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Hands/Warriors/Mech Co-op - Chainveil - Pg. 4

Big Bad Squig

By Big Bad Squig
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Swarmlord123 Battle-Brother

Swarmlord123

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Fresh from the painting table...

 

 

 

http://i1377.photobucket.com/albums/ah49/Swarmlord123/590ad6d9-0f54-4061-8c9c-b5b5978abcd1_zpstijhr8wf.jpg

 

 

 

From the ruins he came, his great chainblade soaked in the blood of our hated foes. Reinforcements are returning from the dust and ashes of the massacre, our great cousins of the Questoris titan legions. My brothers have been kneeling by the great inanimate carcass of the behemoth, eyes alight with a religious fervour. Captain Golg does not approve of this, nor do I, and nor will our Lord when he comes to hear of it. Still, I hope and trust that our other allies get wind of our disposition. We continue to make tactical retreats. But more will come.

 

Extract from the personal audio logs of Breacher Squad Sergeant Numerian Baelar.

Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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That is one snazzy ride! On the side with the chains, where those sculpted on yourself?

 

Indeed they were; it's quite a simple process -  just a flattened line of green stuff hacked at with a scalpel.

 

I like dreadnoughts, in case this was not already blatantly obvious.  To that end...

 

 

FORTBREAKER TALON

 

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                The three war engines trudged through the rubble.  One leant, reaching down with a crimson-stained gauntlet for a flash of green concealed amongst the stones.

                “Salamanders,” it said, words amplified and distorted.  The dreadnought dug, sweeping aside rocks in great swings of its arms.  A metallic scrape.  It had unearthed a power armoured body sprawled out painfully, a drop of blood running slowly across the stone.  “It is fresh.  They have been here.”

                The second dreadnought growled in agreement, turning to the third.  “Any word from the Graveyard, L’bhrann?”

                L’bhrann shook his exposed head.  “None yet, Maradann.  We continue.  The Warriors must be close.”  He took a step forward, leading the Talon past the fallen Salamander, then stopped short.  Silent.  Vocal augments disengaged.  When he spoke, it was a quiet, frail whisper.

                “Halt.”  The one word echoed across the plains.

                “Brother Maradann, one hundred and thirty seven degrees left.  Brother Ianatn, seventeen right.  On my mark.”

                Barely audible over the wind and laboured breath of L’bhrann, an engine.  The sound grew slowly, a high pitched shrieking overlaying a bass rumble; Scimitars.  Five came into view, spread apart in the exact positions predicted, darting over the blackened carcasses of vehicles.  Slowly, L’bhrann raised his lascannon, his eyes fixed on the far-off, flickering shapes.

                “Mark,” came the whisper, before the jarring light of las discharge.  Without grace, one marine slid from his mount.  The impact was obscured as the jetbike shattered in a violent explosion.  Maradann’s plasma cannon found its mark also, tearing free a silvered arm from the closest outrider.  The four returned fire, bolts hammering into the advancing form of Ancient Ianatn to no avail.  He bellowed something undiscernible over his speakers, raising his gauntlets.  As the Scimitar closed the gap, Ianatn fired both his inbuilt graviton guns into the floor, bringing his enemy crashing to the ground.  Even as the Iron Warrior tried to get back to his feet, the dreadnought brought his foot down atop the marine, crushing him to the sound of breath being forced free of the body.  At this, the remaining three turned their mounts around, speeding away.  The behemoths lumbered after them, only barely keeping pace as the jetbikes led them over the crest of a rocky hill.  At the top, L’bhrann realised his mistake.  It had been a trap.  He should have known.  Those stubborn bastards never flee.

                Below them lay a fortified dugout, small, but dense, bristling with legionnaires.  The Scimitars dropped down behind a ferrocrete wall, klaxons and alarms sounding.  In response to their arrival, marines rushed to reach the fortification’s wall, training weapons on the black-armoured trio.  Ianatn’s bitter smile could almost be heard over the vox link.

                “Fortbreaker Talon, ready!”  L’bhrann screamed, revving his chainfist.  “For the fallen!  For the Tenth!  For the blood of the Primarch!”

                A moment of ominous silence.

                “Breach!”

 

 

Extract from Remembrances of Betrayal, Aveline di Lucci, Survivor of the Drop Site Massacre

  • 2 weeks later...
Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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My camera has gone briefly walkabout and I'm using my phone for now (so a decrease in picture quality is expected), but the show must go on!  Thus:

 

 

THE INVAR

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/3/20/786884_md-.jpg

 

 

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/3/20/786885_md-.jpg

 

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Invar:

 

-          n.  An alloy notable for its uniquely low coefficient of thermal expansion.  The designation Invar is derived from the word invariable, referring to its relative lack of expansion or contraction with temperature changes.

 

-          n.  Unrelenting.  Unyielding.  Unending.  Iron.

 

Message carved into the side of a Mars pattern Predator chassis, designation M1332, informally The Invar.

Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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Greetings all!

I have recently come into possession of some old assault marines and a rhino (which, on a side note, was fielded in its first game yesterday and slew Swarmlord123's Swarmlord with its combi-bolter - oh the delicious irony!). And so, of course, my mind leapt to the logical and Iron Hands related Xeric Tribesmen teehee.gif . Here are the first two:

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/3/27/788409_md-.JPG

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/3/27/788410_md-.JPG

I also managed to find my camera and have taken some better pictures of the Invar:

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/3/27/788406_md-.JPG

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/3/27/788407_md-.JPG

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Thanks for looking!

TrashyObergine Battle-Brother

TrashyObergine

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Greetings, Long time reader first time poster. I am the long awaited latest member of our Horus heresy group and I bring my -Not Yet Bought- Dark Mechanicum. Here in my inaugural post I give you my 1000 point list.

 

 

 

+++ Exactoris Task Force (1000pts) +++

 

++ Mechanicum: Taghmata Army List (Age of Darkness) (1000pts) ++

 

+ HQ (210pts) +

 

Magos Prime (210pts) [Cortex Controller (15pts), Djinn-skein (25pts), Macrotek (20pts), Rad/irad Cleanser (20pts)]

····Archmagos Prime (35pts) [Archmagos]

 

+ Troops (470pts) +

 

Castellax Class Battle-Automata Maniple (155pts) [Castellax class Battle-automata (105pts), Enhanced Targeting Array (15pts), Paragon of Metal (35pts)]

 

Thallax Cohort (150pts) [Destructor (15pts), 3x Thallax (120pts)]

 

Thallax Cohort (165pts) [Destructor (15pts), Multi-melta (15pts), 3x Thallax (120pts)]

 

+ Fast Attack (75pts) +

 

Vorax Class Battle-automata Maniple (75pts) [irad-cleanser (10pts), Vorax (65pts)]

 

+ Heavy Support (245pts) +

 

Myrmidon Destructors (245pts) [Conversion Beamer (35pts), Irradiation Engine (40pts), 2x Myrmidon Destructor (80pts)]

····Myrmidon Lord (90pts) [Conversion Beamer (35pts)]

 

Created with BattleScribe

 

 

Our losses at Isvaan are still fresh in my mind, yet I feel more powerful than ever before. With my immense engineering skill I have constructed an elite army ready to take on the gods themselves and I know that no puny planet will stand in my way. But I must rest before I take on the great armies of the imperium. I will govern my forge world with an iron fist. The imperium will forget about me, but I will still be there, I will be planning and honing my control of the voices. Until I strike, then the whole galaxy will know my name.

 

Extract from the techno-diaries of Archmagos Matric Exactoris of Xana II

Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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THE TURNCOAT

 

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>>Audio recording, Rhino Armoured Carrier designation M73881, Xth Legion, Sorrogol Clan, 334919.M30.  Recovered from M73881’s data banks.

 

***Recording begins.

 

- “Sergeant!  *voice pattern analysing* Sergeant!  *voice pattern – match – Legionnaire Thyrian Symth, Sorrogol Clan* Have you had time to consider my request?”

 

- “*voice pattern – match – Sergeant Galspar, Sorrogol Clan* Indeed I have, brother.  I see no reason to authorise the transfer.  She has been nought but a reliable machine.”

 

- “*voice pattern – match – Legionnaire Symth * But Sergeant… *voice lowers* *recording adjusts to compensate* Sergeant, it’s the machine spirit.  It’s angry.”

 

- “*laughter - voice pattern – match – Sergeant Galspar* You Terrans are needlessly superstitious.  The machine spirit is not angry.  There will be no transfer; this Rhino will not be let within a mile of Mor’s scum.”

 

- “*voice pattern – match – Legionnaire Symth* It’s angry.”

 

- “*voice pattern – match – Sergeant Galspar* What is your major malfunction, brother?  Do you know what you sound like?”

 

- “*voice pattern – match – Legionnaire Symth* It’s angry.  It hates us.  It wants blood.  Can’t you hear it?  Listen.”

 

-Silence for 3.2 seconds

 

- “*voice pattern – match – Sergeant Galspar* No, you listen!  You are a madman.  There is nothing to hear.  Nothing!  Bring this up, even once more, and it will be you transferred to Clan Morragul!  *footsteps – gait matched to Sergeant Galspar* *footsteps inaudible*”

 

 -Silence for 24.9 seconds

 

*engine starting*

*engine revving*

*scream*

*cracking*

 

-Silence

 

 

 

***Recording ends.

Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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ELOWEHI TALON

 

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                Weighed down by his sea-green war plate and slowed by his injuries, Imsety forced himself to keep moving.  Onwards through the unending ravines and cliffs that bordered the Depression.  One hand rested over his combat blade, the other pressing down on the hole in his stomach.  It had been a Salamander; the coward had burned the wound into him with a meltagun before Imsety had been able to reach him and finish the man with his blade.  A trickle of blood escaped from his grip.  A tiny amount; the melta’s only gift had been that the heat had sealed the wound almost immediately.  Imsety felt no gratitude.

                The vox had been dead for hours.  Nonetheless, the hum of machinery barely audible in the distance told him he was approaching friendly positions.  There would be an apothecary there.  He was sure.

                A flash of darkness flitted across his vision.  Imsety slammed his fist into the side of his helmet.  His visor distorted for a moment, then returned.

                “Damned autosenses acting up,” he muttered.  As if on command, his vision went black.  Screaming in Cthonian, Imsety wrenched the helmet free of his head and tossed it aside.  It bounced twice, then landed amongst a pile of rock.  He pushed onward.

                A clatter behind him.  He spun, brandishing his blade, stained a bright red from the blood of the Salamander.  Nothing.  He shook his head, turning away again.  Perhaps the melta had done more damage than Imsety had thought.  Spots of black darted past his face.  He blinked them away.  Opened his eyes again.  More black.  A column of black, swirling across the space.  He fell onto his back, clutching at his forehead.  The black shapes swam and mutated before his eyes, gradually growing closer.  The column loomed before him.  He thought he heard words.  Terran words.

                Imsety scrambled backwards in panic, flapping his arms in an attempt to reach his blade.  He could not find it; it had gone.  The scabbard was empty.

                “What are you?” he coughed in terror.  The black column gave no answer.

                A blast of white light, and the low hum of a power weapon.

                “Kill for the dead!” cried the figure, before the weapon raced towards Imsety’s face.  A flash of burning heat. 

                And everything went black.

  • 3 weeks later...
Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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CHAPLAIN CAS’GNIAS

 

                “Arrogant bastard, he is.  Inspires the men well enough.  Not bad with a sword, I’ll give him that.  I’ve never seen someone drop an Ork so fast.  Who knows what he could do to an Astartes - and pray we never find out!  Doesn’t come anywhere near me with a bolter, thankfully.  I’m still ahead of him on kills here, although he’s probably catching up.  The locals practically threw themselves on his sword last I heard.  Nowhere near a proper fight.  Still, I wouldn’t pick a fight with him if I were you.  Is there anything else you need?”

                “What about the Apothecary?”

                “The Apothecary?  Why, that’s a story for another day…”

 

                Transcript of an interview between Tyrnen Sarrkul and Aveline di Lucci, Remembrancer

 

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                Tyrnen Sarrkul fired once again into the advancing marine, catching his reinforced helmet with a bolt and knocking him backwards momentarily.  It would not be enough.  Closing fast, Sarrkul heard the harsh hiss of a lascutter firing and ducked under his adversary’s first swing.  The ray of the Iron Warrior’s weapon caught the rock behind Sarrkul and torched a gash into it.  While the legionnaire was overextended, Sarrkul brought his elbow into the breacher’s side.  A minute crack appeared in the plate, before a shield slammed into his chest.  Sarrkul fell back, rolling away from the lascutter and firing the remnants of his clip into the breacher.  He spotted flecks of crimson as the Warrior raised his shield sluggishly.  Then, all of a sudden, he charged.  A bright flash of white light.

                The breacher lay dead, decapitated.  The wound had already been cauterised by the heat of the offending power weapon.

                “How many have you killed?” came the voice of Cas’gnias as he stooped to pick up the marine’s head.

                “That was to be my first.”

                “Pathetic,” he replied, chuckling to himself.  He raised the head above his, waving it around.

“Baeler!” the chaplain shouted towards the breacher sergeant from across the plains.  “You’ll never guess what I’ve done to your boys!”  And with that, he charged.         

  • 2 weeks later...
Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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Loving the fluff! 

 

Thanks man!

 

 

 

APOTHECARY CEARNN’Y

 

                ‘They say that to be an apothecary is to carry with you the burden of ten times as many lives as even the greatest of warriors.’

 

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                Cearnn’y ducked beneath his adversary’s fist.  He did not draw his knife; the Warrior’s terminator plate would render in useless anyway.  He stepped back.  Caught the next of the marine’s wild swings.  With a shattering crack, Cearnn’y heard the terminator’s fingers break.  He thought he heard a gasp.  Good, he thought, I hope that hurt.

                “There are more coming, Tobias,” he heard.  It was di Lucci.  “We need to fall back to the Graveyard.”

                “We will fight on, remembrancer,” he responded.  “Until the death.”

                The Iron Warrior planted his foot on the distracted apothecary’s chest and forced him back.  Tripped.  Fell.  He saw from where he lay prone the terminator raise his combi-bolter and fire at Aveline.  With a horrendous thump she fell, clutching her stomach.  With cold precision, the marine stalked forwards, aiming now for Cearnn’y.  He stopped, raising the bolter slowly.

                A rending crash announced the arrival of another to the fight.  A power fist impact knocked the Warrior to the ground.  As he rushed to the fallen remembrancer, he caught a glimpse of Sergeant Ghorsh raising his power fist above his head and bringing it down in a vicious ark into the terminator’s chest.

                Cearnn’y knelt over di Lucci.  Still alive.  That was good.  The bolt had only glanced, drawing blood but missing vital organs.  Quickly tying cloth to the wound, he stood back up.

                “Status?” asked Ghorsh quietly.

                “She will live,” he replied, walking towards where the Iron Warrior lay wheezing and hearing the familiar sounds of the drills and chainblades of his narthecium whirring into action.  “He, on the other hand, will not.”

DaBoiKyknos Veteran

DaBoiKyknos

Posted
Posted

Great stuff!

I really dig your greenstuffing and dread- conversions.

Have you ever thought about putting a (coloured) glass front to one of it heads?

I really fear for the guy with the bare head...

I meant something like that:

 

http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammer40k/images/2/2b/Stormraven001.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20130321021142

  • 2 weeks later...
Sigismund229 Veteran

Sigismund229

Posted
Posted

 

Loving the fluff! 

 

Thanks man!

 

 

 

APOTHECARY CEARNN’Y

 

                ‘They say that to be an apothecary is to carry with you the burden of ten times as many lives as even the greatest of warriors.’

 

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It's one of Raktra's sons!

TrashyObergine Battle-Brother

TrashyObergine

Posted
Posted

Hi everyone, this is my first major post on this thread. So I am showing everyone my first painted thallax with the armywide paint scheme. Enjoy! Also any feedback is apreciated.

 

http://i802.photobucket.com/albums/yy309/sqiggg/IMG_9414_zpsk2wlxoya.jpg?t=1463567184

 

 

 

http://i802.photobucket.com/albums/yy309/sqiggg/IMG_1662_zpsdrwegz6w.jpg?t=1463567096

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Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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It's one of Raktra's sons!

 

 

 

Black armor, white arms, and so much blood… this apothecary could pass for a 'zerker.

 

Busted!  I couldn't help the little reference.  In fact, have another:

 

 

URSUS FERRI

 

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                “What does it mean?”

                “I know not, Aveline.  Something archaic, I would imagine.  Sounds good enough, though.  Majestic.  You know she has graced a Primarch once?”

                “Truly?”

                “Truly.  It was during the war on the Gardinaal.  One of the enemy tanks tore a chunk in Manus’ Mastodon transporter so large it practically lay in two halves.  The Ursus Ferri was the closest vehicle, and although there was barely space left, in he stepped.  He said nothing.  Just before we were to reach the front lines once more, Manus turned to the man next to me.  Looked over to the marking on his shoulder, the Bloodied Hand.  He spat in his palm and wiped the pad clean.  The man looked up, and Manus spoke finally.  He said: ‘Do not wear this to remember the fall of a worthy foe.  Compared to us, there is none who is worthy’.

                “I knew that man.  Within hours of the first day, he was dead.” 

 

Transcript of an interview between Tyrnen Sarrkul and Aveline di Lucci, Survivor of the Drop Site Massacre. 

Big Bad Squig Veteran

Big Bad Squig

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SQUAD MAOLDDON’CH

 

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                The Medusan winters were cold.  Very cold.  A kind of terrifying cold that cut through your skin and into the bone, and cut so deep that it was as if you couldn’t move.  As if you needn’t, because you were already dead.  You were powerless.

                I knew that feeling well.  After my home was razed to the ground, it became my only companion.  I wandered, although I know not for how long.  It felt like a lifetime.  Each day punctuated only by the need to find food.  Not water.  I had all the water I could drink in those mountains.  Snow and ice everywhere.  But no food.  No shelter.  The closest I came to that was a tiny metal shack built from ancient shards of vehicles and walls nestled among the rocks that I stumbled on in the middle of the night.  I found an old man there, asleep.  As I was looking for something to eat, he rose to his feet and lifted up a makeshift spear with a point made from a sharpened exhaust pipe.  We fought.  I survived.  He did not.  It was a necessity.  That was my childhood.  Forced to do unspeakable things through a desperate need to survive.

                It was then that they found me.  They had me marked for Chainveil at first, but I fought and fought until they sent me to the legion as punishment.  They told me stories of uniting the stars, majestic conquest, and at the end of it all an everlasting peace.  They said that my childhood was over.  That we were fighting for something grander than what had motivated my every action on Medusa.

                It was not true.  This black world has taught me that.  There is nothing more than survival left for us.

 

                Extract from Remembrancer Aveline di Lucci’s final interview, conducted with Sergeant Murphy Maolddon’ch of the Tenth Legion.

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