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++ March of the Legions: X Legion ++


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You thought us dead at Istvaan V.

You thought us buried beneath the ash, and gore, and waste.

You never considered that though we may tarnish, rust or dent,
We are iron.
And iron endures.

So though I may have lost my iron father,

Rest assured, you shall not escape my iron children.
+attributed to Praevian Jenz of the Xth Legion+

 

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Pfft. Not my best, crap photography, but I tried some new stuff with this guy, namely rust weathering powders - I doubt it's that visible...but it's complete. I'll try to get better photos of Toraak in the Lesser Son thread when I have time.

 

http://i1269.photobucket.com/albums/jj598/Mjolnir771/composite1_zpspixhmguu.jpg

I apologise in advance for my fairly awful fluff writing.

 

+++Accessing data logs: 'Iron Hands'+++

+++Sub file: 'Clan Tellum/Post Dropsite'+++

+++Sub file: 'Personnel_Iron Fratery'+++

+++Loading...+++

...

+Display Image: 'Subject 1/_'+

+Identifying...+

Positive match made. Subject is Huw Coghill, Iron Father, member of the Cult of the Primary Gear.

 

This series of images was recovered from a partially corrupted data-core on the former Mechanicum forge facilities of Alpha-CX11; a munitions storage facility/moon located within the Tallarn system. The site was thoroughly gutted due to the intense fighting between loyalist Mechanicum personnel, the Iron Warriors legion and renegade Mechanicum sympathisers. 

 

http://i1123.photobucket.com/albums/l545/Huberticus66/March10thLegion%20Entry/IMG_0409_zpsewwqwcnc.jpg

 

Additional Images

 

 

 

Born: Rust Wastes, Valley of the Forge, Old Albion. 

The Ironwrought was amongst the last batches of the legionaries to be recruited from Terra, prior to recruiting shifting entirely to Medusa. A thoroughly average recruit, save for a great mechanical aptitude, resulted in Coghill's allocation to Clan Tellum and training at Mars to become a techmarine. The massacre at Isstvan V saw the techmarine dragged from the anonymity of the armoury and thrust into council of staff leading Clan Tellum. Instead of returning to Medusa with the majority of the surviving clans, Tellum is thought to have become one of the 'shattered' clans, a roving warband which took to striking at the traitor's supplies.

 

The subject's last confirmed sighting was during the battles for Tallarn, when many of the shattered clans were (briefly) reunited with the Iron Hands Legion. As the largest tank battle in history took place on the planet's cratered and virus bombed surface, Coghill is believed to have been taking part in the orbital battles above the planet; leading a raiding party into an unidentified IV Legion auxiliary/supply ship.  

 

 

Finished! Bit rough around the edges, but I'm quite pleased as this is the first mini I've painted to completion in about 5 years.

 

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Seen here on the surface of the Red Planet just prior to the outbreak of the Heresy, Consul Delegatus Rathmor Cobb carries the Clockwork Hatchet and an energy weapon of unknown manufacture and provenance. Cobb frequently claimed that his unique power axe was crafted as a mark of favour by Ferris Manus. This claim seems likely to be false; Cobb was known for his vainglorious and arrogant manner, rather than his high-standing within the 10th.
 

SDC13649

Following the events of the Dropsite Massacre, Cobb blacked out his vexilla's clan symbol as a mark of grief and broke all ties with his Legion. For the rest of the heresy he led a hand-picked kill team in pursuit of the Emperor's Children and their Primarch. This team was last recorded making a reckless attempt to board the Phoenician's flagship as it entered the Terran system. This carefully laid, if reckless, ambush led to the death of the entire strikeforce. Cobb's remains were seen to decorate a legion banner of the 3rd during the siege of the Emperor's palace.
 

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Behold: Iron Father Mantus Degaran
 

+++To:   Auxilia Transport Cruiser Bellerophon+++
+++Incoming Transmission. Ident: Unknown+++
+++Receiver: Communication Servitor 039-A8+++

-To the traitorous swine aboard the Bellerophon, or whatever you call it these days. I am Mantus, Iron Father and Praetorian of the Tenth Legion. Your actions in turning against the Emperor have condemned you. There is a price for deeds of treachery, and it is paid in blood. If any soldier still holds Terra and the Imperium in their heart, rise up and be counted. The Lemures are upon you. The Temeraire is here.
As the last words were uttered, the Bellerophon shook violently as alarms started to scream all throughout the ship. The Restless Spirits of Istvaan V were upon them.
 

+++To: Auxilia Fleet Command, Arxis Sector+++
+++Incoming Transmission.Ident: Keriano+++
+++Receiver: Communication Servitor 0293+++

-Lords, we found the Bellerophon. Drifting in empty space, silent and cold as the grave. [Vox Interrupt]... Same message on loop… The Lemures are coming.

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5HdBOpEwan4/Vq4wUTtxcMI/AAAAAAAACuA/NiRjFI_ZDlc/s1600/motlX.jpg



Iron Father Mantus Degaran was assigned to the 523 Explorator Fleet and stationed on the Cruiser Temeraire in the years leading up to the Dropsite Massacre. The Temeraire was one of three ships sent by the 523rd Expedition after Ferrus’ call to arms, and the only one arriving in the Istvaan System; albeit too late. As the ship broke from the Warp, the assault on Istvaan V had gone on for hours. As they neared the planet they had to make the decision, charge ahead or retreat. The Arithmetic of War said retreat, the hearts of loyal sons disagreed. Mantus Degaran stood in the last drop ship leaving the burning Temeraire, descending rapidly as the cruiser burned in the atmosphere.

                           Clad in burnished Cataphractii plate and surrounded by the remnants of his company, Mantus Degaran attempted to fight through the ring of Emperor’s Children blocking the path to their fellow Iron Hands. Countless of hours fighting passed, and one after one they fell, just as their father had. Never an emotion other than rage filled Mantus’ mind, tearing apart the traitorous scum with his claws, long since bereft of even a remote chance of escape.
                           On Istvaan V he fell. But ground soaked in post-human blood would not be their graves. On Istvaan V, not all of the ghosts are ethereal. The Aegesine Protocols leave no soul rest. On Istvaan V, the Lemures arose.

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XsAT7r_2gic/Vq4wUaFovpI/AAAAAAAACuE/eNF2AvBJid0/s1600/123.jpg

 

//Nevindar


 

Champion Taver Jekk, Order Primii, Clan Felg

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Jekk sat in the troop bay of the storm eagle, listening to the aircraft's engines, the silence only broken by the brooding of the other occupants. As usual, he began an exercise to pass the time and focus in preparation for battle and to ignore all the brooding; Jekk thought of other swordsmen he had met among the legions, analyzing their respective styles.
Derkan Zhalevi, Night Lords: a defensive style, meant to lure in and infuriate the opponent, in order to make them get sloppy, make missteps. Primarily Zhalevi's style was focused on prolonging his enjoyment of the fight, therefore inefficient. Additionally, making your opponent angry is a gamble, some will get sloppy, some just use it to beat you into the ground.
Pallu Deyan, Salamanders: good example for one who uses anger to fuel his martial capabilities. An equal in the practice and honing of skill with a blade, though slightly more aggressive and graceful than I. Considered an honorary member of the palatine blades, at least before they betrayed us, killed my father, and...
There was a chapter master of the Ultramarines, I do not know his name: one of the finest swordsmen I've met; each blow delivered in the way most appropriate to the moment, as hard as possible. Near impossible to learn his style, he fights almost entirely on instinct. You cannot learn instinct.
Uth Kabbadon, Jekk glanced at the defaced seal on his pauldron, Sons of....Horus: a mentor and a friend. A very pragmatic fighter, something I can apreciate. Kell Lamar of the Emperor's Children once said that Kabbadon was one of the few people who could brawl elegantly, he would know, he was an expert on that. Lamar, alive or dead, did not betray us, but Kabbadon... I do not know if he remained loyal to the Imperium or if he loyally followed his father into this.
"Nearing drop-site." said lieutenant Hallex with a surprising level of aggression from someone speaking in monotone. If Kabbadon was among the traitors, Jekk thought, he would kill him. The boarding ramp went down and the Iron Hands disembarked into the blissful peace of a total warzone. Some thing with a lashing tail, wearing a mockery of astartes armor, came barreling right at Jekk. He dodged to the side and, grasping the thing's tail, flung it bodily onto its back at the feet of an astartes in scorched armor who immediately pulped the thing's torso with a powered gauntlet. "Hey Jekk". It took him a moment to register the barely visible "LAM" stenciled on the warrior's armor.
"Lamar. At least some of the Emperor's Children remained loyal."
"I'd say that only the Emperor's children remained loyal." Jekk nodded in agreement as they ran with Hallex's men at the nearest unoccupied traitor forces. "It was easy to spot you; there aren't too many who carry around a sword almost as long as a dreadnought is tall. Outside of primarchs."
They joined the melee, and Jekk found himself fighting Son of Horus with a viciously barbed axe. As Jekk prepared to lunge, his opponent inexplicably hesitated. Jekk did not.
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He remembered the seal of the Eye of Vengeance. He would repaint it, to remember Kabbadon, but mainly to take advantage of his opponents' reactions, or lack thereof. That was one tactic to be learned from Zhalevi, luring in your opponent; see, you can learn something from anyone.

 

 

High fives all around brothers! The flesh is weak, and we prove it with cold fury completions!

Cant help but feel we might be missing a Moritat :x?

Dundunduuuuuun!

Will Wolf_Pack manage to complete his miniature before the clock strikes midnight?

 

WE'LL FIND OUT... NEXT TIME ON DRAGON BALL ZEEEEEEEE

Speaking of crappy phone pics...

+++ WARNING - HERESY HEADCANON INBOUND +++

An Isolated System - Epilogue

The training cages were empty. In truth, he wasn't surprised. These last few weeks on Babel 1 had been taxing in the extreme, and it was hardly surprising that many of his brothers had found the need to retire to their individual chambers; to take stock and come to terms with their losses and personal failings.

The campaign had been by no means anything short of successful, but it had cost the remnants of the tenth legion, and many of them found themselves brooding. Such was the nature of the Medusan psyche.

"You're sure?"

Bion Henricos stared at the training servitors in front of him, blades and claws idle.

"We have his location now, yes? And possibly Fulgrim and Mortarion too? I don't really see another option."

"Careful, brother. I applaud your tenacity, but this isn't a decision to be taken lightly. You can't just throw yourself at this and hope for the best".

"I know that!" Henricos snapped. "With all due respect, I'm not in this fight for revenge against the ones who took our father from us. This war has grown so far beyond the consequences of Isstvan V. It's bigger than just the Legions. The fate of all of mankind hangs in the balance, so of course I'm not going to stumble in blindly and hope my sword winds up in Horus' neck."

"So you acknowledge that you and your White Scar death squad aren't yet ready for this assignment."

"No. If we're going to face Primarchs, we need to be faster. We need to anticipate any possible variable. Throw everything you've got at me."

Shadrak Meduson, the knife in the dark, smiled as the training servitors whirred to life. "All yours, brother. I'll see you on the other side"

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And with ten minutes to spare and all!

Edit - Forgot to mention! Sorry about the base. I've been waiting on an order to come in from Kickstarter that would let me re-base my current Iron Hands to the new thing I want to do, but unfortunately I've been waiting longer than I should have, by a few months now. Thus neither Bion nor any of my recently done X Legion troops have fancy bases. Sigh!

Oan mag Lendon tore the templar-visaged helmet from his head.  He gave it a quick appraisal -- the black ceramite and dark iron of the faceplate were heavily scratched and dented, but both crimson eye lenses were heavily spiderwebbed -- and cast it aside.  He shook his head as his hearing came back into focus, and once again the roar of open war -- Astartes at war -- flooded back over him.  He pushed himself back to his feet, staggering only slightly at the unexpected tilt of the Land Raider's deck.  The entire front-right side of the once-impressive war machine was a molten wreck, a massive four meter-wide hole torn out of its armored skin.  Weak daylight streamed in through the smooth-sided bite; the few surviving members of Oan's squad had been standing right where that hole now resided, and were naught but dust on the wind anymore.

 

Oan yanked his white-cased bolter from its place maglocked to his plastron, and grabbed the cog-toothed power axe from its own spot clamped across his power pack.  Steeling himself, he clambered out of the ruined Land Raider and reviewed his situation.

 

The ubiquitous black sand of Istvaan V's surface stretched out before him, its normally clear sky skinned with dust and choked by smog.  The lowlands of the Urgall Depression were bounded in the distance by towering basalt cliffs, and standing directly between Oan and those distant edifices was the striding form of a Reaver Titan.  Its turbolaser was still aimed directly at his wrecked ride, but as he looked up at it, the Titan swung away to seek more targets.

 

Oan turned to look behind him, frowning as he spied the crowds of black and green Thunderhawks and Stormbirds -- thinned every moment by interceptors and heavy ground fire -- fleeing the massacre that had unfolded before them.  He held back a resigned sigh, but only for so long as it took him to notice the baritone laughter at the edge of his hearing.  Turning on his heel, he took in the immediate threat.

 

Five Emperor's Children stood before him with guns and blades drawn.  Where before their armor had been royal purple and polished gold, now it had morphed into something. . . ugly.  Lavender and pink had replaced the violet, clashing garishly with neon orange and eye-bending greens.  Patches of skin, cut from the corpses of fallen enemies, were stretched between studs driven into the III Legion warriors' battle plate.  One of them had a system of struts shoved into his oral cavity, pulling his mouth painfully wide open.  Oan frowned at the cluster of traitors, or at least tried to, as only half of his face still had skin and muscle to maneuver.

 

"No where to go, eh?" asked one of the Emperor Children, brandishing a charnabal sabre.  "Looks like you're all alone, too."

 

The flesh-half of the Iron Hand's face reversed into a grim smile.  "I've killed seven traitors today.  You're number eight."

 

The Emperor's Child laughed, then lunged, his blade leading.  The other Space Marine was fast, inhumanly so, even for an Astartes.  Oan didn't even both trying to parry the attack, allowing the folded steel blade to cut into his right side.  Instead, his dropped his arm, trapping the blade between his plastron and his arm.  The Child's face screwed up, confused at the move, but that lasted only so long as it took for Oan's power axe to rise and fall, chopping the traitor's head in half.  Blood, thick and hot and reeking of chemical taint, splattered across his face and armor.  He yanked the blade free and lifted his arm, allowing the other Marine and his weapon to fall lifeless to the onyx dust.

 

The other four Children straightened at that, raising their weapons and moving to spread out, to surround him.  They might have been vain little poppycocks, but they weren't stupid.  Oan clenched the power axe tightly in his left hand and his bolter firmly in his right.  If today was finally his day, then he was determined to at least reach number ten.

 

http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h96/DTRI/Iron%20Hands/Squaddies/20160131_1842441_zpsxbhsxjyq.jpg

http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h96/DTRI/Iron%20Hands/Squaddies/20160131_1843061_zpsd0fnpgy3.jpg

 

http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h96/DTRI/Iron%20Hands/Squaddies/20160131_1843321_zpses7mlvet.jpg

http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h96/DTRI/Iron%20Hands/Squaddies/20160131_1843191_zpsox3wbtvf.jpg

http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h96/DTRI/Iron%20Hands/Squaddies/20160131_1843561_zpsaviue6na.jpg

 

Edit:  Photobucket was. . . being difficult.  Suffice to say, all five required pictures have now been uploaded.)

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Horus sought to shatter our Legion, spreading word of the death of our father far and wide. What he failed to realize, in doing so, he had removed the last vestige of humanity left in us. The flesh is weak, and it is gone. Now we will strike back with all the wrath that remains, driven by a cold and calculating fury . No weapon too hideous, no death too dishonourable him and his lackeys! DEATH TO THE WARMASTER!

-Solek Jisteus, Moritat of Clan Tabarn'akk

Here's my member of the Iron Xth:

Iron Father Nemith Gar. Well, used to be Iron Father. Aboard one of the last X Legion ships to arrive in the Istvaan system, Nemith Gar and his brothers aboard the Iron Spear were spared the grisly fate of their primarch. Since the dropsite massacre, his personality has seemed to drain little by little. All that seems to remain is a cold emptiness broken with bursts of rage and violence. Without uttering a word he ripped his own servo arm off and replaced it with a volkite charger. He shuns his duties to both his brothers and the machines under his care. All he cares about now is bringing justice upon the traitors.

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