the Void Rogue. At that point, the scales tipped in favor of the traitors. Though they died fighting to a man, every loyalist ship was blasted into fiery rain over the plains of the planet below. The victory of the traitors, though complete, had come at a bitter cost, and marooned them with much of the Chapter's wargear and remaining gene-seed trapped on the planet's surface. At first, Direita II was hostile, as it had evolved to be, dangerous even to Space Marines. In time, though, the remaining traitors came to master it and call it home. Now under the command of Inancas' right hand, a former Captain known as Semesius the Disinherited, traitor remnants of the White Hawks have begun to grow once more. Casting aside their old identity, they now call themselves the Thornbacks, a name adopted from the planet's deadliest predators. Homeworld "This world, untainted, it is the perfect challenge of our might. It has bred strength. It will do the same for us." ~Sergeant of Recruits, Omester Direita II is a world roughly similar to ancient Terra, with geographic diversity and a multitude of accompanying climes. The White Hawks' War not only showered vast areas with debris, but several of the Chapter's ships are still buried in its surface. The Thornbacks have concentrated themselves around the remains of the Black Castle and the Void Rogue which both fell in a marshy region between a large river and the planet's single great ocean. The Thornbacks have since discovered small pockets of native humans, tribals that manage to survive on the knife's edge of life on Direita II. The planet earned its classification as a deathworld for two primary reasons. A toxic mineral laced throughout the planet's crust has rendered it undesirable for colonization. The mineral, known to natives as 'skull rock' for its coloration and recognizable deep pock markings, often releases lethal hallucinogenic dust residue into the air, making it unbreathable by any but the Space Marines until it is subdued by the rains. Due in part to this, the natives usually settle in the forests or swamps in elevated or treetop communities, where the dust is both less likely to penetrate, and too heavy to rise. The only real guarantee of safety is to avoid the surface deposits, and these areas have been avoided by the tribes for generations. The raised dwellings are also necessary to escape from the planet's dominant life, the Aoulef, a native term combining the words for pebble and man. Named for their scaly, ridged backs, the pebble men are four legged reptiles of immense size and brutal strength. With jaws up to half as long as their considerable bodies, and keen senses, Semesius' scouts have encountered these predators hunting in every environment on the planet except the barren mountains. They hunt in large family groups led by a single elder. These particularly ancient beasts are believed by the tribes to be immortal, and their distinctly more weathered hides give them their name: thorned men. These are the beasts that now serve as the traitors' name and symbol. Apparently immune to the toxic dust, and with bottomless appetites, these predators have been attributed to the disappearance of more than one careless recruit. Worse still, as the most fertile part of the planet, the swamps are host to the yearly mating migration of the pebble men. As a result, both the tribes and the traitors must also endure the yearly influx of predators. This is the greatest trial of the natives, for when the hunger of the reptiles reaches its zenith, as many as fifty of the beasts may converge on potential prey. This has taught the natives a degree of patience to rival that of the creatures themselves, as a wrong movement can endanger an entire settlement. Recruitment Induction The recruit roared in pain and defiance at the stump of his right hand, twisting away from the chained form of the snapping predator as the echoes his cry filled the chamber. The Apothecary quickly lifted the blood spattered neophyte, kicking away the still-seeking maw with a ceramite boot as he led away his charge. In the hundred years since the war with the White Hawks, the Thornbacks have cultivated a healthy gene-seed supply, largely as a result of paranoid self preservation. A portion of the surviving gene-seed was immediately given over to implantation, both to replenish the supply and to reinforce the remaining traitors. Those native tribals deemed pure enough made excellent recruits. Their knowledge of the planet's dangers was invaluable, and evolutionary mutations that had strengthened them against the lethal mineral dust resulted in marines with powerful lungs who have even influenced the Thornbacks' strategies and tactics. Unfortunately, the hazardous environment has also caused countless minor mutations among many of the natives, and for the most part the Thornbacks find them unfit for dedicated recruiting. Their preferred source is for recruits is Trinovantum, previously the hiveworld from which the White Hawks recruited. With a simple lie, the citizens of Trinovantum have never questioned the abrupt change in livery of their supposed custodians. The recruitment process includes many common Astartes tests of skill and strength, but when it comes times for recruits to receive the traditional bionic right hand replacement, the brutal nature of Semesius and his men becomes much more apparent. A number of pebblebacks, as the marines call them, are captured and blinded. Even blind pebblebacks can survive in the wild, and they hunt by simply opening their mouths while partially or fully hidden underwater, and waiting. Their mouths and tongues are highly sensitive, and at the slightest touch from a foreign object, be it a fish or a log, the powerful jaws snap shut, easily cleaving through its prey. The specimens kept by the Thornbacks are used in a ritual 'amputation' in which recruits are made to sit beside the chained beasts, and hold their hand between its open jaws. At the first drop of sweat that falls, the deed is done. Combat Doctrine Lurkers Vile The fishing village's sturdy docks had been largely destroyed in battle, the remaining one tightly held by the planet's PDF. It was their one reliable method of getting troops across the lake after the attack on the airfield. The tiny fishing port had to be held. In the still dimness of dawn, a single guardsman stood watch at the pier's end, while his compatriots huddled around a fire a hundred meters away on land. Slowly, silently, a bald head studded with metal rose from the water just outside the guardsman's field of vision, followed by broad shoulders. The Scout's hands rose just as slowly stopping about a foot above the surface. A twitch of a finger on his mechanical right sent the signal. The shot came from across the lake, taking the guardsman in the chest without a sound. He careened backwards into the Scout's waiting hands and disappeared beneath the surface. Below the water, dozens of yellow helmet optics blinked into life, moving towards the surface. Still comparatively small and with limited supplies, the Thornbacks do not involve themselves in major engagements with their enemies, but like the pebblebacks, will lie in wait and ambush vulnerable targets. Direita II neighbors one subsector with an Imperial colony, which has more than once been raided, and within a radius of only a few sectors are another colony, and an Astartes recruiting world. While all are appealing targets, the latter is the preferred victim of Thornback raids. The small size of their fleet enables a certain degree of stealth, which they use to surgically pick apart defenses and extract materiel and prisoners from their victims. This is of utmost importance to the renegades. While the obscurity of their homeworld has afforded them a good deal of security, they are all too conscious that drawing the full attention of the Imperium would be their undoing. With a combination of small numbers, and attacking isolated targets, they have been able to prosecute their grudge against the Imperium without bringing ruin on themselves. Though the Imperium has thorough documentation of the piracy plaguing the region, some of it even suggesting that rogue astartes are responsible, they still haven’t been able to pinpoint a source. More often than not, the Thornbacks will take only the few resources valuable to them, as they consider the true prize the opportunity to attack recruitment pools for loyalist forces. Under Semesius' direction more than one settlement has been razed to the ground leaving many a grieving parent, and not a single child, the precious youth whisked away to Direita II and an uncertain fate. Their preferred strategy for attacking ground targets is to make use camouflaging elements, particularly grasslands and local bodies of water. To maintain the element of surprise, landings may be made miles from targets so as to approach submerged. Scouts, especially those native to Direita II, are highly skilled at killing unseen from the water, and softening or marking targets for a Thornback assault. To further conceal their activity and movements, the renegades will often adopt the tactics and livery of loyal Astartes chapters, including the extinct White Hawks; some Thornback revel particularly in this deception, sowing dishonor and doubt among loyalists and their wards. Planetary attacks are relatively few and far between, considering the greater risk entailed, and far more often the Thornbacks simply wait for trade fleets plying the same lanes past Direita II that they once followed, and destroy or capture these. The Thornbacks maintain a marked preference for boarding actions, as the War cost them most of their armored assets, and still cripples their efforts to replenish standard supplies and even make simple power armor repairs. One venerable manufactorum ship, scuttled during the final battle of the Hawks, remains partially operational on the planet's surface. Though they haven't had any luck restoring additional systems, the Thornback carefully maintains those that do work, providing them with a steady supply of arms and ammunition. One of their most recent battle was also one of their greatest. It began as a carefully planned raid on a freshly completed orbital dock above the mining planet Magnabulum. Hoping to secure a more powerful and reliable setting to repair their ships and stage their attacks, the Thornbacks planned to seize the station before its full defenses and fleet escorts could arrive. The renegades employed every trick and tactic they had, disguising themselves as a combined force of White Hawks and Tauridae Astra, the chapter whose world the renegades sometimes raid for recruits. With the Tauridae impersonators playing the part of assigned escorts, they gained access to the station, and then subtly sabotaged control of docking bay defenses, opening the way for the larger “White Hawks” force to move in and gain a foothold. Staging a battle between the two teams, the Tauridae Thornbacks fell back deeper into the station with its other defenders, only to turn on them once inside, gaining near complete control of the station. Things were going well, until the actual defense fleet of the Imperial Navy arrived, earlier than scheduled, and with elements of the real Tauridae alongside them. Briefly the two forces clashed, but the loyalist force overwhelmingly outnumbered the renegades. Though they could hold the dogs of the Imperium at bay with the station’s defenses, they would never get away with the station, and the longer they remained, the more likely that their true identities could be exposed. Redirecting their efforts to preventing the loyalists from flanking them, a small detachment of Thornbacks penetrated deep into the station and began overloading the reactor. With a fighting retreat, the Thornbacks abandoned the orbital dock, their final escape covered by the detonation of the reactor. The field of debris remains down to the present, while the Tauridae have endured close observation from the Inquisition ever since. Though capturing the station was a failure, the results proved an unexpected boon when, scant years later, the Cicatrix Maledictum tore across the galaxy, cutting off the local loyalist forces from reliable naval repair and resupply, and leaving them exposed to more daring raids by the Thornbacks. Organization The Thornbacks very loosely maintain a loyalist Chapter organization for ground combat, with a little more than three and a half companies worth of marines to command, though the number dwindles as the years go on. Usually leadership on the battlefield is simply a continuation of leadership from a respective unit's fleet assignment. Ship 'crews' and contingents are far more strongly defined, and there is great pride among marines for their respective vessels, often with attached rivalries. Many of these associations were, and remain with, ships of the original Chapter fleet, most of which were destroyed. The most feared and respected Thornbacks were originally assigned to the Void Rogue, and though the ship will never leave the planet, those marines that truly distinguish themselves are still ceremonially inducted into its contingent. These marines now often take the lead on the Thornbacks' single working Strike Cruiser, the Cloud Gallows. Beliefs "Concern yourselves with only one thing, brothers. We must not only take and give nothing in return. We must take that which is of dearest cost to replace. Honor. Strength. Power." ~Semesius the Disinherited Semesius maintains a warped value for the purity that so concerns marines of Manus' line, believing that the truest purity is not only absent of weakness, but that which enables power. The Imperium and Adeptus Astartes appear unable to accept this 'natural truth', even the majority of the mighty Space Marines submitting to restrictive laws and imposed limits. While it is unclear if this was ever Inancas' real intent, it is preached as such. Much of the Thornbacks' beliefs revolve around the aggrandizement of Captain Inancas, and the rejection of the White Hawks, to whom is attached all the blame for the Thornbacks' situation. The Iron Brethren, similar in function to the Iron Fathers of their parent legion, teach that the Hawks were the epitome of weakness. A Chapter given power, but unable to keep it. These views are projected on the Imperium as a whole, an empire feigning unity, and losing strength because of it, a sinking ship which the Thornbacks have abandoned. Though Semisius would restrict their beliefs to simple philosophies, recruits from Direita II have such deeply embedded tribal superstitions that they almost can't function without them. As a result, most recruits, who now make use of and perpetuate the damaged gene-seed of the White Hawks, associate the gene flaw with the spirit of the dead Chapter. Gene-seed Last Drop in the Well The Iron Brother did not move, and Semesius' smile became a snarl of disgust. "If they will not be satisfied, tell them what they want to hear," It was clear he hadn't had anything particular in mind, but as he finished a sudden pensive look fell over him, and after a moment's silence he added, "Say they are the tears of the White Hawks, despairing at their failings. Their vessels are ours now, their legacy dead and ours begun. All they can do is mourn for the children of the Imperium that fall by our hand." Though the White Hawks had no flaws in their genetic material, severe damage to the gene-seed stores was sustained when the Black Castle crash landed. Much of the gene-seed was rendered useless, the loss of which was intensified by the loss of over half the Chapter. What remained has proven surprisingly resilient, though an Occulobe flaw has perpetuated to the Thornbacks as a whole, causing a yellow discoloration to the eye as well as a facial nerve degeneration that causes marines to shed tears, most frequently during combat where it is attributed to heightened adrenaline levels and the usual contorting of the face that tends to accompany battle. Some Thornbacks train themselves to be completely impassive in combat to reduce the effect. Others embrace it, intrigued by the way it can disturb and confuse outsiders who see it. Battle-cry "Our blades hunger! Give us the taste!"
  10. Indicies Partialus This a collection of semi-formalized concepts for Chapters that haven't yet evolved into full IA's, but for whom I would still like to paint a model or two, and so I felt worth sharing. Even though they won't immediately be developed, feedback is still quite welcome. Contents: Emerald Crests Baal Pythons Children of the Skull Chapter Datafile: Emerald Crests (aka the Hikiri) Primary Data Founding 4th Progenitor Legion Dark Angels Known Descendants Emerald Scions [Lost] Homeworld Delta-Nu Farore Allegiance Loyalist Notable History A highly secretive Chapter, even for the Unforgiventhe Emerald Crests now keep to themselves because they have no other choice. Once a ceaselessly crusading Chapter, the system they call home in the Kiri subsector has become pockmarked by warp storms that make navigating in or out of the sub-sector nigh impossible, rendering the Chapter almost immobile, and largely forgotten. They maintain deep ties to their homeworld, where they are known by the natives as the Hikiri, or Men of the Star Forest. What Imperial contact has been made with them in recent years tells that they spend most of their efforts fortifying and defending the homeworld from the constant chaotic incursions caused by the seething warp in the region, and go to great lengths to keep the knowledge of this evil from the natives. Any admonishment or request to aid other sectors is denied with the repeated claims of the desperate need to protect an artifact on the homeworld. What this artifact might be is unknown. For millennia they have trusted only one marine at a time, always a Captain, with their hunt for the Fallen. Becoming mere legend on the Homeworld and in the Chapter, his name is ritually removed from Chapter records. The mandate of this lone warrior includes aiding any fellow Astartes in need throughout his quest, and the only other law by which he lives is that he never use his name again, and it is common for these chosen marines to refer to themselves as Links to the Kiri. Each piece of gear and armor, as well as his weapons are heirlooms of the Chapter, of origins unknown. Perhaps most important among these is the Servo-skull that records the deeds of every Link for the Librarium of the Crests. Known as Navigator, and suspected indeed to be housed in the skull of a great navigator, the Servo-skull is something of a guide and familiar to the lone avatar. Icon and Colors ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  11. So I decided it was time to start a thread for these guys instead of clogging up the TIAT thread So far I have a Warhound and Reaver basically complete, they both need transfers, weathering, and basing. I'm super stoked with how they are coming out, got some games against an Astorum player coming up soon. I have two more Warhounds and another Reaver to get painted before then. Here's another pic of the finished Reaver: More pictures to come as I work on things! ++++ EDIT Just realized I never washed/finished the Reaver's toes. Will do that asap!
  12. Recently while perusing the W.I.P Forums, I came across Kizzdougs' excellent log, and his CSM to Sons of Horus conversion. So, as is the case with hobby butterfly syndrome I decided to give it a whirl. I have some CSM stuff, and some MkIV stuff so I figured I'd give it a whirl. the results are as follows: Now, he's obviously a Traitor late in the Heresy. But the question is which legion does he hail from? I can see him as a Son of Horus, a Word Bearer, or maybe a Night Lord. What do my brothers in the Age of Darkness think? I'm thinking he will be the first in a small Zone Mortalis force, at least for now. We'll see. Thanks in advance for any comments!
  13. The Pallid Procession The Grave and the Cradle Origins[/skullheaderhalf] Something you learn after enough time seeding Grandfathers garden...not every infection births disease. Anything can become an infection and bear worthy fruits. It still begins small, but feeds on its environment, grows, spreads, until at last it consumes its host. Not their body, but their mind and soul. Every emotion, like an open wound, is fertile ground for infection as potent as any disease. Fear. Pride. Hatred. Failure. Calvera, Warden of the Damned Failure. Like a hissing insect that appears without fail to disturb moments of peace. That finds its way into the slightest chink in the armor and bites and stings, getting further in the more one reaches for it. That, in the very moment when it seems to have finally died, begins its fevered attack once more. To hear the living among The Procession tell it, the Chaos scourge of the Halo Stars owes its existence to the failure of one man: Johin Mahlur. The chosen Champion of the Asperos Astra, Mahlur had been given the chance to earn his Chapter glory, and had brought them only shame, which shame had led them to risk everything and cost them dearly. As the Chapter took its fateful journey through the treacherous pass leading into the Halo Stars, it was buffeted and shaken by the turbulence of the warp. After more than a month withstanding the storm, near the heart of the fleet, the strike cruiser Reilios, home of the 6th company, began to list out of formation. Within its hull, disarray. The ships Gellar Field was failing and the Immaterium was claiming it. Surfaces of the decks and bulkheads warped and bubbled, crumbled and cracked, changing material in an eyeblink. Bodies were transfigured and twisted. Entities of the Empyrean stalked the corridors. Amid the screams, coughs, and sounds of battle against apparating demonic entities, there were also murmurs of pledged loyalty, and while most stood and fought, there were some that bent the knee. The rest of the fleet continued receiving horrific transmission from the Reilios for hours, until at last it was pulled from its course and violently ejected from the warp stream, pulling a smaller vessel from the Explorators fleet with it, both presumed destroyed. But they survived. The two ships emerged from the Warp together, far from their destination, but mostly intact. Functional, but not unmarked. Both ships bore what appeared to be the accumulated wear and corrosion of centuries in the void without maintenance. The emblems and icons of the Chapter and the Imperium that had adorned the cruiser had crumbled or burned away, replaced instead with symbols of a different allegiance; the trio of circles that represent the Plague Lord, Nurgle. Every living soul aboard both vessels had been changed; a price paid for survival, and for Johin Mahlurs failure. Homeworld[/skullheaderhalf] Captains Quarters aboard the Pursuer Sickly green light pulsed above the unpowered holoprojector. A lone figure kneels before it, head bowed, the vile emblems on his armor dancing with their own shadows in the ghastly glow. This work, hell-fired worthy though it is, would go faster if you gave us more, the figure pleads in a deep rasp. The green rent in reality vibrated with the slow, layered, near-whisper that answered Is your power over death insufficient, Calvera? Or your will so weak? Would the Plaguefather be better served by another Champion? Not power, master. Knowledge. Assurance that this artifact exists! That our toils have meaning. The Materium hides secrets from us as the Immaterium obscures them from you. Had I more...insight...into the objects location, you would have it. Continue your searches. Have patience. Time is on our side. And Calvera? If you lay such doubt upon me again, there will be consequences. Spat out of the Warp under no power of their own, the castoff survivors from the fleet found themselves at the edge of a barren star system somewhere deep among the Halo Stars. Before them were a handful of worlds that were little more than pitted rocks, orbiting a baleful and turbulent star. At first the newly converted children of decay thought that they were meant for these stricken worlds, but as they approached, they found something else. Orbiting the entire star, like a single wisp of gray hair clinging tenuously to a pale head, was an unbroken chain of ships. Wreckage, both ancient and modern, pursuing a silent, ceaseless convoy around the star. From the whisper of Nurgles emissaries they learned its name: The Processional of the Damned. The numberless derelict vessels carried all that the Plaguefathers disciples would need to fulfill his will. From it they would take their name, and their mission. Composed of everything from scout vessels and pleasure yachts all the way up to battleships and space hulks, there are more weapons, artifacts, and secrets in the Processional than on some of the oldest hives of the Imperium. The orbiting vessels come from every age and beyond, and from civilizations human and xenos alike. There is far more hidden among these ships than the emerging warband can hope to uncover on its own. The Reilios and the Demittor, the Mechanicus forge-barque that had succumbed with them, moved to orbit alongside the Processional, only to see the ships surrounding them to part of their own accord, leaving room for both heretic vessels. Entering orbit, the heretics began their explorations. To further reflect the changes to themselves and their ship, the heretic Astartes renamed their corrupted Strike Cruiser Pursuer of the End. Over the course of years and decades that followed, the corrupted survivors explored and cannibalized the surrounding ships, while the tainted Mechanicus dragged multiple vessels together to build a dark, floating forge. The Astartes and their subjects refitted and repaired a handful of other ships, and began to launch scouting missions into the dark corners of the Halo Stars and towards the Asperos Astras original destination. When at last they found the Manifest Frontier, the loyalists newfound home, they set about watching them, dispatching agents into their midst to observe, and planting new seeds of corruption in the hearts of their wards. A handful of the choicest recruits were spirited away back to the Processional, where they joined the ceaseless salvage and restoration effort on the various wrecks. Others are outfitted with scout ships and sent into the darkest corners of the Frontier, pursuing secret objectives. The Processional now has pockets of activity throughout its orbit, some ships having been returned to full functionality to serve the heretics' naval and transport needs, while others have little more than flickering engines and lights full of whispers, some new and some ancient. The bulk of the work done in the Processional is carried out by undead, whose living masters push them ever harder to prepare the ships for their destiny. Still less than a fraction of its potential has been uncovered. The secrets and power it contains are of extreme importance to certain members of the Immaterium. And what is important to them is important to the Pallid Procession. Recruitment[/skullheaderhalf] There are few living Astartes in the Procession compared to many warbands, most of these being the original members of the 6th Company that made pacts with the Plaguefather in exchange for their lives and their power. Due to Nurgles gifts, none of these traitors has yet tasted death. The rest of the 6th company, however, was not lost...or more accurately, not wasted. With the powers of the Empyrean, the traitors raised the dead of the 6th, binding them to their cruel will. These undead Astartes are now the Processions deadliest shock troopers, and though some have been destroyed, their reanimated nature makes them extremely difficult to destroy, and many of them continue to serve. The bulk of the warband is composed of the surviving crew from the Pursuer and the Demittor, who command zealots and cultists that have been spirited away from the colony worlds of the Manifest Frontier. Supplementing their lack of numbers are great hordes of undead, raised by means of pestilent sorcery. While the Procession exercises its powers quite liberally to cull and harass the colonists, it is also very cautious in its approach to tempting away other Marines of the Asperos Astra. It is rarely worth the risk to commit substantial forces against the Chapters established defenses, but probing strikes against convoys and isolated outposts can sometimes yield new recruits. With great care, the Procession has slowly and subtly grown, and they continue their implacable advance with all the inevitability Nurgles children are known for. Advancement among the Astartes within the Procession is at the sole discretion of the Black Warden, Calvera, and hinges on much the same kinds of deeds expected of the mundane mortals in their service: providing information. As the Procession scours the Manifest Frontier from its heaviest fortifications to its darkest unexplored corners in search of the hidden power they desire, the favor of their master is reserved for those who provide the most valuable intelligence. Combat Doctrine[/skullheaderhalf] The Fall of Fort Belknod The flames created disturbing echoes in the halls of the fortress, seeming to give voices to the contorting shadows cast on the walls. Striding through the flames came a tall figure clad in eroded black ceramite, approaching a heavy door that had been smashed from its frame. Another, smaller figure wearing leathers stood by the open portal, and nodded to the armored giant, taking a step forward at the approach. The charts? Growled the armored one, stopping at the door. Inside, my Auger. Untouched, as ordered. Tell the troops. No survivors. The short one nodded, and ran, picking their way through flames. After a pause, the armored one entered the open room. It was small; room for less than a dozen people. The walls were lined with shelves, but directly across from the ruined door was a skull-topped shrine, inside of which was a tall, ornate scroll case. As the giant reached out, his helmet appeared to crack, disintegrate and at last dissolve into dust, drifting away from his head. Wide, milky eyes stared from a gaunt, pale face. A ceramite fist plucked the case from the shrine, lifting it to eye level, and the heretics thin lips curled into a humorless smile. Warfare as conducted by the Procession is a strange contradiction, a matter of subtlety executed by brute force, where a success will leave the enemy wondering why they came under attack at all. Lacking the numbers of elite (or even particularly coordinated) troops found among the Asperos Astra and the colonist militias, the warband compensates using waves of undead chaff to draw enemy attention and absorb fire. These hordes are composed of both simple reanimated dead, as well as more robust zombies created with an iteration of the Walking Pox known in the Frontier as the Withering Pox. The walkers created by the Withering Pox often appear shriveled and emaciated, rather than the typical swollen and pustule ridden form of pox walkers, but are still possessed of a frightening density that makes them deceptively hardy. While the pox walkers are usually gathered into their own hordes, it is not unusual for some to be mixed among the simpler plague zombies, where they are difficult to pick out until they are already upon the foe and their unexpected strength and ferocity is too late to stop. With the tide of undead at the front, the Processions firepower, borne primarily by the undead members of the 6th, can then be brought to bear with minimal interference. Their focused fire is used to target perceived weak points in their targets defences, creating greater opportunity for the hordes to break through and overwhelm defenders. More entrenched enemies are ideally faced with too many shambling corpses to be able to contribute meaningfully to the battle. Using the frontal assault as a distraction, the sorcerer leading the force will take advantage of the chaos sown by the pressing hordes to slip through a vulnerability in the enemy defence, whether discovered or pre-prepared, to accomplish the Processions main objective, or to fall upon an unsuspecting enemy flank with psychic fury, taking them off balance and leaving them all the more exposed. The Procession are especially dangerous in the void, where they take full advantage of the endless supply of gutted and abandoned vessels bestowed on them by their master. Fireships and ramming leave wide openings for boarding, both in direct assaults with their massed hordes and by stealthy insertions of sorcerers and their champions. To date, only moderately sized vessels, no larger than the Pursuer have seen use in actions against their enemies. [skullheaderhalf=333333]Organization Most operations attributed to the Procession are carried out by short-lived cults, whose leadership have very little communication with the true body of the warband. Their value is generally measured simply by the corpses they supply, but occasionally they provide information useful to the warbands larger aims. Delivering such information is usually the only means by which such zealots can hope to rise into the true ranks of the Procession, or earn any reward beyond knowing their zombified corpse will one day be a weapon for the warband. The humans with real standing in the Procession are more often than not spared from brutal combat service; they are far more valuable to the warband as information gatherers and fomenters of dissent. These select and faithful few operate primarily as solitary agents, searching the Frontier for whispers of the power the Procession seeks, while laying the foundation for new cults. Above most humans, but somewhat distinct from the structure of the Procession are the acolytes and magi of the Demittor, who have combined the gifts and knowledge of their patron with their existing technological prowess in order to keep the Procession equipped with arms and ammunition. As is typical of their kind, most of them would rather spend their time uncovering the secrets and archaeotech in the treasure trove that is the Processional, but they can be relied upon to outfit the warband according to its needs, and occasionally even take to the battlefield. Of the heretic astartes themselves, they are loosely divided into thirteen strike teams, each led by one of the original traitors from the Pursuer. These bands organize themselves largely as they see fit, and carry out the missions specifically given them in furtherance of the Processions goals. Their leaders, referred to as Augers by their lessers, each have varying degrees of influence over the powers of the Warp, due mostly to pacts struck during the fall of the Reilios. The more proactive among them have begun to approach the power of true sorcerers, but all have potent gifts they may bring to bear. Commanding the warbands operations on the material plane is the grim figure known as Calvera, the Black Warden. It is unknown what his exact involvement was in the fall of the 6th Company, but he was the most senior among those who turned, to say nothing of his authority as a Warden of Souls. What had once been an indomitable will as a Warden of the Asperos Astra has now turned toward the dark, entropic designs of the Plaguefather. Under his direction the Procession has harried both the Asperos and the Nonaveridis across the length and breadth of the Manifest Frontier, striking almost without consequence at places thought impervious to assault. Calvera himself takes counsel from none, save the greater daemon that relays the Plaguefathers wishes. Only a handful of the original heretics are privy to this entitys nature, but it is known to be the creator of the Withering Pox. To those of the material plane, the being is named The Graywhisper, and is one of the unifying subjects of worship among the various plague cults birthed by the Procession. And then, somewhere at the edge of the Processions structure is the enigmatic figure known most commonly among them Pallid Preacher. Even within the warband, no one can confidently claim understanding of this creatures nature. He often appears at settlements a few days, or sometimes mere hours before the arrival of warband hordes, raving abstractly to the inhabitants about the merits of death and the waiting afterlife. On more than one occasion the preachers unsettling sermons have been answered with bullets. While in some places he escapes, in others he, or at least something like him, has been reported killed. Still he appears on the frontlines, heedless of any number of deaths. [skullheaderhalf=333333]Beliefs Bridge of the Pursuer And this pleases the Graywhisper? The heretic marine, somehow both hulking and dessicated, leaned forward, laying a weathered metal chest at the foot of the throne. You need to learn the difference between progress, and success, Arikoraa, Calvera growled from beneath his hood, Progress is a lie, a trick, a false sense of security. It forestalls failure, but it is not success. In progress, there is nothing to be pleased. That weak thinking is why the Asperos settled for this...wasteland. When we succeed...when the Processional takes to the stars, the stain of the Asperos has been scoured, and we ride on the Imperium itself...then, the Graywhisper will be pleased. The Procession doesnt display the joviality found among some followers of Nurgle, though they do exhibit a grim pleasure in their work. The traitors from the Asperos Astra are a somber group, clad in the corrupted remains of their armor. Uncharacteristic for plague marines, the heretics of the Procession are gaunt, emaciated and parched rather than bloated and gangrenous. Even their ceramite appears more like a hardened, flaked husk than intentionally crafted armor. Instead of the cloying mist of disease that clings to most plague marines, the astartes of the Procession, both living and undead, are followed by dark, dry, clouds of noxious dust that bear the Withering Pox and other deadly pathogens. Though they delight in the suffering of the Frontiers colonists and any killing and torturing they can exact on the Asperos, the Procession are generally a callous and rigid warband, with a single-mindedness toward their objectives and very little tolerance for failure of any kind. They are committed to the mission given them, which to them will bring vindication against the weak and deferential Asperos Astra, and the Imperium that rejected their strength and denied their glory. Through their cults and, to a lesser degree the mad ministrations of the Preacher, the warband spreads its belief in death as the greatest gift, a liberation from the worry and pain of life. An afterlife awaits the worthy, a second life, which in reality is no more than being revived by one of the zombie plagues to further spread the word. Among the cults of the Procession, there is no greater aspiration, and the sorcerers within the warband are honest in delivering this gift to their disciples upon death. Nurgles purpose for the Procession among the Halo Stars is known only to the heretic Astartes and a select few of their most devoted followers. Under the daemons guidance, they are convinced that somewhere in the Frontier is an artifact capable of animating the entire Processional of the Damned. If found, it would create a fleet the likes of which the Imperium has seldom seen. One which could visit death and devastation upon an entire Segmentum. [skullheaderhalf=333333]Gene-seed They share the lineage of the Asperos, but their gene-seed is naturally highly corrupted. Very little of that gene-seed is viable for implantation. Only five successful implantations have occurred since the Processions birth, but each of these new plague marines has been increasingly more powerful than the last. Most of the failed implantations have at least resulted in mutants useful enough to be unleashed as disposable shock troops. [skullheaderhalf=333333]War Cry Call: Every step closer! Answer: Closer to the grave!
  14. 908 downloads

    By commission from Grand Master Laertes, depthcharge12, and Atia. The Legio Fureans of the Dark Mechanicus Traitor Titan Legion, scaled for use on Imperial Knight models. Note: will require the use of Mechanicum decals provided with the Imperial Knight model for best appearance. This sheet allowed me to do two new things. First, it is one of the first public sheets I've posted with multiple images, and the first not scaled for Space Marines or their vehicles. Second, it is the first sheet I've produced that takes advantage of the layer options in Adobe Acrobat/Reader. The logos appear on the top layer, with additional layers to print the sheet with a Legio Fureans yellow background, Fureans flames behind the logos, or a light blue background (though the last may only be of use on screen to show what white/light logos are present).
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