++ Gods of the Arena - A World Eaters Community ++

[Allart01]

This is an awesome idea.

I vote for the pair up!

[incinerator950]

I'm down for that. I've largely wanted to put more of the World Eaters history into my leader being a former nails recepient, but have to draw the line with the extra non-khornate marines like the Purge or Word Bearers picked up after the massacre.

[Papewaio]

This sounds awesome, I'd be totally keen to be part of it. It'd be a bit of motivation to start writing again.

 

It makes a lot of sense too. I mean, why do all of our armies have to exist in a vacuum? Surely, if they were part of the XII, and survived til the 41st millennium, they'll have at least heard of each other, if not met/tried to kill them.

[incinerator950]

I was hoping to have my Warlord serve in the same company as someone elses simply because I'm not all too attached to the Heresy.

[Conn Eremon]

That could be an ultimate form of cooperation and inter-connectivity between armies, to have one's warband originate, even if only in part, from another's.

[Allart01]

I was hoping to have my Warlord serve in the same company as someone elses simply because I'm not all too attached to the Heresy.

 

There's a spot for him in the 16th if you'd like it. 

They were among the first to volunteer and go for the Nails.

Some went well, some degenerated quickly.

Edited December 28, 2014 by Kharn the Bloody

[Soldier of Dorn]

I'm all for the pair-up, if anyone wants to partner.

Also, might I suggest that we try to pair up between, say, a 30k player and a 40k one each time. That way, I feel that the background would become more fully fleshed-out as opposed to if two people of the same era would thrown together.

 

I have several dozen pages of background material that could possibly prove pertinent, so I'll try to get that digitised and posted.

[LongGone]

In one sense, having official characters be handled in this way can hurt the 'shared canon' between hobbyists, especially when you have two hobbyists who contradict each other just by having their armies exist. However, that sort of mentality has been far less present over the past few years (which was, in fact, the catalyst that got me to forsake my lurker status). A while ago, the idea would have been ridiculed to no end because of it's 'canon-breaking' nature. But, as the idea of 'loose-canon' has become more widely accepted, and people have just become more accommodating than they used to, these kinds of criticisms can, and should, be dismissed.

I have to kinda agree/disagree with you. I think the level of "Nothing is true, everything is permitted" has gotten a little high as of late. I understand the need for 'looser' canon that allows hobbyists the freedom to weave their own creations into the universe as seamlessly as possible. In fact, I'm all about it. But lately it seems as if all you need is a little handwavium and some reasons, and GW/BL/FW can blow long established fluff right out of the water. There's a thread in the BL section where ADB defends this kind of 'growth' as good for the 40k universe, and I have to respectfully disagree. At some point there has to be something that's sacred (ba dum tsk). Fleshing out is one thing. Showing how forces have changed and transformed over 10,000 years is one thing. Reversing long established, official-but-apparently-not-so-official canon is another. Honestly, I don't think people have accepted it, they've just chosen to ignore it.

 

Back to the actual topic, I'd be all about some shared fluff. In fact, I'm looking for a larger 'lost to the nails' company/echelon to attack my nails free bubbas and spur their transformation into 'We're loyal to the Imperium of Man, but not it's leaders who turned their backs on us' loyalists. Warlord not needed. My idea is that, because we're nails free, my old librarian sees the BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!!! with just enough time for my guys to prepare a response for the 'brothers' coming to meet them. I was just gonna create a throwaway company that I could beat the :cuss out of, but I can definitely make it a little more interesting and just barely get away with a viable force.

 

Because my captain refused the nails, and forbade anyone under his command to get them, Big Daddy Angron basically sent us to timeout on the other side of the galaxy shortly after the Gehenna(sp?) campaign (which ended about 10 years after Angron was found right? Which in turn would give us about 90 years to campaign/grow on our own before the heresy begins? Please let me know if my timeline is off) Angron doesn't approve of our methods, but he can't argue against our successes... At least not until he turns to Khorne. My guys expect censure eventually for thumbing their noses at daddy, but only the librarian's warning keeps them from getting wiped off the map entirely. I'm thinking to time this attack shortly after Isstvan III, maybe even V, goes down.

 

Anyways, that's what's rolling around in my head. Let me know what you guys think.

[incinerator950]

I'm in another bind. Choosing parts is semi-easy between two heads and the Possessed Torsos. I have a loyalist Corvus and a Raptor horned mk IV.

 

The real trouble is the axe being a loyalist right hander and I have no rider arms or left handed bolt pistols.

[Relict]

Sounds like we are in the midst of some convoluted Khornate politics... :P

 

I will volunteer a character and a unit from my army (30K Era). Who and what they would become in the 40K Era is up to your collective talent. 

 

As for which official canon I follow, I would have to say Betrayer and the FW books. The former gives insight about our Father and our most infamous champion (and a bunch of other characters). The latter is a guideline as to how the old XII Legion was organized. 

 

About the whole echelons vs. companies debate... I think both existed up to the end of the Heresy. The FW books mention that even Angron saw the value of a streamlined and clear chain of command. XII Legion formations were more fluid than most - companies that had been badly mauled were often folded into other companies (Khârn's Eighth Company absorbed the remnants of other, nameless companies following Armatura and became oversized - which means, to me, that he really commanded an echelon/chapter-sized formation). 

 

My own Centurion-Captain Voss nominally commands only the 77th Battle Company - some five hundred Legionaries plus an assortment of heavy war machines. However, he is at the same time the de facto leader of the entire Third Echelon - some 2,800 Legionaries (divided into several companies, of which the 77th is only one) plus a fleet. Each company has its own Centurion - Voss is just the most senior of them. 

 

As for KS's Centurion Lorimar killing my Centurion Voss in the pits following Nuceria, it has been long since planned. In the Shadow Crusade lore I am writing with Vazzy, I am working Voss to that fateful confrontation - Lorimar will definitely be making an appearance before the end. Voss is written as a relic of the War Hound - someone who should have been purged on Isstvan III had it not been for his involvement with the Warrior Lodges. As the Heresy went on, Voss began to realize that he had made a terrible mistake - he did not manage to save his men from the purge - he unknowingly led them down the path to damnation instead. He is, above all, a tragic figure.

[Allart01]

Maybe a new topic in the fan fiction section may be useful to better keep track of those willing to partecipate, the "volunteered" ideas and the fluff already completed.

If you agree, I/you/Flint (being the boss) may open the topic.

[Flint13]

*snort* 

 

I am hardly the boss of much of anything :D

 

@ Relict - I almost forgot about that Shadow Crusade ploggy you guys have going. How's that treating you so far? 

 

Also, speaking of fluff, it amuses and delights me immensely that so many people, World Eaters, Night Lords, Black Legion, seem to agree that their official canon starts at "this thing A D-B wrote" and worked outwards from there. ^_^

 

Loving the ideas for company and commander cameos kicking around. Should we start keeping a Dramatis Personae for intra-legion appearances? 

[Conn Eremon]

Would you like to be the boss anyways, so that there's a firm hand to keep the project on track? If not, I suppose Kraut could be a candidate, though I haven't kept track of this long enough to really know who is prominent or not around here. Maybe place a Butcher Boss Wanted ad?

 

I've taken charge before, but I'm juggling far too many projects as it is, so I refuse to step up to the plate here. :D

[Allart01]

A pit fighting contest is the answer!

 

Seriously speaking, I'm no "prominent" member but if no one else is willing to organize the project, I'd be glad to help.

Edited December 29, 2014 by Kharn the Bloody

[incinerator950]

Not really a BL reader.

[Conn Eremon]

I wouldn't say a 'prominent' member is required, that'd just be someone everyone is familiar with, and likely friendly with, which would probably make it easier.

 

Lord knows, I wouldn't call myself 'prominent,' and I'm heading quite a bit of stuff already.

[Flint13]

Lads... gather round. Let me tell you all a story. The story of how the Gods of the Arena came to be...

 

Long ago, in a galaxy remarkably similar to our own, there was once a Khornate Warlord-craftsman of much repute. His works of crimson and brass amazed and delighted his myriad followers, and brought his blood soaked patron deity years of amusement. With such favor from the Axewolf, his warband grew into a mighty host and the very stars trembled to hear their name. The Eternal Hunt reigned supreme in the realms of the Blood God, with few to match and none to exceed their fury. 

 

But then there arose a  young upstart. One who longed to bring forth the ancient might our legion of old. A vision of a more pure legion of the elder echelons burned within the mind of the bloodthirsty Youngling. And though the new warband was much smaller than that of the Warlord-Crafter, she was very loud about it, so the Children of Cuth Vasi gained a toe hold in the galaxy.

 

Flash forward many months, and The Warlord and the Youngling had not destroyed one another through mutual hatred and bloodlust, but had become fast friends through much fun debate over the nature of the Eaters of Worlds. Many ideas and techniques had been traded, improving the craftsmanship of both. But despite this, there was still a single point of contention between these storied warriors.

 

"Red and brass will always be cooler than white and blue," said the Warlord.

 

"Unhelmed marines are dumb, they'd get shot in the face," the Youngling wittily retorted.

 

And so there arose a great challenge! Could the Youngling match the master Warlord at his own craft? Could a child born of the old days bend the new talents of blood and brass to her will in the style of the Hunters Eternal? If she could, the Great Warlord vowed to immortalize the product of her labors in the legendary halls of the Fourth Company and forge a mighty saga to commemorate the tale.

 

These are the fruits of that great challenge.

 

Has the Youngling succeeded in the task set before her by the storied wisdom of the Warlord-Craftsman? It is up to you, my brothers who stand upon the hot sands, to decide.

 

The Hunter by Flint

 

 http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/800x600q90/540/mIbSJd.jpg

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/800x600q90/540/8B5mDD.jpg

 

Hunters
by K-sci

Flames were already billowing from the ramshackle habs as the Hunter strode into the settlement. He turned his horned helm this way and that, surveying the destruction and slaughter surrounding him. What remained of the poor wretches who had eked out a meagre living here in the freezing wastelands of a backwater world at the fringes of Imperial space spoke of violent, careless slaughter, but there was something more underneath it: A frantic need the Hunter understood but found distasteful.
He paced around the main square of the settlement, his warrior’s mind piecing together the events: the desperate but eventually futile struggle. The bloodletting. And what seemed to be the pursuit of a few settlers that had somehow managed to escape the slaughter. The Hunter examined the tracks leading through the outer parts of the settlement and into the wilderness beyond, already being covered up by the falling snow, here where the heat of the flames was not as intense.

The Hunter cocked his head, listening and sniffing. Again, his head turned this way and that, as he tried to find a trace of his prey. Suddenly, he paused. And if someone had been very close by, they might have noticed a telltale glint of bared teeth behind his helmet’s mouth slit: a feral, hungry thing of a smile. But nobody was there to see. All that remained in the settlement was death. His ancient warplate thrumming, the Hunter set off towards the east. Towards his prey.

***
The thrill of the hunt started to recede, and already Iriralar Nightclaw was feeling a flutter of disappointment. He had spent hours artfully stalking his prey, slowly separating each of the Mon’Keigh’ from the group, then taking them down one by one. If he had just wanted to kill them, it would have been a quick task, but Iriralar had wanted to wring every possible drop of pleasure from this particular hunt, and he had succeeded in that. Nevertheless, with the game so very nearly over, he couldn’t help feeling a nagging sense of regret.
He looked at the poor wretch scrambling away from him now on hands and knees, leaving crimson traces in the snow. Still so desperate to get away. Iriralar almost had to smile in recognition of his prey’s perseverance. Alas, all good things must come to an end.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Iriralar drew his blades, the curved steel only giving the faintest whisper as it slid from its twin sheaths. The Mon’Keigh stared at him in utter horror and despair, but still kept crawling away from him. Iriralar bared sharp, pearly white teeth in a predator’s smile:
“So then, shall we dance?”

When it was over – and it was over far too soon – Iriralar stepped back from what remained of his prey. It was not much, and even that would soon be lost under a blanket of snow. Iriralar slowly breathed in the sweet scent of a dying soul. He would have to return to his raiding party soon.
Going after a pack of Mon’Keigh cattle on his own was an indulgence, surely, but nobody would dare reprimand the Lord Archon’s own son for such behavior. Iriralar smiled to himself…
…and froze.

There was something close by. Iriralar could smell it. Surely, none of his prey could have eluded him? He focused and inhaled. Indeed, it was a Mon’Keigh. But there was something more: The creature’s animal stink was compounded by the acrid tang of a metabolism retuned, a body crudely reshaped into something else…and there was something underneath all of that, something even more sublime… Iriralar smiled to himself. Maybe this hunt was not over after all…


***

The hunt had been going on for hours now, and Iriralar’s earlier exhilaration at the prospect of worthy prey had begun to turn into a nagging sense of irritation. It felt like his quarry was leading him around in circles, but there seemed to be little point in it: He kept his distance, yet always stayed in sight. There was something decidedly off about this situation, and Iriralar craved some kind of resolution

He had at first thought the Mon’Keigh to belong to one of the primitive warrior orders that had pledged themselves to the carrion god. But not this one – just a few short glances at his ancient power armour were proof that the Astartes served one of the lords of the warp: the Blood God. Which made this game of cat and mouse all the more irritating and strange.
Suddenly, the towering form came to a halt, standing at the center of a clearing Iriralar was sure they had passed before.  With a hum of servo motors, the Mon’Keigh turned to face Iriralar.

The towering figure seemed like a heathen idol dreamt up by a madman: The bulky Astartes armour was jagged and baroque, with talismans and trophies dangling from its shoulder pads. Across the Mon’Keigh’s chest was a bandolier of skulls that clacked softly with every move. And though encrusted with hoarfrost, the arterial red and brass of the armour was clearly visible beneath.

Iriralar had learned the Mon’ Keigh language, not out of a fascination with their culture, but for a far more practical reason: He enjoyed being able to understand his prey’s last whimpered words.  He had thus become very familiar with the intricacies of the Mon’Keigh’s blunt and primitive emotions, and it was for this reason that he was able to hear a smile in the Astartes’ voice when he called out to Iriralar: “Time to end this, don’t you think?”
As if to accompany his words, he slowly drew his weapons: a huge axe and an ancient, baroque chainblade. He gunned the chainblade’s trigger, as if to check its function, and the axe’s head flared up in a blue white power field. Iriralar thought he could make out the glint of a smile underneath the warrior’s horned helmet, but before he could be sure, the massive Astartes threw himself at Iriralar with astonishing speed. Iriralar’s blades hissed from their sheats, and the dance was on.

Fast though he might have been, the Mon’Keigh was too slow for Iriralar: It was almost too easy to avoid his swings and sidestep his towering form. At the same time, however, his thick warplate deflected most of Iriralar’s probing slashes, so he would need to wait for an opening, for an exposed joint or a bared throat. But he was patient enough – his earlier irritation had been replaced with a feeling of rapture that made his blood run hot.

On and on, the dance went, the snow underneath slowly turning into a slippery trap. Iriralar noticed the first telltale signs of fatigue in his enemy, the strain of having to keep up with a much faster opponent. His lips peeled back from his white teeth in an amused smile: Time to end this.

The huge Mon’Keigh attacked. Too slow. Always too slow. Iriralar almost laughed out loud as he ghosted out of the way and saw his enemy stumble forward due to his momentum, opening up an opportunity to strike. This was it. Iriralar saw his stumbling enemy as though in slow motion as he jumped forward. He would end the Mon’Keigh beast. So close now. Just a hearbeat until the kill.
The moment his feet touched the ground, there was a sharp, metallic sound. Then pain, unbearable pain. Iriralar’s eyes snapped to the ground, seeing the ugly, serrated metal jaws that had lain hidden underneath the thick blanket of snow. That had closed with a whip crack when he had disturbed the trap, punching through his legs, tearing flesh and breaking bone. With a cry of anguish, Iriralar crumpled to the floor in a graceless slump.
He felt the rush of the combat stims that took the white hot edge off the pain, and he tried to get up, to get away. But the jagged metal teeth would not let go, pinning him to the ground. Over his own panting breath, Iriralar could hear a low chuckle, as the towering form of the Mon’Keigh approached him:

“It is an old trick, I will give you that. But one that does not produce any heat or scanner readings. All it requires is a bit of preparation.”

Iriralar frantically tried to reach his fallen blades, but it was impossible. He could not get away either. The strain made the blood pump from his legs at an alarming rate, and he could feel the spike of pain even through the haze induced by the combat drugs. The Mon’Keigh slowly circled him, seeming amused by the situation. He pointed to the scrimshawed bone trinkets adorning Iriralar’s armour:
“I see you enjoy taking trophies”, he growled, “In that, we are not so different, you and I.”
Irialar spat a gob of bloody phlegm at the Astartes and bared his teeth in a rictus grin: “Do you expect me to be afraid, filthy Mon’Keigh? There is nothing you could possibly do to me that would scare me.”

Once more, Iriralar could hear the smile in the Mon’Keigh’s words: “Ah, but that is where you are wrong. You see, a good hunter learns all there is to learn about his prey, is that not right? And I have had a very long time to learn…”

With that he pulled something from a pouch at his belt and held it out. A glint of metal was visible as the small object fell from his hand, dangling by a fine silver thread. A jewel, it seemed. Iriralar focused on the gem, in spite of the pain, in spite of the danger. It seemed important somehow. He focused and felt his blood run cold:
Dangling from the Astartes’ fist was a spirit stone.

“So, then. Shall we begin?”

***

When it was over, the Hunter stepped away from his prey. He had learned much, more than he had anticipated. It had been a successful hunt.

He opened a vox channel and said but a single word:

“Hokar”
“Acknowledged”, came the Huntmaster’s reply. His spireborn sneer of a voice managed to make a single word sound haughty, even over the temperamental vox. The arrogant high-rider bastard.
“Scouting complete. The Eldar pirates have moved on the main settlements. They do not suspect our presence and should be blind to anything but their current…entertainment.”
“Numbers?”
“Only a raiding party about a hundred strong. It seems they did not expect much resistance. In that, they were wrong.”
“And the Archon?”
“He is with them. He has led us a merry dance, but now the hunt is nearly at an end.”
“Maybe. Did you get visual confirmation?”
“Of course. What do you take me for?”
Hokar did not miss a beat: “What I take you for right now, hunter, is a soldier two hundred clicks off his mark, which I am certain you have a perfectly valid reason for. What, pray tell, have you been doing down there?”
“Tying up some loose ends. But fear not, I am on my way.” Again, anybody near enough to witness this exchange might have seen that telltale glint of teeth that gave away the Hunter’s smile as he terminated the vox link.
And maybe, just maybe, such a person would also have noticed  a small gem now dangling from the Hunter’s belt. A strange touch of beauty on the legionary’s jagged and pitted armour, the stone was now  imbued with a fire that rendered it even more beautiful. But nobody was there to witness this, so it went unnoticed.

The Hunter set out towards the west, where new prey waited.

Edited January 1, 2015 by Flint13

[KrautScientist]

Teehee, I love it when you call me "warlord", you know? ;)

 

Seriously, though: Like I said, it's a beatuiful model that has earned its place in the 4th. Extra kudos for making last minute adjustments to suit the story. Really looking forward to what you other guys think of this joint venture!

[incinerator950]

Hey Ktart, are there any left handed arms that would be good for the reigns on my juggerlord or should I just go with a lefthanded bolt pistol?

[Augustus b'Raass]

Oooooh I like this. A two-fer between two of my favorite Frater. Love it! Awesome mini and highly enjoyable fluff, you two. I'm looking forward to the mirror model and story over at k-Sci's end.

[Adeptus-Alaska]

I love it when great minds collaberate. You two are an inspiration. This kinda thing is exactly why my 30 stuff will homage Jaspcat or whatever the hell he calls himself now (as if I can talk).

 

When I get around to a 40k WE force, it will be inspired by the crazy, but just maybe genius, Biohazard.

 

Cheers you two.

[Relict]

No love for the mounted Legionaries of old? Behold my first attempt at painting a vehicle:

 

http://s30.postimg.org/txb1ieg0x/Full_Size_Render_16.jpg

http://s30.postimg.org/xuyb7t2u9/Full_Size_Render_17.jpg

Scimitar Jetbike, 1st Reconnaissance Squadron, 77th Battle Company, 3rd Echelon, XII Legion World Eaters

 

This is the ride of the sergeant of my squadron of three. I gave the sergeant a power fist and plasma pistol. He also has a black helmet crest (in the 77th, a red crest marks an infantry officer - a black one marks an officer of the armored forces) and some Warhound markings as well. For the bike itself, I used some Forge World weathering power on the exposed metal components - mainly the cowling and the engine. 

 

Thoughts? 

[Augustus b'Raass]

@Relict: I like him! It's very hard to freehand a straight line on such an angled surface, and you've pulled it off nicely. Great work! :tu: Also, that helmet looks fab for him - I have the similar looking crested MkIII helmet from my three rapiers. I'm going to use one for the sergeant of my upcoming Khorne Berzerker squad. :d

 

Now, I also have something to show here. It's the reason I joined forces with the Twelfth. I couldn't justify doing this guy in blue, so I decided to make a World Eater Detachement to my Night Lords Company. Here's the first model:

 

 

Many more pics in my showcase here.

 

http://i35.photobucket.com/albums/d185/mkruijff/Showcase%20Night%20Lords/LordofSkulls14_zps6033d87a.jpg

[KrautScientist]

Ah, good thing you posted it here as well, because that gives me a chance to like it again ;)

[Soldier of Dorn]

That thing is beautiful, Augustus!

 

You know, when I saw the WIP pics, I remember thinking that the Defiler bits clashed too much with the rounded plates of the Lord of Skulls, but that paintjob pulls it all together.

 

10 skulls, all round.