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+++In Memoriam: Update+++

Marshal Rohr

By Marshal Rohr
in + WORKS IN PROGRESS +

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jpwyrm Veteran

jpwyrm

Posted
Posted

 

 

I keep thinking that I'll do some Heresy-era stuff, probably World Eaters, and I get all enthused about it, grabbing inspiration from everywhere I can.

 

And then I see a thread like this.

 

And know that I cannot match it.

 

Ever.

 

 

What's that saying? "You never know if you don't try"?

That's true. True enough for me to try at least!

 

I love the silenced bolt carbine on your Night Lord Heathen, I will try that conversion for some of my deathwatch members. Could you tell me what you used for the suppressor?

 

Can't wait for your next post, cheers!

Larkyn Veteran

Larkyn

Posted
Posted

Gods...Between this thread, Brother Heinrich's Night Lords, and Flint13's Night Lords, and Noctis's Word Bearers, I'm going to jump back onto the Heresy bandwagon.

 

I've only skimmed the first few pages of this thread, but holy gods, it is absolutely wonderful. Heathens, I said it before in your old thread, but your Iron Warriors are EPIC. M2C, and Darth, your Fists are awesome. Noctis, I haven't seen much yet, but judging by your Bearers, I can only imagine what I'll find as I trawl through this thread, reading every scrap of fluff, and starring at models I know I will never have the skill to convert or paint.

 

Keep up the amazing work guys, I WILL be watching this with a close eye. In fact, it's going right up on my bookmarks bar.

Tyrannicide Venerable Brother

Tyrannicide

Posted
Posted

Lovin' what you did with the 1SG, man. He looks like a hardass.

Thanks, buddy. And a hardass he shall be.

Inspiring marine Darth, you never fail to amaze.

Appreciate it, Anaziel. This board needs more of your work, though.

The mock-up looks great. Keep him that way msn-wink.gif

Will do. Thanks!

The first sergeant is great. No fancy surgical procedures to the arm holding the bolter? Might copy the idea.

No, actually. Just one of the new Mk. III arms from the weapons set. Add in a Sanguinary Guard hand and you're good to go.

Sergeant Versteeg is awesome brother! The painting is looking great as well.

Glad you dig, man. But Glory to the VII! tongue.png

GrandMagnus Veteran

GrandMagnus

Posted
Posted

 

Inspiring marine Darth, you never fail to amaze.

Appreciate it, Anaziel. This board needs more of your work, though.

Id love to but Im waiting with the HH until more legions come out. But keep an eye out though, I will be posting some stuff soon (next week most likely).

 

You just keep doing your magic with the minis.

Hyaenidae Venerable Brother

Hyaenidae

Posted
Posted

gallery_37532_8712_11117.png

http://cdn.obsidianportal.com/assets/113796/Burning_City.jpg


+ OD Day, Minus 544 Years +

The burning skyline, choked black with ash and cinder, fought the brilliance of nightfall for command of the sky. The Dominion Expanse, a blasted waste of sand and radiation pockets on the Nord Merican continent, was the site of a vicious battle between the cursed Emperor, and the local tribes and city-states that refused his lies. Massed armour contingents from both sides used the flat expanses to duel at speed, while infantry numbering in the billions engaged each other over the dunes and scattered wreckage. The sound of those billions and their vehicles reverberated in one's chest cavity and shook the ground below one's feet, even from a dozen kilometers away, even over the howling shells and sizzling rockets that flew overhead. Screams, howls, cries of pain and anger, all blended into one pitched murmur behind the lion's roar of open warfare on a grand scale. War waged for freedom, and for enforced slavery. Sadly, it seemed that the so-called 'Emperor' was winning, from sheer numbers alone.

The rear lines of the Emperor's armies was a vast mobile camp, a throbbing mass of cordite and blood stained humanity, backlit by thousands of campfires, and bursts of arc light from maintenance teams attempting to bring their war machines back to a semblance of combat worthiness. Hosts of the Achaemenid Adopho camped alongside elite Lucifer Blacks kill-teams, while Albionite mercenaries engaged in gambling games with Bhaja Sur Bladecatchers. All avoided the sites of the Tonitrua Milites though; the Warriors of Thunder, the Emperor's personal army of gen-hanced monsters. Like wolves amongst sheep, these leviathans of flesh waded through the oceans of humanity that parted before them, daring any to make eye contact or raise a brash word to their abrasiveness. Beyond even their camps, though, was a single fire and tent, entirely alone and distant from the rest, unmarked by pennant or heraldry. Around the fire sat eight giants, not nearly as massive as those who wore the Lightning plate, but titanic compared to an non-enhanced human. Each was different in feature, though each were scarred similarly; vicious surgical mutilation, like a hideous stigmata, marring their skin in similar patterns, the ridged and overlapped disfigurement marking each as brothers in pain.

None were older than sixteen standard years of age.

One of the youths, Phelan Mahdra, attempted to occupy his conflicted mind by scraping his disassembled rifle clean of carbon scoring. He tried not to think about the noble freedom fighters he had killed today in the name of a tyrant, nor of the vile organs jammed into his skull and chest that had cast him into an aberration of God's holy design. He tried not to remember the horrific surgeries that had shattered and ruined his body over and over again; the knives of the Emperor's filthy vivsectors using his body as a blank canvas to perfect their new, unpracticed art on hundreds of thousands of unsedated children who screamed for their dead parents to save them. Most of all, he tried desperately to not think of his home, Castile Aerwin, the diamond oasis in the heart of a valley forever known as death, burning to ash; of it's noble defenders, friends and family all, crushed and broken, half hanging from the combat vehicles they rode to war in as their corpses were consumed by fire. Of his mother's blood on his hands as he held her cold body protectively, snapping poorly-aimed shots at the laughing daemon-invaders with his pathetic firearm, tears in his eyes. Of being dragged into the cold belly of a transport, kicking and screaming. Of his last vision of home before the doors closed; the church of his kin, the house of God, burning, surrounded by behemoths clad in brazen plate. And as always, Phelan failed to forget.

Trying to break his melancholic thoughts, Phelan looked up at the other seven, those who the scientists of the tyrant called 'The Firstborn'. Each were the last survivors of the terrible trials they had been put through, over 250,000 ground down to a handful. The most recent surgeries they had been subjected to had left a permanent imprint on many of their faces, some changed forever as the lab-grown organ called the 'Progenoid' took it's hold on their genetic structure in radical ways. To his left, Mataeis, marked by a tattooed 'IX' upon his neck, had become quite handsome, his face nearly angelic in structure. Ghen now stared through eyes of crystal blue, framed by hair whiter than snow, it's length gently brushing the 'III' upon his own throat. Barin, who wore 'XIII', seemed mostly unchanged, besides the nascent gigantism they all suffered from and the occasional change in hair color; as well as Vhictor, Xar Quin, and Hadok marked as XII, V, and I, respectively. Vall, Phelan's only friend, had changed dramatically, though. Always a pale youth, dragged from some lightless hive he never spoke of, he was now practically cast in marble now, his skin pale enough to see the veins beneath, the tattooed 'VIII' standing out brazenly. His pupils had dilated to the point that the hazel coloring had vanished utterly, and his hair now matched the depthless obsidian of those cold eyes. Light pained him immensely, and was forced to wear glare goggles when the sun was overhead. When they had first met, Phelan had asked the cold, silent child if there was something wrong with him, because of how pale he was. Vall had riposted, asking Phelan if something was wrong with him, because of how ugly he was. The joke that has begun their friendship years ago seemed crass now.

Vall had been lucky, though. Corian had changed violently a week ago, his 'XV' marked flesh betrayed by mass mutation that had broken his body utterly, his twisted corpse dragged away for study. Magnusson had become a ...thing... of claw, amber eyes, and extended canines, and had lost his mind utterly to bloodthirst, howling like a feral rad-wolf. Longinus, their mentor and minder, had been forced to take his head. Felip, marked by a 'II', had simply dropped dead for no reason whatsoever. Phelan hoped he would not suffer such a fate; he wasn't scared to die, and the freedom from the constant ache in his bones would be welcome, but he hadn't come this far to not have his revenge on the hell-spawn that had done this to them all. All he had to do was wait for the right moment. One day.

Returning to his wargear, Phelan reassembled his autocarbine, and refocused his attention to his battered carapace plate. When they had first begun combat operations, the scientists had attempted to clad them in the same golden, lightning marked plate as the Tonitrua Milites, but the Firstborn were not built the same. Though they could move about, the half-powered plate had slowed them drastically, and had murdered their reaction time, and so a compromise had been made until fully powered armour could be crafted for them. The light carapace plate they were given was a battered and mismatched kit, lovingly maintained but worn in many places. Each of the youths had made modifications to reflect their personal style of warfare, which had become more varied since the Progenoid took hold. Phelan had noticed a change to his temperament and outlook, mathematical applications of force and cautious diligence on the field. Vall had developed a morbid approach to fighting, ensuring to leave the memory of those he killed in the minds of those who he let live through overly violent actions. Vhictor barely bothered with ballistic weapons any longer, preferring the heft of a pair of gladius and becoming a close combat expert in short time. Mataeis was now a quiet, driven individual, utterly dedicated to any task put before him; a far cry from the laughing, humourous man he had been before. Each had changed so much in the last year, it was unbelievable. Yet still, the scientists and trainers and minders answered few questions, and would not tell them their purpose for existing. Any who dared to ask were beaten severely by Longinus. Some had died.

As if drawn by the very thought, Oricen Longinus exited their canvas tent, still clad in the armour of his calling. Standing to his full three meter height, and over half that from shoulder to shoulder, Longinus was simply the largest living being he had ever seen, larger than any other Thunder Warrior as well. With a face that looked as if it had been carved apart and sewn back together by a blind seamstress, a chest like the front of a main battle tank, and arms similar to the petrified tree trunks he had once seen in Sud Merica, Longinus was a living icon to violence and death. Sending vibrations through the ground as he approached, Longinus joined the circle around the fire and took a knee. He genuinely grinned, flashing rows of steel teeth; never a good sign when a killer smiles.

“Wonderful news, children.”, he said, his voice like an artillery piece roaring. “I have been freed from dragging you idiots around. Tomorrow, an ornithopter will arrive to return you to the Himilazias, and I go to die in proper battle. Because of this, I am in a remarkably good mood. Each of you are free to ask one question, if you wish, and I shall answer it truthfully, to the best of my knowledge. Who's first?”

Vhictor and Mataeis shrugged, uncaring, and returned to their maintinence. They were happy with this life, and simply had no questions to ask. Ghen and Barin asked about some of the details of the current conflict, their minds turned towards the here and now. Xar Quin, ever astute and clever, had something else on his mind.

“Our armour is ready, then?” The light of the fire, brighter since the sun had finally set, twinkled in his dark eyes. Longinus's smile spread wider.

“Aye; some shiny gear it's supposed to be, too. Fully armoured and powered, including the limbs, so your weedy little legs can move about at speed. Heads-up displays, weapon links, even automatic pain-dopers. Your fitting will start with another surgery; some new fancy invasive nerve integrator, so you can feel everything, and move as fast as your brain fires. Yes, indeed; fancy stuff for the kids. Next?”

Hadok raised a hand. “Are we going to become like you?” Everyone's eyes were up now, focused. Longinus's smile dropped slightly. This was a similar question to one that had been asked before, by a youth named L'miel. He had never gotten an answer, due to traumatic brain death.

The Thunder Warrior finally chuckled, like an autocannon opening up on full. “If you mean as pretty as me, no. If you're asking if you'll be a Tonitrua Milites, hell no. You are a new breed the Emperor is calling 'Ah-dept-hu Ae-start-ees', or some such nonsense. My breed were born for the short-term; yours is far more refined, more intelligent, more dangerous in the long run. The next three runs have already begun, since the doctors have gotten the technique down chopping you boys up. There's gonna be a hell of a lot of you kids, too; legions of your kind running about, trying to put together the human empire that once was. Sadly, you'll never be as tough as me. A shame, huh?” Another laugh. This was more humour than all of the Firstborn had ever seen from Longinus, and it left them all a bit disarmed.

There was an empty silence, as everyone took this in. The rumours had been true then; the Emperor was trying to unify the entire galaxy, not just Terra. The enormity of such a task seemed impossible, and Phelan was sure it was doomed to fail, but still it was a vast dream. Suddenly, Vall quiet, emotionless voice filled the empty air. “You smell like you're dying. What's wrong with your blood?” Too far, thought Phelan. He was about to see his only friend die a violent death, and Phelan would be right behind, simply because honour dictated that he had to at least try killing his friend's murderer. Again, though, there was laughter. Again, the small group became intensively uncomfortable, yet could not help but be enthralled. This was becoming the most interesting night of their short lives.

“I am, lad. Like I said, built for the short term. We were the living walls to make some breathing space for the Emperor, so he could make alliances and I guess make you kids. Most of my kind are already dying off, either from organ failure, cancer, madness, or all of them combined. I started coughing up black blood about six years ago, and was given a remit from a mercy kill to train you rats. Thus, these little vials you have seen me use.” Longinus snapped one out of a case, holding it up to the firelight. As long as a man's finger, the glass tube was filled with a viscous green fluid. “Some crazy stuff they made in a lab. Nasty too, taking quite a few years of my life every time I use 'em. Not like I would've had more, but you get what I'm saying. Thus why I'm excited about tomorrow; no more mind scalding drugs, no more bone deep pains, no more service to...Him. No more...” His grin faded into a small smile, his eyes falling to the ground. Again, a pregnant silence. Phelan, emboldened by this, gathered his wits about him, and asked the most suicidal question he had ever given voice.

“You hate him, don't you? The Emperor, I mean.” Everyone cleared a space from Phelan, except for Vall. Always loyal, his friend's hand slipped to the kris knife at his hip. Longinus looked up, the smile totally gone, the good humour evaporating like mist under the sun's touch. A fire lit in his eyes, and he spoke with a voice choked to a snarling rasp.

“Hate him? Of course I hate him. I am thirty six years old, and dying from cancer. I've lost every friend I had to a war He dreamed of. I've spent the last six training my replacements, without even a word of thanks from that ungrateful bastard to my dead brothers. He murdered every priestess of my hive, killing any memory of the Goddess I love. You kids go right ahead and march into the warm arms of that heartless monsters' forced servitude, and when you're a soulless bag of cold meat in a shallow grave, you can go knowing that you left behind a legacy of death and rattling chains linked to the top of the world; you can kill the innocent dreams of every free-thinking man and woman on the planet. Me? I'm going to jump in front of the first thing I see that can kill me tomorrow, and leave before the gates of Heaven close forever. To Hell with the rest of you.” Longinus suddenly stood, and stomped away from the circle. Phelan suddenly realized he had a death-grip around his combat knife, and hadn't breathed since he'd asked the question. Looking around, he saw that every Firstborn was the same, gnarled and scarred hands wrapped around sidearms and hilts.

Vall's lifeless eyes turned to Phelan.

“I think you hit a nerve.”, he said in the same deadpan voice he always used.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Every Firstborn was on the ornithopter the next morning, each for their own reasons. Each remembered that evening, each for their own reasons. None ever saw their leader, their teacher, their tormentor, their liberator, alive again.

Phelan, looking towards the Dominion's last gasp as war was joined full force with the Emperor's armies, said a small prayer. He hoped to have Longinus's conviction and determination, one day.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

::::Recovered recording:::Data-Stack 761-102::::Noospheric interface complete:::::processing request::::::Granted:::::

gallery_37532_8712_242373.pnggallery_37532_8712_174079.pnggallery_37532_8712_23726.png

[Pict Capture DC/997-01-33] - (Rank / Position Unk) Vall; Eighth Legion, Ninth Company (Crimson Sons)

StruManChu Venerable Brother

StruManChu

Posted
Posted

heathens, this is in a class all of it's own. Your writing is fantastic, and touches on a part of 40k history that I'd never considered before. Easily the quality of the HH series, and surpassing most of it.

 

And then Vall himself... Simple and perfect. I can't really say more than that. Brilliant stuff.

Barabbas Sogalon Veteran

Barabbas Sogalon

Posted
Posted

That was a fantastic read. Fantastic. Love the descriptions of how the firstborn echo the physical traits of their future legions, and your detailed writing.

 

The painting on Vall's armour is brilliant.

 

And I just have to say that this thread is so full of inspiration.

Kol Saresk Venerable Brother

Kol Saresk

Posted
Posted

OK, I don't think my previous post did justice to one of my Crimson Sons being rendered in print and plastic by 1kH. I think this is more apt:

 

http://i.imgur.com/shNpc2d.gif

I could see Heathens dancing while you just walk along all nonchalant.

 

Side note, I like Vall. Not a big fan of the wavy sword, but I like Vall.

Excubitor Veteran

Excubitor

Posted
Posted

Been following this since day one, awesome stuff all. But Heathens, I have a bone to pick with you...

 

First, I was happy to follow my dream of collecting a whole chapter of Astartes and leave it at that.

 

Then you started your 30k stuff and I got drawn into the imagery you and several others have been creating. So I started idly perusing the 30k threads.

 

Then this started up and I find myself making an army list for the Salamanders Legion. 'No worries, I'll just go slow, have it as an occasional thing until my 40k stuff is finished'.

 

Now, with Vazzy, Jasp, Barrabas, etc etc, I began seriously planning out beginning the army. When I really can't afford to. Even at the expense of my Chapter.

 

Please, please stop, before.....

 

Part of the ship, part of the crew,

Part of the ship, part of the crew,

Part of the ship, part of the crew,

Part of the ship, part of the crew,

Part of the ship, part of the crew,

Part of the ship, part of the crew,

Part of the ship, part of the crew,

Part of the ship, part of the crew,

 

Damn it....too late!

BassWave Venerable Brother

BassWave

Posted
Posted

That last post by Heathens is a great example as to why everyone is jumping aboard the S.S. Heresy. Excellent music that sets the tone, gripping short stories, and of course the characterful models that follow. I don't know if it was you guys that set this trend, but more and more people are following this formula when making wip logs. The team of hobbyists in this thread is awesome. Keep up the excellent work!

 

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