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+++In Memoriam: Update+++

Marshal Rohr

By Marshal Rohr
in + WORKS IN PROGRESS +

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lokkorex Venerable Brother

lokkorex

Posted
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wow, this thread just keeps getting better and better!

 

loving the breacher Darth, is his visor converted?

 

can't quite see from the angle, if he has two eyes like the Mk.3 or one multi-visor like the Mk.2.

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Koriel Veteran

Koriel

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Brutal looking model, his pose is full of character.

 

Mind giving a list of what parts you used for him? I can't identify the chest and it looks like you've filed of the rivets from the legs.

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Tyrannicide Venerable Brother

Tyrannicide

Posted
Posted

Wow. Thanks, all of you. I'm beyond grateful for the positive reception. blush.png

Rakell will feature pretty heavily in the upcoming fanfic, he's the 44th's second in command. The minor conversions to the armor were made to emulate what I imagine proto-Mk. III to look like. For example, the hybrid Mk. II-inspired visor, the multi-layered look of the torso, less studs and banding, etc.

For those asking for a parts rundown:

Head: Mk. III Breacher helm, with nose bridge removed

Torso: Mk. III Legion Praetor, with the gorget shaved down and aquila iconography removed

Shoulder pads: DA Land Speeder 'Vengeance' crew. The shoulder pteruges are trimmed down pieces from the FW Red scorpion Honor Guard set.

Right Arm & Legs: Legion Mk. III armor set, repositioned with various rivets and banding shaved off

Chainsword: SW Thunderwolf Cavalry

Shield: Mk. III Breacher kit

Backpack: normal Mk. II/III pack with the vents replaced

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Brother-Chaplain Kage Venerable Brother

Brother-Chaplain Kage

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Wow, bro. You've managed to sum up my approach to model building in fewer words than I ever have. At the risk of sounding vain, it really is an organic process. And it does take me a lot longer than it should. That's the perfectionist touch in me. Too many nights spent staring at a single model on my desk, visualizing what I want to achieve and the new techniques to be tried along the way. Sometimes it works, a lot more of the time it doesn't. But that's the fun in it, and I know you understand that as well as anyone else on here. Really appreciate it, man, your work has always been an inspiration.

 

Madness knows madness, brother. I had sensed it before, but one of your pics in that last post confirmed it for me. This one:

 

 

 

http://i421.photobucket.com/albums/pp299/spencertrimm/616wip4.jpg

 

+++ First Sergeant Jorund Rakell, 44th Company, II Battalion, III Regiment, VII Legion +++

 

 

If I'm right, this is more than just a close up for the sake of it, but showing off just a little bit how much time and effort you put into it. Tilting the head in minute increments, twisting it left and right until you found that perfect spot. Adjusting the arms, the twist and angle of the waist, and maybe even going through several types of shoulder pads(or ten?). Looking at it from all angles, making a few more little adjustments, then walking away for 20-30 minutes and coming back to look at it with fresh eyes and deciding one or two pieces still didn't sit right.

 

 

And then there was that moment where you make that final little change and it all clicks into place. You smiled and the madness was sated.

 

 

For now.

 

 

 

I could be wrong, but that's what that last picture said to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My name is BCK, and I have an addiction.

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BFeeder Veteran

BFeeder

Posted
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Again, I'll echo what has already been said - great job! I particularly like the choice of helmet, the blank faceplate really finishes the look nicely.

 

I also love what you've done with the MKIII legs - something I never thought I would say, given that I really dislike the MKIII armour set!

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  • 1 month later...
Dragonkin Arenis Veteran

Dragonkin Arenis

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"Patience is a virtue and being patient will never hurt you."

 

I'm sure these gents have got other things on their minds at the moment and will get back to this project soon.

 

But yes, I miss my dosage of Heresy crack from you four.

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  • 4 weeks later...
Hyaenidae Venerable Brother

Hyaenidae

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(Note: The following model was crafted for Noctus Cornix, for his birthday. Noctus created the fluff to go along with him. Make sure to tell the old man Happy Birthday. ;) )

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I hate them. With every breath that leaves me I curse their name and with every beat of my twin hearts I scorn their existence. The VII Legion, the bastard children of Dorn.

Do I hate them because of Perturabo? I respect the Iron Lord and I have proudly followed his every edict even as it led me to strangle my own kindred at Blood Lottery or slaughter my cousins on Istvaan. Yet my hatred is my own, and no other can claim ownership of it. They have earned my scorn long before we ever found our liege-lord, before I ever even set foot off Terra to sail across the stars.

Have you ever heard of Roma? Of course you haven’t. It’s just a name now, a title of conquest no doubt held with great honour aboard the Phalanx. That honour should have been ours, won with the blood of my brothers and the sweat of our brow. It began with the declaration of war on the Ursh Empire, the final push to conquer that which the Emperor deemed his rightful domain. Of course the lands of Ursh were vast, spanning across the entire Eastern hemisphere along one giant body of land and several islands. The warlords of Ursh cut their own slab of Terra by use of skilled mercenaries, an asset the Emperor quickly sought to cripple. The I, the II, the V. Each of them were spread across the border, laying siege to their own fortress with great success. Even the VI were holding their own well enough, the crazy mutts. Nothing like they are today, primed and proper dogs now... But it fell to us and the III to destroy the Palace Fortress of Roma. The Roma Wind Riders were notorious in their field-craft, ariel combatants like you would have never seen. They were a key factor to the power of the Urshen generals, and we were going to butcher them... But what no one had planned on was the fortifications.

Deep in the core of that fortress lay an orbital defense field, a shielding system that at the time we had nothing to overcome it. Our weaponry back then was pitiful to what we had now, useless antiquated garbage. And so when we stormed up that mountain, thinking we could take the fortress only to find that we couldn’t lay a scratch on it? What could we do? The only thing we could, of course. Entrench.. For weeks we were subjected to their bombing raids, ripping apart our artillery, burning my brothers alive in their own bunkers and turning them to pink mist in the wake of a new crater. I lost so many brothers at Roma, brothers I had trained with, my true kindred taken from the same tribe as I.. All dead. And then they come on their birds of black and gold, the newly birthed VII Legion. And what marched behind them, a God Machine of the Titanicus. It ripped the orbital shielding apart like it was nothing and without a word the VII Legions swooped in over the fortified walls and stormed the Palace spires.

It took us three hours before we could even breach the wall, only to be met with Urshen techno-barbarians eagerly waiting in ambush.. But we pushed ahead, and on we marched into the subterranean complex below. It was like Hell under there. The Ursh warlords had no understanding of appreciation for their own men. They threw them at us in droves. The blood had literally flooded the complex until it was to our ankles. They used piles of their own corpses and barricades and booby-trapped their own comrades to break our shield walls… When we finally found the Warlord hidden below. He had already killed himself, slit his own throat rather than taste our steel or be taken prisoner… We emerged from that subterranean charnel pit, broken, bloodied, and empty handed.

And who was honoured on that day for taking the spire towers and hanging the Imperial banners from the battlements? The VII Legion of course, commended by the Emperor himself before the Imperial Assembly.. And who honoured my brothers and I for our trials? Who mourned or paid respects to my kindred who were left to rot on that forsaken mountain? Not one damn person… They could not even take pride in the glory they stole from us, standing silently and uncomfortably before the onlookers as they were glorified for their first taste of conquest.. They knew that the honour was not theirs. They knew they were not deserving of it, and yet they stood and said nothing all the same..

- Recovered memoirs of Breachmaster Sochei Barus, XIV Dragoons, IV Legion (Deceased)

::::Recovered recording:::Data-Stack 541-81-0::::Noospheric interface complete:::::processing request::::::Granted:::::

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[Pict Capture DX/097-11-54] - Breachmaster Sochei Barus, The Blood Grieves

+OD-Day plus 40+

　Though not as ancient at the ‘Old Dog of Terra’, Sochei Barus stands as one of the eldest of the IVth Legion, and perhaps one of the most poisonous. The last surviving child to originate from the ‘Blood Grieves’, Barus heralded from a techno-tribe that scorned the use of ranged weaponry in superstitious spite to the surrounding gun-tribes. Instead they were masters of crude yet effective augmetics, destroying their flesh and bones to raise hands of steel and crush their foes in the most brutal and personal way possible. And yet for all their strength that their whining and sparking servos granted them, it was nothing that could hold them against the warriors in black MK II warplate. The proud and once unyielding people of the Blood Grieves were brought to heel like dogs in humiliating defeat, churned to pulp on the field of war with artillery and bolter fire with no room for honour or even a decent death. In this all Barus knew as a child was the shame of defeat, his people reduced to ruin like marks on an abacus.


Scorn built within the child for the shameful display his people were treated, then taken as a prize of war from his family with the rest of the boys. He was mutilated and inducted into the IVth Legion of dark steel armour, his crude bionics replaced with the cold and refined lethality of the ‘Imperium’s’ techno-sages. Soon Barus would learn to shun the imagined honour of his people in place for the calculating ruthlessness of the war machine, no longer seeing the world as a place rife with the war of Tyrants but rather the rightful estate of the One True Tyrant. He no longer had need for honour, but he would know pride and he would know bitterness all the more.

Many scholars believe that the blood-feud between the IV and VII Legion was sparked by the animosity between their Fathers, but in truth this was only to fan the flames of a scorn that was already burning beneath the skin since the very inception of Dorn’s children. At the siege of Roma the IV Legion suffered heavy casualties, unable to punch through the shielding domes that layered over the hilled fortress. Weeks had passed and the IV Legion had mounted a heavy toll of their own numbers, the siege seeming hopeless until the newly birthed VII Legion came on howling storm birds at the heel of an ancient golden God Machine that lanced through the city’s shielding where the IV Legion could not have down with all the might at their disposal. After terrible and grueling days of close quarters combat, the fortress of Roma was finally taken, but it would be the VII Legion who would be recognized for that victory, not the IV.

From that day onward Barus had known only hatred his supposed brothers, spurned by the loss of his kindred and the stolen glory that was rightfully theirs. With hatred as his fuel the soldier in dark armour would prove himself to become a monster of siege warfare, serving in some of the most terrible breaching attacks the Imperium had seen. The conquest of the Obsidian Fortress, the slaughter of Monachia IV, the Peerless Walls of the Screaming Queen. Each and every time he stood in the thickest of the fight where survival was all but impossible, yet on he marched suffering grievous wound after as another with all the concern for his own body as the extinct people of his tribe. Brought time and again at the cusp of death yet each time refusing entombment into a sarcophagus, Barus has become a monster of the Legion, a true solider of iron with only bitterness and oil to fuel him onwards where blood had dried out long ago.

Siege Master Barus died as he would have wanted, leading the spearhead of Lion’s Gate on the 41st day. The exact nature of his death is unknown as the body was mutilated by an Imperial Fist recovery team one month after the siege had ended, but it is said that when they found the body he was still standing where all others had fallen, servo’s locked in place and the echo of his accursed spiteful laugh still in the ashen air.

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