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Humanity's Darkest Hour (Enter the Lionesguard)


Larkyn

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http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/xq90/661/wiYwWE.jpg

 

            This is the Time of Ending. Beset by enemies on all sides and from within, the Imperium of Man teeters on the edge of darkness.

 

            The Thirteenth Black Crusade is drawing near. The Traitor King has amassed colossal armies in the Great Eye, ready to raze Holy Terra to the ground. It is the proverbial two minutes until midnight. Humanity's darkest hour.

 

            But, from the ashes, a spark of hope remains.

 

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EDIT: 666th post! Yes! What a glorious number for this project.

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Sans basework, the Brotherhood Champion is done:

 

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I'm very happy with how the back banner came out. For the record, as I bet someone will ask, the banner and backpack is from a Legion of the Damned sergeant, specifically the one that's blistered alone, with power sword.

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  • 2 weeks later...

            Trooper Nahor Ishmael brushed sand off of his flak jacket, for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. Being stationed outside of the settlements was a real bugger, the winds out in the dunes was far fiercer, making dust storms more prevalent. When the dust storms kicked up, it made even a march near impossible.

            The squad had been attempting to ascend a sandy, scree slope when the storm began. Most ended up rolling back down to the bottom, knocked off of their feet by the force of the wind. But, as quickly as it began, the storm died. All clear, deep blue sky high up above.

            His sergeant, Galen Mahir, raised his hand, and ordered the squad to continue the ascent.

            None of them knew, that in just over six weeks time, they would be tumbling down that very same slope, dead and dying. They would be going back down that slope as corpses.

            Trooper Ishmael didn't know that, so he just shifted the weight of his lasrifle on his shoulder, and put one foot before the other, and trudged on.

 

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Trooper Nahor Ishmael, PDF Trooper, Gerwault 40th Planetary Defense Regiment

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            Gong. Gong. Gong!

            The great old clock tolled. Twelve great clangs. Midnight.

            Gong. Gong. Gong!

            Sergeant Galen Mahir sat up on his cot, and stared over at the ancient clock.

            Its face was-

                        A snarling daemonic face

            No, a normal clock face, heavily aged and weathered.

            Gong. Gong. Gong!

            For each tremendous gong,-

                        a daemonic horror of prodigious size

            an ancient Terran bird, now long extinct would pop out of the clock face, it's faded yellow wings flapping in the dry heat of the barracks.

            GONG! GONG! GONG!

            The last three strikes were like the sound of-

                        daemonic drums, the sounds of Hell marching

            great cracks of gunfire, akin to the sounds of heavy artillery.

            Despite the desert heat, Sergeant Mahir shivered.

            That clock hasn't worked in well over a thousand years, he knew. The Adeptus Mechanicus adepts in the basecamp had long since given up hope of ever hearing its chime ever again.

            There was a rumour. A rumour spread throughout the bars and taverns. A rumour spread by troopers that were drunk. But a rumour with a hint of truth, unbeknownst to all.

            The rumour was; that at the beginning of the End, at the cusp of finality; the Great Clock would toll one last time. The death knell of humanity.

           Sergeant Galen Mahir shivered again, the cold sweat that was beading his skin already drying in the heat.

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Almost finished my first piece of terrain for my new gameboard that I primed up today: the Dead World of Kalak. Just needs some sealcoat, and some Black Battleground basing material, then done.

 

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Also, I've got the parts for converting up a Filthy Xenos autarch for my girlfriend's birthday. Sadly, I cannt post pictures of it on here, but as progress continues, I'll put them up on my imageshack page.

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  • 2 weeks later...

As the hour grows late, as the blood tide rises, all hope will be lost. When Daemons stride the worlds of men, when bodies of water turn to blood, when the skies themselves become twisted nightmarish realms, the Blood King shall walk. And all will fall before him.

 

So it begins....

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/xq90/540/Dsor5t.jpg

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A few hours later, we have this:

 

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/xq90/538/fggXSC.jpg

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/xq90/661/6X7euY.jpg

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First impressions: Love the Rangers, hate the Dragoon.

 

The Rangers I could assemble all day long. Nice and easy. The Dragoon, well, for someone who has fumble-fingers like me, all those small bits spent more time on the floor than on the model itself. Nice kit though.

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  • 2 weeks later...
  • 1 month later...

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            She held him in her arms, softly caressing his blood-stained cheeks, shaking with uncontrollable sobs. Her headset lay on the ground next to her, cast off and ignored. Shouts emitted from the earpieces, unable to penetrate the fog of agony and melancholy that surrounded her.

            He's gone. That thought was the only thing going through her mind. He's gone...

            Colonel Caelia Vandar held the limp body of her former lover, the Elysian colonel Jakub Torth, in her arms, his armour cracked and sundered, split wide open by a daemonic blade.

            They had fought the Archenemy together for almost ten years, side-by-side, from the salt deserts of Atrion IV to Torth's final resting place in the obsidian sand of the dead world Kallak.

            "Colonel..." the voice appeared suddenly, shaking Caelia out of her desolation. She looked up, and saw Torth's senior gunnery sergeant, Garth Remiel, starring at them from atop a slab of black rock. The man had a look on his face somewhere between reverence and despair, probably feeling both emotions and more at that moment.

            "Garth...he's gone," Caelia managed after several attempts.

            "I know, ma'am. I need to get you both out of here. We're pulling back, the Knights of Titan are coming."

            Caelia reluctantly released Torth, and slowly, almost painfully, rose to her feet. Remiel called over a medical team, and the two Elysians carefully put the corpse of their colonel on a stretcher. Remiel guided Caelia by the arm to the waiting valkyrie gunship, got her on board, and waited solemnly while the medical team fixed the stretcher to the cargo block in the center of the valkyrie's interior. Only then did he don his helmet, and walk up towards the cockpit.

            In the front of the troop bay, hidden by the glare shield of his helmet, Master Gunnery Sergeant Garth Remiel wept over the death of his commanding officer, a man he adored. A man who was his uncle.

 

Here is the model for Colonel Caelia Vandar, commanding officer of the Cadian 710th Mechanized.

 

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I love the Charnel Wraiths marine. Looks like he shoved his bolter into someone's chainsword wound and popped them from the inside.

 

 

That was pretty much the idea.

 

I'm hoping to get back on this project now that I've got a lot more time. The last month or so has been really difficult, but now that it's over, I'm hoping that my Hobby-Fu will kick back in and actually allow me to get some stuff done.

 

I've still got a Grey Knight army to assemble...

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  • 2 weeks later...
  • 2 weeks later...

http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/xq90/661/J1w5Wx.jpg           

 

             Lord Huntmaster Hektor Iskandar loomed over the Fallen warrior, watching the traitor struggle under the weight of his wounds, the ancient warrior's armour cracked and split from both bolt and blade.

            "Your name is known to us, Iacobus Zarah; traitor; thrice-accursed; follower of Luther. Fallen," he spat out this last word, verbally spitting venom.

             The Fallen warrior's sword lay underneath him, the blade broken in twine, the hilt sundered. His bolter lay next to him, the magazine empty and cast aside.

             "I am...I am...ever...your br-brother...just....long...forgo-forgotten..." the Fallen sputtered, his helmet filling with blood.

              Hektor Iskandar gazed down at the traitor for a moment.

              "No, you are not my brother. You are scum," he said as he spun away.

              The last thing the Fallen heard as the Lord Huntmaster walked away was the -PING-PING-PING- of the stasis grenade hitting the ground.

 

 

Lord Huntmaster Hektor Iskandar, Master of the Ironwing, formerly of 2nd Company, Dark Angels Chapter:

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Iacobus Zarah, former Brother-Sergeant, I Legion, "The Dark Angels":

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