++March of the Legions: XIII Completions++

[Brother-Chaplain Kage]

March of the Legions

Month 7 Completions: The XIII Legion

http://i.imgur.com/kDA65oO.png

Please only leave the five pictures from your completion in the XIII Legion Challenge, and the fluff for you characters. Any other comments or text will be deleted. Thank you.

[apologist]

'What could cause an Ultramarine to fall from favour? Did he forget to polish his boots, or just leave his ramrod out of his arse?' – + Cromac Ord, XIIth Legion; Armatura +

 

Infractions, mistakes and failure are met with different approaches in the Legions. Some practise punishment – in various degrees of corporal, psychological or spiritual vioence – while others, like the XIIIth Legion, enclose their Legionaries in a cage of their own devising – simply denying him that which he seeks most of all: honour. Bound by their own inherent discipline, an Ultramarine set apart from his good name endures something worse than any physical or mental trial – which, after all, they have been trained to overcome.

 

To the legionaries of the XIIIth, to be red-marked is a spiritual statement; an eternal blot on a copybook that can never be erased. Nevertheless, to be an Ultramarine is to succeed, to strive for excellence. Thus, those censured few tend to fight twice as hard; knowing that only through excellence can he forgive himself.

 

The red helm of censure may be withdrawn from the Legionary. he may be reinducted to the ranks, and welcomed back by his comrades. But the Legionary will forever be marked by it.

 

+ Brother Letas, Apologist of 190th Company +

Breacher squads, being the first into some of the most dangerous operations of all Legion warfare, can suffer horrendous casualties. To fight in one is an honour in itself; and thus competition for, and discipline within, the ranks of the Scutum-companies, is exemplary. Conversely, for those who are censured and forced to don the red helm, it offers the best chance of a redemptive demonstration of Ultramarian virtues – if, that is, the Legionary can convince his superiors to grant him the chance. The Nu symbol marks his squad.

 

This view shows the Breacher squad marking – a gladius within the inverted omega of the Legion – as well as the hooped segments of Mark II 'crusade' armour on the legs. His red helm of censure maintains his laurel wreath of victory – a personal honorific that invokes his past triumphs and hope for victory over this present dishonour.

 

Armed with power-gladius, holstered sidearm and the iconic tower-shield of the Breacher squads, Brother Letas' torso is strikingly marked with the legend 'Apologist', prominently marking his armour as that of a penitent. The machine-spirit of the plate is complicit with the Legionary himself.

 

The Legion symbol remains involiate. Even in disgrace with his brotherhood, Letas remains an Ultramarine.

 

+ Thought for the day: Only in death does duty end. +

[Slips]

Heres mah boy

 

 

Seen here delivering an impassioned speech to his men prior to the Word Bearers attack on Calth, Captain Attius is depicted in full parade dress, his personal heraldic shield on full display atop his recently-issued suit of Artificer-Class Mk IV Maximus Power Armor and Experimental Power Sword.

[Captain Nameless]

and now, the fluff.

“I’m moving up. Cover me.”

This time, they were warring against a human world. The actual term used was “bringing to compliance” but, as far as sergeant Metius was concerned all that meant was…. well, warring against a human world. That wasn’t to say that he had no care for the reasons why, “War is politics carried out by other means” after all, he just preferred things clear and simple. They called themselves Ooylnag, but as far as Metius was concerned, they were “those bastards with the guns firing three meter long spears”.

“Frags out, prepare to advance.”

Just as he and his squad came out of cover, one annoyingly accurate bastard fired one of his three-meter long spears into sergeant Metius’ chest, impaling him to the rock outcropping he had just been using as cover.

“Sergeant!”

“…huh, missed my vitals. Keep going…”

He gasped the quarter- meter section of the spear protruding from his chest.

“…this will take a while.”

His squad nodded and pressed onward while he went through the process of removing the three-meter long piece of ammunition from himself and the rock behind him.

“…oyingly accurate. Though, he missed anything that would kill me outright… Thessale! On your right!”

Shlichk. “Ghaa!” Blam!

“A bit much, though good bladework. Might recommend him to the locutarus storm squads. Agh!”

He finally removed the spear and dropped down, as it was holding him impaled with his feet just off the ground.

“Sergeant, there’s a tank coming.”

“Paint it for Cadmus and his squad.”

He glanced at the spear. They called the weapon it was from a Gyleem, but as far as sergeant Metius was concerned, he was going to beat the rest of those bastards to death with it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

During the battle of Keemin hill, Veteran Sergeant Metius, 232^nd company, Ultramarines, led his squad to almost single-handedly take the southern fortification and he personally destroyed one of the two enemy superheavy tanks present. The other was destroyed by Sergeant Cadmus and his heavy weapon squad. All this was done after being impaled by enemy fire. Following this, he received no further injuries for the remainder of the battle, and later, had the ammunition which impaled him forged into a spear.

“Now how the hell did I do that.”

[The Pounder]

Apothecary Marcus Sellar, Primus Medicae of the Lions of Hera Chapter.

 

Marcus Sellar joined the Lions of Hera in the aftermath of the Leoninas incident.

Back then he was a neophyte under the imposing gaze of legendary Primus Medicae Claudio

Ramirii. Sellar had shown an aptitude for field surgery, being especially adept at 

battlefield triage. His skills and bravery in fulfilling his duties under fire saw him rise swiftly through

the ranks of the Apothecarium.

During the Betrayal at Calth Marcus Sellar was trapped (along with the rest of the Lions of Hera)

in a ruined hive that had been wrecked in the wake of the destruction wrought by the thrice damned

Word Bearers, cut off from the rest of the muster the Lions of Hera fought a desperate battle for survival.

Sellar seemed to be everywhere, not only harvesting geneseed but leading counter attacks into the midst 

of the traitors. His bravery was noted by the Praetor Augustus Solon himself and his promotion to Primus Medicae

was confirmed.

Many were the tales of valour and heroism in the under ground war, suffice to say that when the dust settled

the Lions of Hera were blooded but unbeaten.

Since then the chapter has fought as part of the spear tip of many an assault, even at the side of Guilliman himself!

 

Here's the pics:

 

http://i1382.photobucket.com/albums/ah259/thepounder/DSC00596_zpsxprntopn.jpg

 

http://i1382.photobucket.com/albums/ah259/thepounder/DSC00594_zpsmvlovp4b.jpg

 

http://i1382.photobucket.com/albums/ah259/thepounder/DSC00593_zpsufh16spm.jpg

 

http://i1382.photobucket.com/albums/ah259/thepounder/DSC00592_zpsfyoekpys.jpg

 

http://i1382.photobucket.com/albums/ah259/thepounder/DSC00591_zps6horwstg.jpg

[Pirate Brushes]

http://i142.photobucket.com/albums/r82/SpaceDug2005/IMG_3564.jpghttp://i142.photobucket.com/albums/r82/SpaceDug2005/IMG_3566.jpghttp://i142.photobucket.com/albums/r82/SpaceDug2005/IMG_3565.jpg

 

We may have been far from Calth, but we felt the betrayal just as keenly as the rest of the Legion. It's almost impossible for me to bring to words the pain that stabs through your back into your heart when those who you once called brother reveals their true colours. When they betray not only your bond of fraternity, but also the very ideals that you pledged your entire life to.

 

Sendan Cassius was the favoured son within the 134th Company. He was Aemon's right hand and the entire company knew that he was destined for command. Never in my century of life have I met someone as caring, respectful and decisive as Cassius. He was the model soldier, a true son of Guilliman. He had been named the 'Brightest Candle' by Master Drusus Fabianus. He had mastered his knowledge of the theoretical and its application through the practical. He knew every aspect of his squad: their strengths, their weeknesses. He knew exactly where to employ Demios' and Brutus' flamers, when to unleash the full fury of our boltguns, or where best to strike with a volkite blast against the ork. 

 

He was also the first to die. The first to fall to the blades of treachery.

 

In the Age of Darkness, there are no candles left to shine a light.

[Praefectus Invictus]

http://i1065.photobucket.com/albums/u382/DG101/IMG_2131_zpspg7rkxzn.jpg

 

http://i1065.photobucket.com/albums/u382/DG101/IMG_2132_zpskt6z0qvh.jpg

 

http://i1065.photobucket.com/albums/u382/DG101/IMG_2133_zpsw4pzxi4k.jpg

 

http://i1065.photobucket.com/albums/u382/DG101/IMG_2134_zpszba4tr11.jpg

 

++Sergeant Palios Krantor [DECEASED]++

++35 Company++

++Pict Capter [Mark 00462.337] Calth Atrocity++

 

Squad Krantor trudged through the ash, kicking bones and debris as they went. The normally proud blue of their armour was dulled by war, scratched bare and corroded from prolonged exposure to the acid sun. They were migrating, moving to Arcology Gamma-VIII, after Gamma-IX was corrupted. They were the last to leave, supporting straggling citizens in their pitiful vehicles. They had encountered two Word Bearer patrols in the last day, setting the squad on edge.

 

“Rous, Julius, fan out, cover our flanks”

 

The command cut over the silence, forcing the two astartes awake from their slow march. Bolters at the ready, they split off and cut through the ruins, disappearing into the gloom.

 

They trudged on for hours; silence followed them for what seemed like an eternity.

 

A single bolt round cracked through the air, and Viet’s head disappeared in a cloud of gore. His body slumped to the ground, and more bolts flickered in the air, becoming an ever-increasing salvo, punching through light vehicle armour and astartes battle plate alike. The Ultramarines finally returned fire, spraying haphazardly into the mist. The occasional bolt round would hit home, marked by grunts and clangs as warriors were punched off their feet. Shapes started to materialize, and soon the remaining Ultramarines could see the Word Bearers, in all their unholy glory, as they marched on to finish the job.

 

All around him, Krantor’s legionaries were being butchered, the wounded slain with gleaming knives now wet with blood. Surrounded in an ever decreasing circle, the Ultramarines were dying.

 

“aaargghh...” Krantor spat through the vox as a bolt round caught him in the shoulder, getting through his pauldron and critically wounding him. With horro he watched his last brother fall. Helpless, he consoled himself for death. His good hand absentmindedly wandered to his grenades. Realisation took hold.

 

I can take them out with me!

 

As the Word Bearers encroached he ripped the pin from a frag, letting it sit next to his supply, and smiled.

 

When they got to him, he was dead. But they did not have time to rejoice, for a blinding flash of light and heat atomised them from the irradiated surface of Calth, and sent them to whatever dark gods they worshipped.

[Ezeriel]

Legion Champion Tiberius Crassus of the XIII Legion

Pictured here before taking part in a parade to celebrate the peaceful compliance of of the world of Vennox. The cyber cherubs carrying the amethyst colored cape were a gift from his cousins in the III legion, earned for his dueling skills in the practice rings while the two legions crusaded together. His favored weapon is his fiery red paragon blade. His brothers joke that he handed the legion artificers a lock of his hair and told them to make his sword match.

[StruManChu]

Gods & Monsters – The Storm of the Eye

“Hold!”
Leander Mac Dionaich, Captain of the Ultramarines’ 173^rd Company and Warden-Aequitane of Arrigata, stood sentinel; watching the swirling clouds above his shattered company and their militia allies for any sign of the actual attack they all knew was coming. Following the last skirmish, the XVI Legion forces had withdrawn to their ships above the world ready to deploy for their final strike.

This had given them precious time to fortify their position, but it was as though the world itself had turned against them. Driving rain lashed against their hastily erected defences, and the men under his command, mortal and Astartes alike, hunkered down against the wind and sleet that assailed them.

The greatest marvel, though, was the storm above them. Massive and unrelenting, a hurricane of huge force battered down upon Arrigata’s defenders. It was magnificent and terrifying, even to an Astartes. It looked as though it had claimed the whole of the sky. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of kilometres across, it seemed to pour all of its unnatural hatred and malice upon them.
It had taken a great deal of guile and strenuous investigation on behalf of the few Legionnaires under his command, but they now knew that this was the site of whatever it was that Maloghurst was seeking. Though he did not know what artefact or device had brought the Warmaster’s equerry to this frozen world at the edge of Ultramar, they would deny him. The traitors could not be allowed to prosper.

Dionaich gripped his power sword’s hilt and thrust his company’s banner into the ground as the first sea green drop pod burst through the cover of the storm. Barely two dozen of Ultramar’s finest sons and maybe a hundred of the citizen-militia of Arrigata stood against them, but whatever was buried under this ancient temple, Horus’ traitorous sons would not lay claim to it while its defenders drew breath.

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Far be it from me to miss an opportunity to march with the Emperor's Legions...

Posting this from London, where I'm on a work trip all week, away from my minis and paints. This one was a bit of a rush job, as I didn't notice the XIII thread until after I'd seen the XII last week. My bad!

I finished him on Sunday night, but I've only just been able to sit down and crop and resize the photos so they weren't Large McHugh. Speaking of which!

As you can no doubt see, my freehand skills remain 'rudimentary'.