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+++In Memoriam: Update+++

Marshal Rohr

By Marshal Rohr
in + WORKS IN PROGRESS +

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Dragonkin Arenis Veteran

Dragonkin Arenis

Posted
Posted

Nice story, but... you have a Centurion decoration on that figure, Heathens.

 

It's a purity seal, Kage - probably one of the few individual pieces from the kit that almost makes it something near redeemable.

 

 

Almost.

 

Awesome work, heathens - I must say it's unexpected that you would portray both sides of the Siege, but a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.

But then, I guess some ideas just aren't suited for those dirty traitors.

Phalanx Warder Venerable Brother

Phalanx Warder

Posted
Posted

@ 1000Heathens. Say it ain't so?!?!?! You and the VII? I just cant get over the fact that you are going to be painting up some fists!!!

 

This should prove to be a real treat!! your attention to detail has always created excellent miniatures that are an absolute pleasure to look at, I actually look forward to plagiarizing from your take on the VII, hell i may just wip up a Heresy era IV Legion Marine using my Chaos IW recipe because i know a little bile reached the back of your throat when thinking about painting the VII legion.

Kol Saresk Venerable Brother

Kol Saresk

Posted
Posted

Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait. Wait.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wait.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That was Heathens? Doing Imperial Fists?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Dear Cthulthu the world is ending!

Hyaenidae Venerable Brother

Hyaenidae

Posted
Posted

That was Heathens? Doing Imperial Fists?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Dear Cthulthu the world is ending!

Correction. Scottish Imperial Fists. Based off the Royal Black Watch. Wearing tartan. Mostly over Terminator plate. Led by Demetrius Katalfaque, who eventually founds the Excoriators Chapter.

Thus the modified heraldry, as an echo of the future Chapter...

gallery_37532_9063_20319.png

NOW, you may panic.... :P

Durfast Spiritwolf Venerable Brother

Durfast Spiritwolf

Posted
Posted

 

Correction. Scottish Imperial Fists. Based off the Royal Black Watch. Wearing tartan. Mostly over Terminator plate. Led by Demetrius Katalfaque, who eventually founds the Excoriators Chapter.

Whilst also known as the Royal Highland Regiment, the title Royal is not used with Black Watch. It's one or the other.

 

Amusingly, prior to the amalgamations, the rest of the Scots Div used to call them the 'English Regiment' as they were formed to police the highlands by King George II. Hence they wear government pattern tartan rather than a familial pattern, such as Cameron, Gordon etc.

 

Sorry, but that's what comes of two years working as a junior staff officer in HQ Infantry in the late 90s. I could also bore you at length about the delineation of recruiting areas by parish in Bristol - oh the horror!

Olis Venerable Brother

Olis

Posted
Posted

NOW, you may panic.... tongue.png

fakenopic.gif

(This is the closest we've got to a panic emoticon.)

I'm always fascinated by your work, brother. If it's not the ideas involved, it's the conversions. If it's not that then it's the background pieces you write. Usually it's all three. happy.png

Hyaenidae Venerable Brother

Hyaenidae

Posted
Posted

 

 

Correction. Scottish Imperial Fists. Based off the Royal Black Watch. Wearing tartan. Mostly over Terminator plate. Led by Demetrius Katalfaque, who eventually founds the Excoriators Chapter.

Whilst also known as the Royal Highland Regiment, the title Royal is not used with Black Watch. It's one or the other.

 

Amusingly, prior to the amalgamations, the rest of the Scots Div used to call them the 'English Regiment' as they were formed to police the highlands by King George II. Hence they wear government pattern tartan rather than a familial pattern, such as Cameron, Gordon etc.

 

Sorry, but that's what comes of two years working as a junior staff officer in HQ Infantry in the late 90s. I could also bore you at length about the delineation of recruiting areas by parish in Bristol - oh the horror!

 

I actually would love if you'd bore me with some information. Much of what I'm working with is my grandfather's genealogy work, before he passed a few years back, of my families history, which consisted of members of the Black Watch of Canada. Further back, I had a few family with the 42nd Regiment of Foot, but most of that info is in old letters and pamphlets that I'm terrified to open because of the age of the paper.

 

Shoot me a PM brother, I'd love to hear more.

 

==================================

 

As for my choice of a OpFor Legion, much was because I haven't made a single, pure, good guy army since a terribly 5-man squad of Son of Guilliman way back when I was 13. After that was a chain of chaos marines, or 'bad' good guys, or 'tortured' good guys, or something along those lines. I felt that it was high time for me to make a truly pure force, lionhearted, and noble of purpose.

 

Plus, the story of the Iron Cage is something that has enraptured me for ages. And I keep re-re-re-re-re-re-reading The Legion of the Damned Battles book, and have become quite addicted to the idea of actually making Demetrius Katalfaque, future master of the Excoriators.

 

Just one of those things that has just, in a very odd way, snapped into place perfectly.

Tyrannicide Venerable Brother

Tyrannicide

Posted
Posted

http://i421.photobucket.com/albums/pp299/spencertrimm/ScreenShot2013-10-26at105530PM.png

 

http://i421.photobucket.com/albums/pp299/spencertrimm/indeath1.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

OD-Day  -1

 

After a moment of uneasiness my vision cleared. There was a bare chested man, sweat beading across his heavily muscled frame that stood before me. Blonde hair cropped tight to the scalp. The traditional Legion identification was stenciled across his left breast. It read: CAERWYN, LEGIO VII.


A dark semi-transparent second skin lay beneath his true flesh. Freshly oiled plugports glistened like black beetles scuttling across the river of veins on his scarred arms. He stood proudly, a confident look confronting me. From the waist down he wore blackened battle plate, the color of a raven. I always thought half-armored Astartes looked odd. It reminded me of my birth father, who was a miner. He would unstrap his heavy coveralls like that after a day’s work. In reality it had been nearly three decades since I saw him last, but it felt a lifetime ago for all the things I had endured. How things change.


I glanced down at my bare shoulder to see a freshly inked tattoo there. A lightning strike cut through the wings of a soaring eagle. I grinned at the sight, the image of the warrior in the mirror reflecting the grin back. I nodded to my twin self before donning a tunic and leaving my chamber. I was to report to Legion Command Dhawalagiri-Zone.


I strode across the airfields, pulling my hood up to shield from the cold winds licking at my exposed face. The snowcapped Dzongsam Mountain Range dominated this area; our headquarters nestled into its highest reaches. To the west lay the frozen banks of the Kaligandaki River, and to the east, the inner walls of the Palace itself. Above me, the night sky’s stars were replaced with an inferno of battleships. The wreckage smoldered as humanity’s fate was being decided in the orbital war. Somewhere up there the VII Legion’s fleet, alongside the mighty Phalanx, was controlling the tide of battle, as it always did. 

 

I passed through the entrance of I Airborne’s headquarters, an odd atmosphere lingering. If not for the gunships and shuttles, the space was mostly empty. It was almost serene, the quiet. It was unexpected on the eve of battle.

 

“Where were the other squads?” I thought.


Our Storm Eagle sat motionless and avian-like on the deck, hunting for prey that wasn’t there. It rebelled against the caged confinements of the hangar bay. Maybe its wish would be granted tonight.

 

My brothers were gathered at the rear of the gunship, installing dampeners to the supersonic engines. The smell of gunpowder spiced the air.


There was Absolon, fully plated, the sharp edges of his archaic grilled mouth catching the light. He was the toughest bastard I knew. Incredibly resilient, even for our standards. I heard he wrestled an Ork Warlord and won, breaking the greenskin’s back before the start of the Heresy. I suppose it was the same creature that stole his throat and lower jaw, earning him his iron mask.

 

Rubicon came into view. He was our squad’s comm-specialist, with a modified Nuncio-vox incorporated into his armor’s backpack. Rubicon had passed the Pathfinder courses with minimal effort, I was sure he was a savant.


Jarkko, my mentor, was swearing in his old tribes’ tongue. He was unarmored and wearing a heavy robe, a bear’s head for a hood. He had once told me he was from the frigid Nordyc glacier-isles here on Terra, where children fought the wild beasts barehanded for sport. Apparently, the Fenni Tribe enjoyed folklore.


I remembered when he had met me aboard the Phalanx, shortly after I had received the news I was being transferred. He searched my eyes for any weakness. There was a quality about him that was paternal. In his long years he’d seen more than the rest of our Company. Some said he might be a psychic. I had no way of knowing.


“I pray you are ready for this, Caerwyn,” he spoke in a thickly laden voice that day. I was silent, as I often was.

 

His voice was leveled at me again now, “You’re late.”


I shrugged, “My apologies.”


My Pathfinder-Sergeant, Lodochar, was missing. He must’ve met with the other Legionary officers for briefing. He was a legend amongst our Company. Then again, besting an Emperor’s Child in martial combat had its perks. He was often distant, but the man was a natural-born leader, efficient as a machine. Lodochar made a good ‘Fist, he would’ve made a better Ultramarine.


I was still adjusting to my new brothers. I had been selected through fault, though they had assured me otherwise. Three months ago, Pathfinder Braith sustained a catastrophic injury when his jump pack malfunctioned in a training exercise. The reactor’s climatic regulator failed and exploded as he was detaching the unit. Somehow, he survived, though the shrapnel imbedded in his chest cavity and spine had secured his position as unserviceable for the coming War. I was selected as his replacement.


We operated in kill teams of five, four squads total. Our cadre was seen as the elite pinnacle of I Airborne. To don the wings of the Pathfinder was an accomplishment that swelled my twin hearts. I was beyond honored. I was humbled that my brothers had selected me, and I would not disappoint them. Warriors who had fought together side-by-side for years had welcomed me into their brotherhood, but it had not come without its lessons.


Lodochar’s boot steps broke the silence as he approached us. He was un-helmed, his skull shaven save the ridged-mohawk some of the Airborne jumpers had. He looked dour.


“Mission’s a go. Suit up, brothers, the end game is here,” he curtly announced.


We quickly exchanged glances. This was it. My training put to the test.


The sound of four bolter slides racked close. That was reply enough.


 

 

 

 

http://i421.photobucket.com/albums/pp299/spencertrimm/caerwynwip1.jpg

 

http://i421.photobucket.com/albums/pp299/spencertrimm/caerwynwip2.jpg

 

http://i421.photobucket.com/albums/pp299/spencertrimm/caerwynwip3.jpg

 

 

[Pict Capture DX/235-2B-38, 39, 40] – Pathfinder Caerwyn

 

VII Legion, Siege of Terra – Day 1


 

Caerwyn was originally a Tactical Marine in the I Airborne. Upon being selected for the Pathfinder Cadre, he was given additional focused training in infrastructure reduction. Caerwyn’s marksmanship was beyond most of his brothers. At the Siege his recorded kill to expense ratio was measured at over 90% - indicating a fatal impact for every 9/10 shots fired. Upon inspection of dialogue back-records it is deduced that Caerwyn’s closest brothers saw him as sharp-witted and able, although at times critically theoretical. Seen in this image is Caerwyn predominantly wearing Mk. IV power armor, with elements of Mk. VI, most noticeably the greaves. These two patterns were the most widely used by the Pathfinders of I Airborne because of their advanced optics and mobility. On his right hip is an issued Mk. XXI Lucifer thermic charge.

 

Pathfinder Caerwyn was discovered unconscious amongst the hillside ruins of the Ranuk-Rush Province, three klicks northwest of his squad’s final stand against the VIII Legion. Bullet grazes left burn marks and gashes alongside his unarmored head. Gaping wounds rendered his midnight black armor a wine colored crimson, his most traumatic physical injury being a broken back. He had survived, barely. Caerwyn was one of I Airborne’s three survivors from the Siege of Terra.

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