++ From the Abyss - A Word Bearers Log ++

[Noctus Cornix]

typhus conversion is inspired, really liking the idea

 

Thanks, mate. Glad you like it!. I'll be adding something new up tonight or tomorrow so keep your eyes peeled, ladies and gents.

[GhostMalone]

We await eagerly mate, hopefully it's something with sword and shield action ;)

[Noctus Cornix]

Remember when I said my update wouldn't be until later?
 
I lied

“Oh merciful Emperor…”

The words escaped beneath Sister Lestate’s bated breath as she dismounted the Rhino alongside her blessed sisters, hazel eyes raised skyward, fixated upon something that should never exist. There, in that roiling miasma of crimson and black hues that blanketed this doomed word, a city emerged. It was like nothing she had seen before, a towering monolith of alabaster held aloft on roaring engines that breathed with the intensity of a newborn star. Chains descended from that kingdom in the sky, a web of dark iron links that shadowed even the mightiest battle tanks buried deep into the cracked earth. Around them swarmed a sea of insects, a teeming flood of screaming flesh bearing worn brass armour with weapons raised to the tortured heavens as metallic beasts of burden belched black smoke and waded through the never ending flood of chanting mortals.

“Contact!”

Lestate’s mind was torn away from her state of awe from such a sight, turning at the beckon of her Sister Superior with bolter raised. Her finger tug at the trigger and her weapon roared to life, adding to the chorus of her sisters. A storm of bolter fire poured forth, each shell impacting with flesh and tattered garments before erupting in arcs of crimson life-blood. Again and again she vented forth her rage in the form of bolt shells, taking a tainted life with each. “Advance and form up with the Imperial defenders, sisters.” At the Superior’s orders, each of the consecrated daughters voiced their recognition and strode as one through the teeming mass off flesh. Lestate formed the rear guard, vision scanning over her shoulder and across the ground so that she might put down any stragglers that still might live.

She paused as she felt something claw at her leg, her armoured form shifting in one fluid moment to bring her weapon to bare upon her assailant. What met her was a beast in the form of a man, his pale skin left bleeding and cracked from gaping wounds and ritual scarring that marred his flesh. Yet still, despite how close the creature was lingering to the edge of death, its eyes were filled with a dead expression of primal fury and rage. It gurgled on its own blood through a broken jaw, clawing at her leg with a misshapen hand malformed which bore the sigil of an accursed War God. Lestate could not help but pity the creature for but a fleeting moment, her lips peeling back in scorn before she raised her bolter and put the pathetic beast out of its misery. “May the Emperor have mercy on your soul…”

“Caution, sisters. Something approaches!”

Once more Lestate was dragged back into reality by the voice of her mentor and leader, turning to look over her shoulder where her sisters remained deadlocked in attack formation, following their line of vision to gaze upon the man that walked among beasts.

He moved unheeded by the teeming mass of blood-crazed cultists that flooded like animals around him. Yet for all their rage and fury, he was calm, almost serene fluidity, flanked by a silent enclave of brass armoured warriors left dehumanized by insectoid gasmasks. The man wore little armour, his torso left bare beneath an open sleeveless cloak worn only by those of the commiserate. Upon his born chest of sinuous muscle, a scar was left open and bleeding. It was a immense gash that dragged down from one side of his neck and rebreather to his chest where the scar shifted almost seamlessly into a sigil of the Unholy Pantheon. He bore no weapons save a single Bolt Pistol, one that seemed far too large for mortal hands yet it remained fastened at his hip.

Hid head to one side slightly, dark eyes scrutinizing the five armoured sisters as though with a hint of amusement. And then, with a single hand raised, his retinue ceased their advance alongside him, and as though guided by an unseen force of will, the flood of rabid cultists moved around their lord without pause or concern, overlooking the Sororatis entirely to leave a small open ground for them. “These ones shall be mine…” The man finally spoke, his voice distorted by the vox implant that now formed his mouth, yet somehow it could not mask his hint of amusement.

Wordlessly, the man advanced towards the combat squad of sisters, and just as silent in response, the daughters of the Emperor raised their bolters and opened fire in unison. Bolt rounds were met with an explosion of gore, each shell ripping through the air as crimson splattered across the dried dirt beneath. And yet, not a single shell reached the man dressed in the mockery of a commissar, the shells erupting with blood but inches before him, yet not a one could come to harm him. With casual ease, he moved, drawing no weapon but merely allowing his fingers to flex into clenching fists before relaxing to repeat the process once more as though to test them.

When only a few meters of distance lay left between them, the warrior moved to close it, his body crouching low for but a moment before leaping with an inhuman speed. His first target was Sister Miralda, a hand raised up to grasp at the muzzle of her bolter only to seemingly crush the adamantine weapon with pure ease before the trigger was pulled and the boltgun ignited in a detonation of shrapnel and fire. Miralda screamed as she took a step back, her eyes fixated upon the ruined stump where her hand had once been. From the smoke the assailant emerged unscathed and promptly ended her screaming. With his hand, a single hand of flesh and bone, he hammered directly against her breastplate and with effortless ease, he rended flesh and power armour like parchment until his clenched fist emerged from the other side of her torso.

The sisters gasped in surprise and horror at the sight, seeing their own battle-sister die in such an abrupt and pitiful way that it was almost shameful. “Foul daemonspawn!” Sister Superior Anastasia roared in anguish and fury as she took her sacred chainsword in hand and charged, knowing that their bolt guns would be useless with such a foe. Her sisters followed suit, unsheathing their combat blades and bolt pistol before charging towards their certain deaths. A low distorted chuckle escaped the murder, hand wrenching free from the bleeding corpse as the blood seemed to bubble and hiss from the surface of his flesh.

And then they were upon him…

An outstretched hand swept against the helm of Sister Dorna first, fingers digging into the ceramite layers before finding purchase in the soft crunch of shattering bone and splitting flesh. With only a further advance of the stroke, he jerked himself forward, tearing the soft armour and flesh apart before sending the now headless corpse spinning away in a crimson arc. A mere turn of his heel and the rapid movement of his free hand to his belt, and the Astartes pistol was grasped, releasing a single bolt round into Lestate’s helmet and sending her reeling to the dried earth in confusion and blinding pain.

Callously discarding his pistol, the masked man swayed past the revving chainsword of Sister Anastasia, only to raise his arms up and bury hands deep into Rebecca’s warplate. His fingers curled inside her chest, looking deep into her eyes through the crimson lens of her helmet as he easily cracked ribs like brittle stone beneath his slowly closing grasp. A moment later and the Sister Superior rebounded from her failed strike, turning on heel and raising her roaring blade to sky so that she might bury her blessed weapon into the bastard’s spine. She would never get that chance.

Sister Lestate slowly dragged herself from the earth, her mind still swimming from the bolt round that would have surely killed her were it not for the protection of her helm. Yet, as she raised her head, she was met with the sight of her beloved mentor and friend, Sister Superior Anastasia, fall to her knees staring down at the bleeding stumps that had once been her hands. The man stood beside her, his body splayed in gore with the chainsword held loosely in his grip. Yet he disregarded the weapon, tossing it to the floor before slowly wrapping his fingers around the aged woman’s face. Anastasia muffled against the bloody hand that now covered her face, her eye bulging out wide as his grip began to slowly tighten and tighten until….

Lestate screamed as she watched her superior lifeless collapse to the floor, her features marred with a mix of anguish and sorrow folded into one burning rage. She had to make him pay. And if she could not? Then she would die with honor alongside her sisters. Tearing the broken helm from her face, Lestate moved with every fiber in her being fixated upon reaching her mentor’s fallen chainsword. She scooped up the heavy weapon and lifted it into her grasp. She gunned the activation running, the ancient weapon roaring to life as she howled an oath to the blessed Emperor as she charged to meet her killer..

The sword never reached the man’s neck as she had intended, the revving chain coming to a complete halt in the air with one hand casually wrapped around the blade. Tears and anger welling in her eyes, Lestate gunned the activation rune of her chainsword and the weapon became alive once more, yet with each tooth that revved against the man’s unblemished hand, the adamantine blade snapped like porcelain against iron until the weapon was but a harmless club. The man seemed to sigh in almost tedium now, his head tilting to the side as if to observe the young woman. “Your sisters and you fought well, little one… But your anger has made you weak…” With almost casual ease, he crushed the chainsword in his grasp, dropping the shattered weapon to the ground only to reach out and grasp at Lestate’s slender throat.

“You must understand and tame the blood that flows through your veins before you can wield the power it offers… Anger is blind fury that addles the mind and turns warriors into animals… But rage? Rage is the true source of power that will see your enemies crushed and their life spilled into your hands… Such a pity you will never let that lesson come to fruition..”

And without another word, Sister Lestate’s life was ended with a sickening snap like a broken twig.


 

Commissar Tarkov, the Bloody Hand, Master of the Splattered Path

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140401_163245_zps87bf60d4.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140401_163846_zps6bc60c5c.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140401_163359_zps71c60603.jpg

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/20140401_163819_zps4575dad2.jpg

 

Enjoy.

Edited April 2, 2014 by noctus cornix

[GhostMalone]

That's god damn brutal, much better then the dark vengence commissar

[Kharnaak]

it was a valient effort sir but I do believe you need to proof read your writing as there were so many errors that it detracted from the story awesome concept though and well done on the mini he is suitably menacing with that rebreather

[Noctus Cornix]

it was a valient effort sir but I do believe you need to proof read your writing as there were so many errors that it detracted from the story awesome concept though and well done on the mini he is suitably menacing with that rebreather

 

You're right. I apolgize for that. I was actually trying to complete the piece before I had to leave and had actually run far longer than I had anticipated. I did my proofreading and edited what I could find. Hope that's better for you sir, I appreciate the constructive criticism.

[GhostMalone]

Even with the little mistakes, which are less then my grammar & spelling level it was an amazing piece if fluff.

 

How long till the kindred get more attention

[Noctus Cornix]

In just a couple days, my friend.

[Dragonkin Arenis]

Yikes. Tarkov is a monster. Bravo!

 

My curiosity is piqued by him, Noctus; just what exactly is he, on and off-table? 

[Noctus Cornix]

So, Tarkov is an interesting sort as a model. His roots begin in something rather obvious, the Dark Knight Rises. Say what you will about the movie, but I love Bane in it. And so, when I saw the Dark Vengeance Cultist Champion model, I knew I wanted to emulate it somehow.  So I made Tarkov, who was at first just supposed to be some kind of champion.

 

But then, not long after, my hobby group started playing Black Crusade. But of course, I simply couldn't pass up on my chance to use a brand spankin new model. So I decided I would use Tarkov, a worshipper of Khorne.

 

In terms of Fluff, Tarkov was born of Armageddon, an orphan of the planet's own military and brought up in the local Schola Progenium. Tarkov showed skill and talent from the very beginning, far better than his comrades in terms of martial prowess as well as showing a fearsome yet calm demeanor. Yet, not long after his induction into the Commissariat, Angron and the scions of Khorne came to Armageddon, sparking the First War of Armageddon. Tarkov was assigned to Hive Tarsus, proud to stand by his brothers and sisters in arms and valiantly declaring that this city would hold and not a single enemy would pass their sacred walls. He was wrong of course, for as the flood of daemons and mortals alike stormed against the walls, the An'ggrath the Unbound descended from the black heavens and rent the Hive City walls assunder in one fell swing of his warped axe. With the armies of Khorne pouring inside, the men and women of Hive Tarsus were slaughtered and the Steel Legion broke, soldiers fleeing for their lives only to be gunned down by bolter fire or run through with twisted blades.

 

Because of their cowardice, Tarkov died that day, or atleast he should have, broken and left alone to fight as he carved his way through the enemy only to lose both his arms and have his jaw wrenched out and a massive portion of his chest torn open. Laying there in the rubble, bleeding his crimson life-fluids upon the broken plascrete, Tarkov became overcome with rage, his mind fixated upon those cowards that abandoned him to die and allowed the city to fall. He swore that he would kill them, that he would destroy each and every one of them. In his rage, he wished for vengeance, and that wish was granted.

 

And so I created Tarkov, my very special human warlord. During character creation, I had to catch up with the rest of the group who were already pretty high up on the experience chart. And so, a few times I had to roll for mutations. The first I got was essentially a mutation that allowed my character to become undetected by warped body, the tides of energy keeping him virtually unchanged by any other mutation. The next mutations I rolled, I did so as a worshipper of Khorne. And, I kid you not, luck was on my side. I rolled the 'hand of khorne' twice, a special mutation for worshippers of khorne that bless them with oversized malformed arms that essentially have the stats of powerfists. Yet, do to my Illusion of Normality, they looked like simple, regular hands...

 

I did a lot of amazing things with Tarkov, to the point where he is essentially a legend amongst our gaming group. I crushed an Imperial Govenor's Skull, went toe to toe with a Necron Lord, rammed my fist through several Space Marines' chestplates. Hell, I even parried a Terminator's Powerfist with my FIST. One of my particular favorite points was actually when we were unrdercover in an Imperial base. I was of course under the guise of a Commissar Lord with the others as my entourage. Yet when we proceeded to meet the Imperial Govenor, I was halted by a Lieutenant  at a check point (the ONE time we failed our charm/command rolls). And so, I did the only thing a Commissar would do.

 

"Tell me, Guardsman... Do you know what the caliber of a Bolt Pistol is?"
Tarkov asked quietly, drawing his side arm casually.

 

"I uhhh..."

 

"A Bolt Pistol is a .75 Caliber round with a jet propulsion system integrated into back and a mass reactive core set to detonate precisely one second after impact.... In all my years of the Commissariat, not once has a man's head remained in tact from a bolt round to the skull..."

 

"... You can pass, sir...."

 

 

My friends tell the story of that to new comers... Sadly though, a mere cultist champion does not stand to quantify the sheer magnitude of awesomeness that is Tarkov. So, when I do use him for what he is meant to be, I use him as a chaos lord with twin power fists and the mark of khorne to attach a cultist blob squad. And whenever I get the chance to create my traitor Imperial Guard force, he will be their leader as a Lord Commissar with power fists of course.
 

Edited April 2, 2014 by noctus cornix

[Dragonkin Arenis]

Ooh my, that is quite something. The Dark Gods must have blessed you when you created Tarkov.

 

 

"Tell me, Guardsman... Do you know what the caliber of a Bolt Pistol is?"
Tarkov asked quietly, drawing his side arm casually.

 

"I uhhh..."

 

"A Bolt Pistol is a .75 Caliber round with a jet propulsion system integrated into back and a mass reactive core set to detonate precisely one second after impact.... In all my years of the Commissariat, not once has a man's head remained in tact from a bolt round to the skull..."

 

"... You can pass, sir...."

 

I honestly just read his lines in Bane's voice; it just seems to add a whole new level of malice to his character.

[Noctus Cornix]

Ooh my, that is quite something. The Dark Gods must have blessed you when you created Tarkov.

 

 

"Tell me, Guardsman... Do you know what the caliber of a Bolt Pistol is?"

Tarkov asked quietly, drawing his side arm casually.

 

"I uhhh..."

 

"A Bolt Pistol is a .75 Caliber round with a jet propulsion system integrated into back and a mass reactive core set to detonate precisely one second after impact.... In all my years of the Commissariat, not once has a man's head remained in tact from a bolt round to the skull..."

 

"... You can pass, sir...."

 

I honestly just read his lines in Bane's voice; it just seems to add a whole new level of malice to his character.

 

I know, right?! :P

[Noctus Cornix]

Just out of curiosity, what would you guys like to see next from me? I'm taking requests!

[Larkyn]

Ooh my, that is quite something. The Dark Gods must have blessed you when you created Tarkov.

 

 

"Tell me, Guardsman... Do you know what the caliber of a Bolt Pistol is?"

Tarkov asked quietly, drawing his side arm casually.

 

"I uhhh..."

 

"A Bolt Pistol is a .75 Caliber round with a jet propulsion system integrated into back and a mass reactive core set to detonate precisely one second after impact.... In all my years of the Commissariat, not once has a man's head remained in tact from a bolt round to the skull..."

 

"... You can pass, sir...."

 

I honestly just read his lines in Bane's voice; it just seems to add a whole new level of malice to his character.

 

 

You're not the only one...I need to find a group that does Dark Heresy/Only War/Rogue Trader/Black Crusade. I left out Deathwatch, because it's kinda dumb. "SPHESS MEHREENS!"

 

Next? This rumored Artorias Marine that was mentioned.

[Dragonkin Arenis]

Just out of curiosity, what would you guys like to see next from me? I'm taking requests!

 

Even though it's ambitious, I'd like to see you take on a version of each of the Four Knights of Gwyn, if not the Lord of Cinder himself. A blind Word Bearer who can still manage to be an excellent fighter, for example, is an wonderful image.

[Larkyn]

That'd make one awesome Lords of the Black Crusade Apoc formation.

 

Abby = Gwyn

 

Khorne Guy = Ornstein

 

Slaanesh = Ciran

 

Nurgle = Gough

 

Tzeentch = Artorias

[GhostMalone]

The arch angels of biblical fiction.

Suiting considering the word bearers once were angels

[Noctus Cornix]

Well, to be fair, King Allant is Gwyn, sort of a mix of themeing between the Kings of Souls and Lord Arthur himself. As for the Four Knights, I'll see what I can do. ;)

[Noctus Cornix]

I'll just let this WIP pic speak for itself. ;)

 

http://i915.photobucket.com/albums/ac352/Noctus-Cornix/2014-04-03232115_zps1127a367.jpg

 

Enjoy.

[GrandMagnus]

Thats one cool cat. What kit is the body from?

[Barabbas Sogalon]

You have to give me a rundown of the parts used on that one.

Edited April 4, 2014 by Barabbas Sogalon

[Greyall]

Well you took the mini right out of my pencil

 

I'm still going to draw it ;)

[Dragonkin Arenis]

Most of the kit looks like the Chaos Lord on Manticore, to me...

 

Glad to see some progress ;)

[KBA]

That Lord is going to look amazing! I think he'd look even cooler without the Captain Morgan pose myself, but you can't really go wrong with such a bad ass kit bash.

[Noctus Cornix]

Thats one cool cat. What kit is the body from?

 Like Dragonkin said, the vast majority of the model comes from the Chaos Lord on Manticore kit.

 

 

You have to give me a rundown of the parts used on that one.

Starting from the bottom up

Legs- Chaos Lord on Manticore

Loincloth- Terminator Chaos Lord

Loinguard- Krannon the Relentless

Torso- Khorne Skull Crushers

Arms- Khrones Skull Crushers

Hands/Weapons- Chaos Lord on Manticore

Shoulderpads- Word Bearer Ashen Circle

Cloak- Chaos Lord on Manticore

 

 

Well you took the mini right out of my pencil

 

I'm still going to draw it

You made my day, Greyall. :D

 

 

Most of the kit looks like the Chaos Lord on Manticore, to me...

 

Glad to see some progress

Bingo, you win the prize.

 

 

That Lord is going to look amazing! I think he'd look even cooler without the Captain Morgan pose myself, but you can't really go wrong with such a bad ass kit bash.

I think you're probably right. I tend to overuse the Captain Morgan pose way too much, but most of the legs just lend themselves to it so well that its basically the only dynamic pose I can make without it being static. Glad you like him otherwise, though!