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Hey everyone, welcome to my hobby thread! If you're looking for one of the colour scheme tutorials from my 'March of the Legions' project or one of the basing tutorials, please check the bottom of this post for all of the relevant links. If you can't find what you're looking for or if you have a question that's not answered in the relevant post, please feel free to send me a private message. Regards, Kizzdougs. For more regular updates check out my Instagram account @raptorimperialis I've recently been feeling the urge to start a new 40K project. After much musing and many false starts, i've decided on the Thousand Sons, Pre-heresy. They aren't my favourite legion or chapter but the TS have always be a legion full of character, imagery and conversion opportunities. A perfect combination in my opinion. This project has been at least two years in the planning process. It all started when i converted a PH TS sorcerer for a conversion competition at my local GW (which i was lucky enough to win). After building the Sorcerer i knew i had to make some more TS, they are just so fun and different. Unfortunately it has taken me over two years to finally get here. The Sorcerer who started it all. He is a relatively simple kit bash with minimal GS work. I took inspiration from the Thousand Sons art in 'Collected Vissions', especially that of Ahriman and Uthizarr. http://i1122.photobucket.com/albums/l522/kizzdougs/photo-3.jpg The test mini. I used bits from several kits to build this terminator, the majority are from the GK terminator kit and the Tomb Guard kit (WHFB). http://i1122.photobucket.com/albums/l522/kizzdougs/DSCN0290.jpg?t=1313302289 With crest added. I can't decide whether to give all the terminators these crests or just keep them for the squad leaders. Any opinions and suggestions are welcome. http://i1122.photobucket.com/albums/l522/kizzdougs/DSCN0291.jpg?t=1313302233 http://i1122.photobucket.com/albums/l522/kizzdougs/DSCN0292.jpg?t=1313302169 A close up of the force weapon. Such a simple conversion but i'm fairly happy with how it turned out. Sorry about the bad lighting. http://i1122.photobucket.com/albums/l522/kizzdougs/DSCN0289.jpg?t=1313302359 Hopefully this project will develop and progress at a not too slow pace (fingers crossed). I plan on adding some Sisters of Silence and maybe even some Custodes at a later stage. I'm certainly feeling the necessary inspiration at the moment. Any and all suggestions and advice are more than welcome, as are questions and queries. Thanks for looking EDIT: March of the Legions Painting Tutorials: Space Marine eye lenses Legions without tutorials: World Eaters Iron Warriors Sons of Horus The Rout Imperial Fists Night Lords Thousand Sons White Scars Legions with tutorials: Blood Angels Death Guard Emperor's Children - Palatine Breachers tutorial Emperor's Children Metallic (airbrush) Salamanders Ultramarines Raven Guard Word Bearers Alpha Legion (no airbrush) - Alpha Legion (airbrush) Effrit Stealth Scheme Dark Angels Iron Hands Thousand Sons World Eaters Hobby tutorials: Basing - ZM/industrial Greenstuff tutorial Desert/rocky base building Desert/rocky base painting Eye Lens Tutorial

Did some updates on the blog, and here's the short version: Thanks for checking it out!

Here are the WIP pictures of my own attempts at a Thousand Sons force(and other projects). While awaiting parts for the actual troopers I started work on the other bits I had to hand, most of which were donated by folks. Not many pictures here but I do have a few more in my blog, but I couldn't ignore invaluable advice of the B&C army. I'll admit it I love Hellbrutes, mainly because they are basically Dreadnoughts and I always used those as well. http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1I852hC7jdA/VTiuxewBJxI/AAAAAAAABk8/JQBtP1GhLvg/s640/20150421_173902.jpg The blue is an old Ultramarines Blue from GW, pretty sure they don't make anything like it anymore. Really hope it lasts me another little while so. http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YXUsODlEsvM/VTiu1dGyOQI/AAAAAAAABlM/_kuJlHrkJLg/s640/20150422_171224.jpg I had to improvise for the bone colour here by painting it white and using a brown wash over it, I actually quite like the effect. http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xxKLqCwiLO4/VTiu3qUUMfI/AAAAAAAABlU/0iic5VTbUfo/s640/20150422_193902.jpg My first bits of skin on the demon prince, didn't go as well as planned but frankly it is hard to tell from these awful picture. I need a lamp to bring some colour to the darkness, also I need to learn how to high light things. http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/---akmNmxPXo/VT6ylLik-VI/AAAAAAAABlk/FnlAM514BVc/s640/20150427_225706.jpg I think you can all see I have more keen for the project than skill, but time will tell.

This is my new blog for Thousand Sons First of all my currently completed pics; The first two rubricae to bend their will to Ishaq the Unchanged: These were rapidly joined by Aspirant Abasi and his warpflame spewing brethren: Here's the current item on my workbench:

So with the pre-order around the corner, this is a conversation about the upcoming Chapter Approved changes specifically. (Please no codex wishlisting here, we've got a topic for that.) Very little basic rules changes seem to be coming that we didn't know/suspect. Stuff like Boots on the Ground ; unfortunately this takes away from the usefulness of the Heldrake a little more... and I do use it. And Objective Secured, which I think is great for Tzaangor players like myself. Interestingly enough they do mention lots of point decreases, an where they seem to indicate most increases is with anything you've seen in an Imperium HQ tournament slot. (Celestine,Guilliman, Cawl). Of course Maelific Lords got smashed with an increase due to abuse. But they do mention Chaos reductions. Nothing concrete yet for Thousand Sons in particular. There's "build your own Landraider" with Reaper Autocannons, but it will be allowable only in open play. This is a rumour I can't confirm on points changes we -may- use: Chaos Space Marines Force Axe 10 Force Stave 8 Force Sword 8 Helbrute Fist single/pair 40/50 Predator Autocannon 40 Thousand Sons: Warlord Trait: Re-roll Deny Witch Tests Relic: rolling doubles for psychic tests means the opponent may not resist with deny the witch or negate it by any means. Psychic Power: Warp charge of 7. Select an enemy unit within 18″ and roll 9 dice. The unit suffers mortal wounds on each roll of a 6 Stratagems: 1CP If within 6″ of at least 2 other friendly TS psykers, you can add 2 to your psychic test. I'll add/ edit as more 'truth' comes out! Please feel free to add, or comment, but please keep it to Chapter Approved and not codex wish-listing.

So, recently I started a 30k Thousand Sons army! I've had a Night Lords force for some time, but it wasn't a very 'showy' army and I had rushed it through. As a result, when the plastic marines have all come out I thought it was time for a second legion! Looking through the various legions and the various primarch models, I came to a conclusion fairly quickly. I've always had a bit of a thing for the Thousand Sons but their lack of rules was a let down until the recent books, it wasn't exactly like you could use satisfyingly relevant generic rules for such a unique legion! Now that they have rules that let me field a very different army and allow for ludicrous amount of terminators next to an awesome primarch model, it seems to be the time to take the mental plunge! As a result, I've put a couple of guys together and started work on the tactical section of the army (for when I don't want a 'strong' army full of psychic terminators) I have another 15 of these on the bench at the moment. Thoughts would be appreciated. I'm not massively happy with the uncovered head, mostly as the airbrush pooled into some of his features which made him a bit sad looking!

The Cabal The velvet void bubbled and rent itself open. The swirling pulsing energies of the Immaterium flowed and swelled through the rift; the lapping waves on the shore of the esoteric ocean. Fingers and claws of eldritch power curled outwards, clutching and dragging at reality's frayed edge. The hole existed for only a moment, before its own impossibility caught up with it and with a silent cataclysm of glowing light and roaring immaterial winds, it collapsed. But in the seconds it had existed, something had passed through. The great battle ship moved with steely purpose through space away from the last crackling remnants of warp energy. The trailing tendrils of blue-white vaporous power seeming to push it forwards deeper into the material realm. The sleek prow that tapered into a fine edge the split the space it passed through, the massed ranks of laser batteries and battle cannon that lined its expansive mid-section a testament to it's lethality. A cold, deep blue the ship sped quietly onwards, not propelled by the vast nuclear thrusters that clustered at its aft. No, it drew power from a far darker source. It was the Battle Barge Prospero's Fury. In ancient days it had campaigned from one corner of the galaxy to the other, bringing the light of knowledge and the strength of Imperial truth to the far sundered scions of humanity. It had been the pride of the 857th expeditionary fleet, and had carried the proud warriors of the 4th Fellowship of Thousand Sons in their quest for enlightenment and victory. Such days were long past now. For ten thousand years this great ship had plied the non-space of the warp at the bidding of its sorcerous masters, for ten thousand years it had borne its new Captain on his own quest for enlightenment. And victory. Deep within, the halls and corridors of the ship were silent as the grave, save for the rhythmic pounding of armoured boots on obsidian floors. The cavernous interior spaces, once providing the nerve centre and beating heart for a crusading fleet had long since been redesigned. Now these rooms and galleries held an endless horde of artefacts. At every corner, in every available space there was piled great and ancient books, brass instruments and outlandish oddities collected painstakingly from all corners of reality. Where once the Prospero's Fury had been a ship of death; leading the wave of humanity against a hostile cosmos, now it was, or seemed to be, little more than a floating museum of curiosities and long lost wisdom. Yet within its dark and silent depths there still burned a flame of life. Hunched low over the carved wood of the lectern, under the dim and flickering light of the ethereal blue of the torches, an armoured figure worked industriously. His grimoire open before him, his hand scratching the ageless quill of some xenos-avian over the delicate page. Resting close by the great four-horned helmet lay, its deactivated eye-lenses stared back at the lowered face of its owner. Charn the Blind, once Captain Hekat of the 4th Fellowship, though for him, like his ship, those days were long past. His blue, simmering armour shone fitfully with its own inner light, his waxy, taught, aged skin gleamed creamy yellow in the dim, shifting hues. The white bandages that covered what were once his material eyes glowed eerily bright, the light from what replaced those mortal sense organs. The pen scratched over the parchment of his grimoire never pausing, never resting as it consigned, in the most sacred traditions of the sons of Magnus, every thought, each revelation, all the secrets of the author. "Still the tides of the warp trouble me. The many crystalline paths of Tzeentch hide themselves from my sight. The future is clouded, so many possibilities vie for dominance that the shape of things to come cannot be brought into focus." The pen scraped on as behind his gently humming power pack the ornate door slid open. Through the frame there stepped another armoured figure, his head bowed in reverence of the work his master was performing. "My lord. We shall have orbit in one hour. What do you command?" The pen paused, though Charn did not move his head. "Make ready our brethren." He said, his voice dry and creaking. The sound of a thousand ancient books opening echoed his every word. The dust of ages was heavy on his breath, "And prepare the Sending. We must to take to the surface as soon as we can. We must prevent our quarry from escaping." "By your command, Lord Charn." The ornate helmet of Semik bowed lower as he retreated from his master’s room. The pen began again. "The signs have guided me to this place. It is an ancient site, the footprint of our history has never reached this far, what lies below will not be of our making. Yet here my steps have led me, and here I will find my answer. The Eye is still waiting." And now, for the first time the pen faltered. He had not intended to write those words. The eye is still waiting. For months now those visions had been creeping gradually upon him. The single great eye, a Cyclopean giant. Once, when he was still young Charn might have believed that the primarch was calling him home. But no. Millennia of silence had banished such thoughts even from his imagination. Magnus had forsaken them, there was no returning now. But then who was the Eye? Resolutely he put the pen down and reached up with both gauntleted hands to release the ties that bound the silken cloth to his ruined eyes. The pale fabric fell away in his hands, and the room was suddenly brightened. The fierce white-hot yet ice-cold light burned forth as if it resented being bound. The white holes in Charn's face flared like stars, and his tears of pain issued forth as tendrils of the Immaterium. Though these unclad eyes the world melted and warped. The image of his work and the chamber in which he was sitting fell away. Dissolving into multi-coloured chaos as he seeped out from and lived through those warp-spawned eyes. To look for answers. --- Prospero's Fury slid quietly onwards, hiding in the fierce solar winds that buffeted this remote system. Below the planet loomed, a dry, dirty brown ball hanging lifeless in space, spinning silently around its unstable star. Semik Sorcerer of Tzeentch and First Acolyte of the Cabal of Charn watched the deadly light ravage the surface, exiting the thin atmosphere and creating fractal patterns of green and red light that coruscated over the dead planet. On the far side, shrouded in perpetual night by the planet's rotation, was the destination. Lord Charn had guided them here, to this place. So remote it had no name in the tongues of man. Yet here they came, and here they would find the answer to the riddle that had begun to plague them all. Who was the eye? None of the Cabal had been ignorant of it, and all had guessed at what it might portend. Charn was content to sit and write his endless tracts and treatises, clinging to a forgotten past. Semik was not. He knew what the Eye represented, he knew what it meant. He knew what they should be doing. But the Blind Fool was too lost in history, too bent with defeat to see it. A growl curled his lips as he barked forth silent, psychic orders to the rest of the Cabal. His brother sorcerers reacted at once and the ripples of their assent found him one by one as he marched onwards towards the High Gallery. The Gallery was a vast, many pillared hall. It rose from an embossed, rune encrusted floor past buttresses of steel to the many impossibly high vaults of the ceiling. It had once been a hanger, those heights had buzzed with the legions of drop ships and fighter craft of the Great Crusade. But now it was hung with gilded incense-burners that poured perfumed smoke into the cavernous space, and lit by hundreds of braziers whose flames glowed blue with eldritch power, their flickering light cast dancing shadows over the runes on the floor. Shadows, Semik knew, that were not really shadows at all. He entered the Gallery sedately, walking slowly; his armoured feet rang on the polished marble and sang on the engraved gold of the many runes. His comrades were arriving too; processing solemnly, one from each of the eight doors. They all converged on the epicentre of the Gallery, where the huge eight pointed star waited. On each of the points was a tiered dais, and at the centre, the red eye of chaos was a vast ruby plucked from the craterous eye-socket of a deamon-planet by Charn himself, set with an obsidian pupil that glimmered in the dancing shadow creatures. Semik strode forwards into the raised, polished surface of the eye and inhaled. This was the spot. The hall, the very ship had been redesigned by the mind and naked will of the Blind Prophet, warping it and bending it to focus energy through this point. It poured through the pupil of the great eye upwards in an invisible yet tangible torrent that seeped up through the distant ceiling and round again through the attuned bulkheads and rune-carved gantries of the ancient vessel. Now Semik stood tall in the centre of that fountain, one place away from the glowing, gushing spout of power that marked were Charn would stand. His scowl returned, the intoxicating pull of knowledge, of abilities that ought to be is. His muscles twitched, trying involuntarily to move his body onto that sacred spot, but his will prevailed. No, not yet. Around him the procession of Thousand Sons had reached their appointed places. He and the seven other Acolytes around the rim of the great eye, the eight captains around them on the dais situated at each point of the great star, with their Rubricae brethren set around them, so that each point of the star was a star of its own. Semik surveyed the Cabal. The other Acolytes, exiles of Prospero, just as their leader, had followed him through the galaxy for ten millennia. Semik’s fists clenched. The fool had taught them much, it could not be denied, but he had no vision. The old man would wander space forever, as the dust deepened all around him. The armoured figure relished the image of the blind old man, walled in by his own books, the pages of his interminably long life piled up all around him and collapsing in a dry, dusty tide to drown him in his own history. Yes. That would be fitting. Then Semik would rise. He would heed the many signs his master was too afraid to notice, he would answer the Cyclops’ call and he would be the one to return the Cabal to glory. It would he him, sat by the feet of the primarch in the tower or sorcery, his fate that would be woven into the future of the galaxy, not Charn’s. Not that old, dusty, fool. ---- Looking out now over the vista of the Warp Charn's disembodied eyes soared onwards. Always he was aware of the room, the chair, the table and his own body, but they were vestigial now. A useless add-on to a higher consciousness. Through the portal of his eyes Charn watched the ripples and eddies of the Immaterium. Close by there was the inert footprint of the planet. Faint tendrils of energy clung to it like mist to a lake. The echo of history. All around the pandemonium of Chaos reigned; ravening wills battled in the silent spaces for the legions of souls that illuminated the galaxy. Their multitudes blurring into a smear of glowing life that stained the stars. And there, in the centre, at the brightest point in the maelstrom of thought shone far off the Corpse Light of Terra. The sputtering flame of humanity, fed by the daily sacrifice of millions. Charn scowled at it, and it seemed to scowl back; a living memory of the Great Failure. But he looked away, quelling the feelings of bitterness and returning to the imposing planet before him. He soared closer, letting his swirling comet-tail soul ripple the dim billows of old life that hung to the vast orb. It crackled as he passed, vibrating to the resonance of his will, reviving sounds millennia old. Over the vast distance of years Charn heard, distant and faint alien voices calling. Souls departed so long ago that the memory of their memory had evaporated. He listened to their lament, the sounds of sorrow, of battle and of gradual ignoble death are the same in every language. The melody rose and fell as Charn orbited the planet, combing with his mind the craters and gorges that sprawled lifeless below him. The song lilted through space, a species last defiant whispers against a cold and unfeeling universe. When the last note ended, and the chorus of lost souls was stilled Charn felt a moment of grief, and silently he marked the loss of this world. Not for the creatures that once crawled on it, not for their lives, spent as lives always are in futility, but for their knowledge, for their creations. For the artifice of a civilization, that was what was important. That was what remained when breath had died and the soul had fled. The testament of a species was what it left behind, and for this species, so long had passed even that had crumbled into dust and been forgotten. An electric tingle exited the warp around Charn as he sprang out of his contemplation. The faint resonance of light made the warp-stuff all around jingle with trepidation; light meant life. The Sorcerer focussed on it, crawled through deep vaults of time in the inert matter of the planet, swam through long darkened seas far below the surface, listened to the sound ahead making the minerals in the crust ring as it pulsed through time and space like a beacon. As he gained on it features resolved. He could see the structure, buried far down beneath the equator, the blocks of stone and wraith-bone shell vibrated with the life they contained. A few, not many, their souls were indistinct, hidden by the ancient technology of their architecture, but there was something else. Their light burned low, but hot, ravaging, rapacious fire stung Charn’s senses as he drew closer, the solid earth passing through him like smoke. Too few, all the same. He felt a wry grin twitch his wizened material cheeks, and he turned away, letting his body draw his mind back, through the rocks and bones of the planet, through the echoing halo of dead aliens and back into space, towards Prospero’s Fury. --- Semik glared through his helmet at Charn when the old sorcerer finally entered the hall, leaning on his wooden staff. The sound of its embossed base striking the floor carried like ghostly music around the High Gallery. Charn walked with his head bowed, his eyes were bound, and their light seemed dimmer to Semik than when he had reported their arrival to him only a little while ago. The fool grows older every moment, he thought wickedly, imagining snapping that wasted and emaciated neck and watching those warp-eyes go out forever. Never the less he stood straighter as his master neared the centre of the hall. The hush that always pervaded Prospero’s Fury deepened, the circles of automata stiffened as the minds of their champions prickled with the approach of their master’s formidable will. Charn joined Semik and the other Acolytes on the glowing eye, lifting his face to the ceiling as he stepped into the eruption of ethereal energy that fountained from the obsidian pupil. Semik heard his master sigh, and thought that up close Charn’s hunched form suddenly seemed mightier, swelling as the iridescent, invisible arcane energy washed over him, the old man suddenly seemed like a coiled spring. But then the moment passed, Charn lowered his blind gaze and the image vanished. Semik’s scowl returned at once. The illusion; perhaps the after image of a Charn from thousands of years ago, before he surrendered to history. When Charn spoke Semik and the seven other Acolytes echoed his words and from their stations on the eight cardinal points of the star the Captains took up the chant. “Twisting Chaos, build our path. Burning Chaos, light our way. Deceiving Chaos, blind our enemies. Fractured Chaos, take us there.” Charn’s speech was keen and sharp, though Semik could hear, behind the force of the magic, his master’s dry wizened voice, and he smiled to himself as the chant continued. “Twisting Chaos. Shifting Chaos. Deceiving Chaos. Fractured Chaos.” The Acolytes and Captains intoned the words and Charn’s leading voice changed as he recited other words in other languages not of mankind’s making. His words counterpointed the continued chants of the champions, the dissonance in the tones and pauses grew over the seconds, making a pulsing wave of low frequency sound that moved around the Gallery like tension on a string. The air became heavy and acrid, the smell of the warp prickled Semik’s nose as in unison the Acolytes raised their hands palms directed to the solitary figure of Charn, his own hands holding high the staff. The staff. It was, once, made of plain wood, taken from the gardens of Prospero. It had blackened and turned to carbon by the warp-fires of Charn during the siege of Terra. The wood had burned, charred and been forged into a smooth, solid and unbreakable pole. It gleamed now in the half light of the braziers, and it resonated with the sounds of the chanting. On its head was attached by a gilded socket the symbol of Tzeentch, wrought in gold and azure gems gathered from distant worlds in distant times. The runes on the symbol pulsed with inner light as the chanting rose, and Semik could see the pinpricks of white light appearing above each Captain with their rings of automata staring up at the gleaming singularity. Charn now was holding the staff high over his head; psychic charges earthed themselves along it, their arcs throwing up instantaneous lighting flashes over the scene. He was chanting still, in a language that seemed constructed on one long interminable world picked out by long strings of incoherent vowels and infrequent, harsh, guttural consonants. The vortices above each cohort were growing now, swirling eyes of blue-white energy, Sehem knew there would be identical ones forming at the place his master was bending all his strength to, using the focussed power of the Cabal through the psychic lens of the High Gallery to project a bridge through space and time onto the planet below. It was a potent spell, the forces they were building filled the vast space, pressing down against the armoured figures around the eight pointed star, but they were unmoved by it. All the sorcerers there had been working arcane magics for ten millennia, this was little more than an exercise for them. Then at last the ritual reached its climax, the air hummed with the pent up syllables, air molecules strained as the energy strained their bonds. Every breath tasted of the warp, even though the heavy helmets of their legion, the glare from the swirling micro-warpstorms over their assembled heads outshone the torches. They bent and twisted space as they hovered, and at their epicentre could be seen a darker shade. Charn spoke the final words. “Fractured Chaos, take us there!” And brought his staff down, the metal on the base crashed off the obsidian pupil and in a cascade of light and heat the stored energy of the ritual was released. The vortices ballooned outwards, spiralling arms of warp fire licked over the Rubricae and Sorcerer alike as all readied their weapons. Semik felt the space around him split, the sound of glass shattering filled his ears and the floor below his feet, the ruby eye and its black pupil, the eight pointed star, the High Gallery, evaporated and he, Charn and the rest of the Cabal were flung through the warp towards the nameless, forgotten planet below.

Scarab Occult unit reviews: Basing this on playing results, and not a lot of theory-hammer (never been a fan of it), I think people are going to actually like these terminators... IF you love terminators. In every army I've played, competitively, or semi-competitively at least, I've gravitated towards Terminators and asked; How do I make this work? So far my favorite terminators are Death Guard variants with access to combi-weapons. T5, and FnP make this an exceptionally resilient, and flexible unit. All is Dust is nice, but situational. I wish it was more of a 'feel no pain' mechanic personally but it is a unique power for us, but I find educated opponents rarely 'waste' the common fire power on Scarab Occult that would otherwise benefit from All is Dust. (My second favourite used to be the Cataphractii Ultra variant.) Loadouts and Psychic Consideration: (I won't repeat what's already common codex knowledge) They basically break down into tactics. - A straight 5 man squad is solid, netting you a built in 2 wound Sorc, but it needs support. The problem with "All is Dust" is that it affects a small pool of weaponry. Something like "Disgustingly Resilient" is game wide, even mortal wounds can be saved by it. For this reason I am not a big fan of solo 5 man squads. Multiples are good, and offer tactical options. - If you're goofy about Terminators like I am, a 10 man wall of these guys is maximizing drops (to increase your chance of going first) while maximizing your psychic potential on survival powers. Think of Glamour of Tzeentch, or Weaver if Fates or offensively speaking; Veterans of the Long War and Prescience for example. - Heavy Warpflamers are a pretty good idea, but the funny thing I find is it's REALLY hard to do this option when you're probably within 12" with your AP-2 super bolter anyway. Here the strength of the shot, and the fact it overwatches well is the real beauty of the weapon. BUT is it worth 20 points difference in the two weapons for that luxury? - Hellfyre Missiles are a must. You MUST take this weapon because it's going to fill a huge gap in the army plus with 8th edition's split fire, there's no wasting of the precious S8 shots. - The Soulreaper cannon is something I used a lot in 7th edition. I think they look super cool, and since there are so few options, I often took them. So far in 8th I have found it just unnecessary use of points. We're looking at a 12 point difference to get one extra strength, and one extra AP, and 2 more shots. It's something I add in at the end of making a list when I simply can't fill 12 points otherwise. Considering the nominal difference this weapon has in actual play, I probably would have placed it at a 6 point upgrade to the Inferno Combi. The Scarab Occult Sorcerer in this codex gets the advantage of picking up a 'real' power. Unless you're using Magnus, I find this unit, and Rubrics are pretty good targets for Weaver of Fates. Tactical Considerations: I think a big trap to newer Thousand Sons players is taking a lot of shiny elite units, and not having enough board coverage or ways to keep the elite, expensive units alive. (I'm not talking about Magnus here, this is about expensive Astartes units.) Consider layers of back up, and plan your counter assaults. I have used Tzaangors since they were a legal choice for us. I still think a unit (any size) with blades is the number once choice in the codex for me to counter my diminished footprint size by taking units like Scarab Occult Terminators. Consider this when making a list. Keeping Terminators relevant in your games. There are two major reasons I personally think prevent Terminators from being a 'tier 1' option in competitive environments: One is the amount of multi damage weapons as armies get developed is very high. For example an Ork Boy with a big choppa kills a Scarab Occult Terminator with a failed save in the same way a Rubric marine would die from the same wound. (All is Dust is negated in this scenario, and the weapon does a flat 2 damage). The second reason I think we can now alleviate: movement. Terminators are often stuck in limbo. That is to say 9" away from were you'd probably LIKE to be, but unable to get anywhere quickly. If you get the chance to go after what you want, great, but chances are they may be out of the rest of the game if you're playing against a savvy opponent with good board control. In this codex we get the Black Matter Crystal relic which combines with "Warp Time" to keep the unit relevant throughout the game. I love the Crystal, and I think it's something that allows me to keep playing Scarab Occult. It's my favourite way of using the relic. Let's hear your experiences with the Thousand Sons' Scarab Occult Terminators.

Hello all! This is my WIP thread, for all my current WIP stuff! I have a Showcase thread to show off everything I've finished as well, or you can browse through my albums! I have several projects in various stages of completion at the moment, and here's some of them to start the thread off with! More pics of each are in the linked album! Veteran/Librarian squad, experimenting a bit with true-scaling them slightly: Reposed scimitar jetbike who'll be the sergeant of the jetbike squadron: Customised Storm Talon (that I finished the mods on months before GW released the Stormhawk Interceptor. I went

Hello everyone! This thread will be where I post pics of my finished models (and the occasional piece of art!). Most of it will be 30k and 40k Thousand Sons, but will also include the occasional piece from other armies, just because. So here we go! To start off with, here's one of my earlier centrepiece models, and one I'm still very proud and fond of. Introducing Niu, a Forgeworld Thousand Sons dreadnought. His arms are magnetised for weapon swapping, and his head and waist are also magnetised for posing purposes. His feet/bases are also magnetised so I can switch out bases depending on what I feel like that day. XD His tabard and scarabs/chain were one of my first attempts at sculpting with greenstuff. There are a bunch more pictures of him in my album, so click the pics to browse through them, and please let me know what you think!

The Prize Charn the Blind, Sorceror of the Thousand Sons advanced on the door. Behind he could hear the lumbering footfalls of Semik and his smile broadened. His warp-eyes flared momentarily and the door before him buckled. It collapsed in a silent cascade into liquid ruin that bubbled and spat into nothingness as Charn and his followers marched over the threshold. Within was a circular room, with a high ceiling and wide floor. It was cluttered with barbed and spiked implements of pain, of many and varied design and function. In the centre however, illuminated by the room’s single light source, set directly above the door, with obvious purpose, Charn realised, was the prize. It, or rather he, hung limply from a large alien mechanism which was attached to the ceiling far above. It clung to him via a network of needles driven deep into his head, neck and shoulders. He was naked, his wide chest and bulging muscles told Charn instantly that this was a Space Marine. The alien machine that was holding him kept his head a clear nine feet from the floor, and yet the tips of the prisoner’s toes nearly touched it as they swayed gently in the air disturbed by Charn’s arrival. He reached out with his mind, his eyes flaring bright adding a second ghostly glow to the room. He slipped in amongst the complex circuits and functions of the machine he now saw was half torture device, half life-support system. Quickly he found what he was looking for and with a flick of his psychic finger disengaged the pain engine. The many needles retracted with a pneumatic hiss. The prisoner dropped the few inches to the floor. Stood for a moment, swayed and collapsed in a heap, making no sound or or other movement. He wasn’t breathing as Charn moved closer. Then a massive spasm gripped the body, a huge gasp heralded the filling of his enhanced lungs and the eyes snapped open. The prisoner screamed. Long, unbroken and piercing he shrieked so loudly and so shrilly that the chamber rang with it and Semik’s new bestial form growled and pawed the ground in sympathy. As he screamed he writhed. Not the frenzied thrashings of a man tormented or the ragged twitchings of a man dying, this seemed as much a stretch of muscle sinew and bone than anything else. Arms and legs traced odd concentric shapes in the floor, he rolled onto one side and then the other. When is inhuman scream finally died down he was half crouched, leaning forwards, hands and knees supporting is weight. The sound died, and for a moment there was silence, before the prisoner looked up, meeting the warp-gaze of Charn. He grinned. “You are late.” he said before falling back to the floor, flat on his face. --- The prisoner seemed to recover rapidly. He regained conciousness after only a few moments, hauling himself back into a sitting position and staring up at Charn and his Acolytes a strangely relaxed and knowing way. All thought of the terrible things he must have endured at the hands of the Dark Eldar seemingly forgotten, at least for the moment. Charn had watched his collapse and recovery with vague amusement, still unsure how or why, but absolutely certain this was what he had been brought here to find. “Who are you?” the Sorcerer asked at last, breaking the contemplative silence. The prisoner rose to his feet and saluted by pressing his right fist to his chest. “Dariel El’Stander, formerly Second Librarian of the Fifth Host, I Legion.” he rattled of his name and rank in recognition of a tradition they had once both shared. The Chaos Sorcerer raised an eyebrow. “Charn, formerly Captain of the Forth Fellowship, XV Legion.” he replied, indulging in the pantomime but not going so far as to salute. “And your next question will be: ‘what you doing here?’” Dariel added, folding his arms over his bare chest, “The one after that will probably be: ‘is he the Eye that we have seen?’. I venture to guess your third question will be ‘and why should I do that?’. After that, I’m afraid I cannot say with sufficient certainty what you may or may not ask. To answer your first question however, I was waiting for you. Not the least pleasant place I have been forced to wait, but ill enough as you can see. I had to be here however, I had to let these aliens capture me and endure the pain as you wound your way closer to where you had to be. Until your dark master at last deigned to uphold his end of our bargain.” Sepharion paused, almost smiling, almost waiting. Charn sighed. “Well, is he the eye that we have seen?” “Yes and no, my lord.” Dariel added the courtesy because despite his elation at finally being free he could see the frustration in those warp-eyes that were so infamous and thought it wise not to try the still battle-marked sorcerer, “He, I am sure, sent you those visions, for I did not and my master would not. But the eye is not him. The eye is my master and him alone. He is the walker of the Straight Path. He is the one for whom I stand before you now as Herald to beg your attention and make you an offer, if you will listen.” Charn sighed again. “And why should I do that?” “Because you have not fought through all this, not journeyed to the very edge of the galaxy not to learn of the prize you have earned.” Dariel replied, knowingly, “I have learned much of you Charn the Blind, your fame and your legend, your history and your goals. You and your followers have journeyed as far or further than any others who stood and fought in those ancient days. You have cast aside the petty struggles of our fellow legions, the ruinous powers of the gods, even the scheming of your own Primarch to pursue knowledge. You have learned more than nearly any other mortal yet, or still to be born, and with that has come wisdom and the creeping understanding of something… Beyond all that you have learned. That is what has driven you on, what prevented you form returning to Magnus’ side when he burned Fenris, what kept you out here when your followers wanted to turn around to return to the Long War; the dawning realisation that all you have learned, all that you have gathered is but one fragment of one volume of the totality of what is possible, what can and does exist out there, beyond the warp.” “You flatter me.” said Charn, unimpressed by Dariel’s oratory, “But perhaps that is enough to convince me to listen to your offer. Speak then, and we shall see what questions I ask.” Dariel bowed his head again in thanks, and did as requested. “My lord, you know that this life is a game. A game with the highest of stakes. Each soul is a piece, each life a series of moves and counter moves. You know that knowledge is the single most powerful tool in playing this game. You see knowledge for what it is; the rules of existence. Those who know the rules, win the game. And yet, you know that there is more. Just as there is the one who makes the rules of the game, who sets up the pieces on the board, who defines what the board is, there is one who makes the rules of creation, who sets the first souls on their journey, who builds reality around them. My Master is such a one. Our journey, and his, will lead beyond this reality, beyond the warp, into the Great Beyond, and thence, into new realities of our own creation. New games, new pieces. New power. New knowledge.” Dariel paused, letting his words sink in, not only to Charn but to his various Acolytes who were also listening intently to the conversation. “Some of that new power exists already; carried in myself and my Brothers when our Master, Kraven Lord of Chaos Primordial, sent us back from the depths of the warp to spread his word amongst those who are worthy of joining with us in the Great Beyond.” “And we, among all those legions of souls making their moves and counter-moves, are worthy?” Charn’s tone was openly sceptical as he continued to regard this Dariel of the First with his uncovered warp eyes. There was something about him, something about the ghostly image of him projected into the Immaterium that was different. Deep within, in the most secret recesses of the Fallen Angel’s soul something glimmered. For he certainly was a Fallen Angel. Charn had learned much over his long lives, and one of the lesser secrets had been what had befallen the I Legion while Prospero was still smouldering. He had encountered several of the mysterious Fallen Angels over the millennia, some had been champions of Chaos, others renegade agents, all though were as steeped in secrets and subterfuge as their loyalist brothers. Always there was ulterior motives, feints and counter-feints, schemes so complex it often taxed even his mind to contemplate. This Former Angel seemed no different. Whatever ‘Power’ or ‘Master’ he served or wielded was probably some deception, and certainly not what it appeared. “We are so worthy, indeed, that to recruit us you allowed yourself to be captured and held here? In the den of the most unspeakable torturers and sadists in the galaxy? So worthy you say my Master guided me to you? The greatest of the Four himself seeks for my path to join yours? Is it not far more likely that you are one prisoner amongst many others? How are we to believe you, or anyone, would willingly enter into a bondage you claim to have endured?” “For here is where I was. And because this is where you would be. Neither of us are novitiates in the nature of the warp; we know the effects it has on time. From a the linear perspective of the mundane, we met many years ago. You came to me, to us, sailing back through time from this conversation, and from my current perspective we have already fought many battles and discovered many secrets. Indeed, once you leave here, when I meet you for the first time, we will embark on the next phase of our plan. So I walked willingly into the jaws of the beast and endured the torment. Not only because I knew it had happened and I had survived, but because of that power that you can glimpse inside me, that thread which connects me to a place beyond all pain and beyond all darkness.” “Beyond all darkness?” Charn’s voice was soft and knowing, “I have walked the paths of the Warp, I have plumbed the depths of the Crystal Maze, and I have seen nothing beyond, dark or otherwise. All I have seen is the Warp; the mirrored soul of humanity stretching away and curving round again enclosing us, imprisoning us. Whatever dimensions the physical world may have, the Warp encloses is spiritually and inescapably. To speak of beyond the warp is to speak of south of a southern pole, of before the beginning. It is a contradiction; anything you or your master think you have seen is but the after-image of your own hopes reflected back into your longing, mortal eyes.” Dariel just smiled. “To the man within a bubble, what can possibly exist beyond its walls? Moreover, what can it matter? It lies so fully beyond reach; the grasping of any such distant promise naturally requires bursting the bubble, demands the destruction of every tie you hold to this world. Only then will you see the Straight Path through those warped Mirrors in your soul and be free to pass beyond.” Charn narrowed his eyes, the immaterial glow from within diminishing to two white hot slits, his voice when he spoke was still soft but had regained some of its earlier menace. “How many times have we heard similar promises? How many champions of Chaos have claimed transcendental knowledge only to end as all the rest; dead by their own hubris, by their own vainglory. You have yet to show anything to make your claims, or those of your supposed master seem more credible than any of them were.” Charn had intended to continue, to issue some veiled threat about his patience wearing thin, but the words were lost in the nova of crystalline brilliance that suddenly erupted across his vision. He didn’t know what his Acolytes with their mortal eyes saw, but they must have felt the force rippling over them as Charn himself did. Semik roared behind him and Charn closed his eyes reflexively in an effort to shield himself from the intensifying brilliance. It made little difference, his inner eye was similarly blinded by what seemed now to pour in a torrent from the very body of the Fallen Angel, still standing placidly in the centre what was now a white storm of light. When Dariel spoke, all heard it ringing through their minds, echoing through their very souls and though those of their comrades. Charn felt them slice psychically through the Warp and winced. “Behold, O Sorcerer of Tzeentch. That of which I speak is no parlour trick or slight-of-hand, nor is it the ravings of a delusional fool too weak to admit ignorance and grasp a new, higher truth. Behold the raw radiance of the Great Beyond, where Kraven Lord of Chaos Primordial awaits us all. Behold the highest truth, behold the force that set the Universe in motion.” Charn was powerful. Charn had lived long lives in the service to the power he called Lord and had been rewarded accordingly. He stood tall beside the many great champions of chaos, and yet here now he had to resist the urge to kneel before this expression of transcendental power. His Acolytes were already down, knocked or simply slipped down into bows of reverence and acquiescence, even Semik, his drooling maw slack and silent, folded his wings close to his body and held his head low. Charn was still standing when the light faded an eternal moment after Dariel stopped speaking. The naked Fallen Angel seemed diminished in size somehow, though that took away none of the new watchful respect that the assembled Thousand Sons now regarded him with. He had dismissed the eruption of energy with a short sigh, then folded his arms, watching as Charn straightened up from his almost-crouch. “That was no Warp-borne energy.” the Sorcerer said, his grip not slackening on his staff, “That was nothing I have seen come forth from human, alien or daemon. What was it? What laws does it obey?” “It is everything.” said Dariel simply, “It is the potential of all creation distilled and displayed through the lens of my own soul. It is that from which all things came; the same fire that flickers at the heart of each mortal soul, it is the infinity of possibilities tied up within each of those souls. It is the endlessness, it is the beginning, the end, the world which contains all other worlds. It is the power that can be yours, if you are willing to follow the Path of Kraven. Myself and my brothers paid a high price to seal a pact with your master so that it might bring us together at the appointed time, do not now turn from the path of wisdom into the same pettiness that swallowed your Legion, and mine, and the others.” Charn said nothing, his eyes were still closed. He found it easier to think this way sometimes. He could still see, but somehow things were clearer when the physical world wasn’t intruding. Before him was a coal black, living statue. He could see ghostly terminator armour playing around it, a memory of past and future years spent inside it’s carapace. He could also see the afterglow of the power that it now occluded. Then he realised; it was not a statue, it was not made of anything; it was a shadow. It was a perfectly opaque shape of a man cast by something between Charn and the light, except where one would expect to see the light behind, beyond the shape, there as just the room, just the real world and the warp, what ever he was, this Fallen Angel, this Herald, he was not, despite appearances, a being of either of the realities Charn knew. He understood now how Dariel could have survived captivity with the Dark Eldar. “I am forced,” he said at length, “to recognise the power of you and your master.” he inclined his head, but did not bow, “and give you my allegiance.” “I do not ask your allegiance, only your assistance. We do not act out of petty revenge or a need to dominate; we are agents of the apocalypse. We wage war only to bring about the end of all things, to tear this universe down around ourselves so that we might rise like the phoenix into a new dawn. Together we will build the road that will take us all into the great beyond. Together we will soar into the next universe, to shape it as we will.”

As the title says! Are you in the process of, or planning to get any new units ready for your Sons of Magnus for 10th edition? Getting them ready to use from the start, or waiting to see what th datacards look like? My 2023 goals include Magnus the Red, so I'm hoping the datacards do him justice, I'll be breaking that box open soon!