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A Blade once broken, Is reforged. (Terminator Scheme Redux)

Brother Captain Arkley

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Lostrael Veteran

Lostrael

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I just want to let you know that's your fault. (not Stobz!)tongue.png

After seeing your Chaplain Asmodai/Sapphon I bought him half asleep on ebay, forgot about it, today he arrived... Do I have to repent?

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Greenz Veteran

Greenz

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That sucks man. But like Lostrael said, don't let it get you down. Your models are still top notch!

 

Can you work with them? Worst case, can you send them back or get them to replace the transfers?

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Interrogator Stobz Venerable Brother

Interrogator Stobz

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Good on you mate, bikes do suck to paint but battling through it pays off. They look great so far btw.

 

Mine took about a month each, time with brush I did not enjoy, I think of a bike like painting several PA marines.  At least the finished product is worth it.

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Tygwyn Veteran

Tygwyn

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They do look good, but the timescale is exactly why I've avoided them for the ETL this year - the points/time ratio isn't good enough for them! (Says the bloke painting an IK...)

 

PS, your librarius need some more skill training, they've nearly got invisibility off, and have done well on most of the marines' bodies but seem to have a sticking point with arms...

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Brother Captain Arkley Venerable Brother

Brother Captain Arkley

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Just thought I would post this again for the new members that never red it.

 

 

TRANSITION

 

by

 

Olis (I did help a little honest)

 

Distant light reflected off of the starship hull cruising in-system. It had been a journey of some months and many perils, the navigator routing and re-routing the battle barge through the turbulent warp all the way to the Caliban system itself. It had been a miracle for them to pass through the remains of the Ruinstorm without major incident, of that Grand Master Becke was certain. Many ships had been lost to that cursed abomination, torn asunder or otherwise lost without trace. It would not do to have a vessel as grand as the Herald of Caliban to succumb to a warp peril after all it had been through in the five-hundred worlds.

 

The bridge crew, however, were unsettled. All attempts to hail the homeworld since they emerged from the warp had fallen on deaf ears. The worried expression from the comms chief had not lessened when Becke ordered the astropathic choir to try and make contact with anything in-system. If there was something capable of answering, they promised, they’d find it.

 

Worst of all, the long-range sensors had not yet found Caliban. This could not be. Given where the planet should be in its own orbit, even the short-range sensors would have found it by now. As a final, comical report came in, it appeared that the cartographae were declaring errors in the star field. That was all that Becke needed.

 

The Grand Master wearily regarded his men. Karsten, the residing psyker among the 27th, had been Becke’s confidant for a long time. Much longer than the civil war by quite a margin. Wolfram was a much larger figure, well suited to the terminator plate he wore. A Terran, and an old one at that, was the voice of experience Becke needed in his inner circle. Regardless of whether the man was a brute or not, he had the scars to prove he knew what he was talking about. Torsten, the last of the three, was Becke’s paladin. His champion. Perhaps not as vaunted as Corswain or Artur but he had his own reputation. The ‘Axeman of the 27th’, or so he had been called back on Macragge. Swords break too easily, he claimed, and hatchets could be thrown. Others had alluded to his former life as a forester. He was an axeman, through and through, regardless of justification.

 

They all looked at him expectantly.

 

“Make a sweep of this quadrant. Use the Thunderhawks and the Stormbirds to fill the void where our escorts cannot. We need to find out where Caliban went.” Becke ordered. It was better for his men to be doing something, rather than nothing.

 

“Are we sure we have not mis-jumped, sir?” Wolfram asked quietly.

 

“We have not mis-jumped, Wolfram. Look at the star.” They glanced at the pict relay of Caliban’s sun. “That is our home star, no doubt.”

 

“Still,” Wolfram turned to undertake his orders, “it would be best to be certain, aye?”

 

Becke considered the notion. He nodded. The cartographae will be hearing his wrath if they did not give him answers.

 

In the hours that passed, there was no sign of Caliban. No sign except for the string of asteroids that by all accounts, used to be Caliban. At first Becke had raged at the destruction of the Dark Angels’ home world. Whoever was responsible would pay, he had vowed. But who could it have been? The Iron Warriors? They’d killed their own planet so that at least gave them precedence.

 

His lip curled as he thought of the Iron Warriors. Siege masters and logistical maestros, they may be, but they were also callous. Becke knew this from personal experience. They had grown to be flinty and bitter, a by-product of cruel strategems and unflinching obedience. Yes. It could very well have been the Iron Warriors, of all of the legions.

 

Torsten had remained at his commander’s side for those long, fruitless hours. He was there when the choir had established a contact with loyalist forces. Two ships on the far side of the system, plus escorts. The exchange had been... strange, or so had been reported. They had been ordered to stand down and prepare for boarding by a supreme grand master.

 

Alloken had been his name, apparently. Becke did not know an Alloken. The title also worried him – who and what was Alloken in charge of? Where was Luther? Where was the Lion?

 

It had taken several days for the rendezvous to occur. The ships, the ‘Black Sword of Vengeance‘ leading them, travelled many billions of kilometres before standing station ten clicks to port. Spitting distance. The 27th had not been idle in that time, readying defences and donning battle plate in preparation of an ambush. They had heard tales of the Alpha Legion’s treacherous methods of war. This would not be outside the realms of possibility.

 

The Thunderhawk that ventured from the Black Sword was like the strike cruiser - deep green in colour, much like the forests of Caliban. The thought made one of Becke’s eyelids twitch, his imagination getting the better of him. It still twitched as the landing gears deployed and the Thunderhawk landed. 

 

From the ramps strode several figures, some garbed in heraldry unfamiliar to Becke. It was certainly Dark Angels in origin but that’s where the similarities ended. The first man across the threshold was Alloken, of that there was no doubt. Again, that forest green.

 

“Permission to come aboard?” His voice had a leonine rumble. Becke didn’t expect that.

 

“Granted.”

 

The supreme grand master crossed the space between the Thunderhawk and Becke quickly. Behind him marched an honour guard and behind them, came others – several looking for all the galaxy as if they belonged to the Legion proper. Alloken had noticed the attention his allies were getting.

 

“That, on my right, is our Interrogator-Chaplain Garviel and in the black is Jaraxtes, of the Angels of Vengeance. It was he and his men who first received your messages.”

 

“Angels of Vengeance?”

 

“Ah. Yes. I have some bad news.” Alloken’s face hardened.

 

“The cartographae have assured me that we were indeed late for our scheduled arrival at Aldurukh. They say it’s been a quite a few years. Can you tell me what-”

 

Alloken cut him off.

 

“Two thousand.”

 

The number struck Becke numb. Two thousand... years? That hardly seemed likely. Decades he could live with. Centuries would be a shock, of course. Millennia? That could not be, surely.

 

“Two... thousand?” Was all that he could venture. The words stuck to the roof of his mouth.

 

“Yes, brother. Thousand.” Jaraxtes said. His tone was sympathetic. He carried his helm under his arm and an ornate cloak billowed behind him, fluttering in the disturbed air as the Thunderhawk’s engines cycled down.

 

“But what of the Lion?”

 

“Gone.” Said Alloken. Wolfram muttered a curse as he heard this. A glance from Becke stilled his tongue. The old dog needed to be reigned in from time to time. He was not one for ‘airs and graces’.

 

“Caliban?”

 

“Gone.” Repeated the Supreme Grand Master. Silence. They had all heard the news by now. Not really that much of a surprise now, regardless of the other emotions this provoked.

 

“The Legion?”

 

“Gone.” Jaraxtes spoke. A collective gasp fluttered through the air. It wasn’t the assembled astartes of the 27th who had spoken, but rather the menials working further down the bay that had reacted.

 

Becke could scarcely believe his ears. 

 

“How...” He began, attempting to make sense of it all.

 

“Let us retire, brother. A docking bay is hardly the place to come to terms with these... revelations.” Suggested Garviel. Becke held his gaze before assenting. There was something... unsettling in Garviel’s eyes. A coldness of heart, Karsten would call it.

 

Far above the docking bays, the delegation and the 27th’s command cadre sat in the briefing room and waited for the supreme grand master to speak. The Golden Hall, as the chamber was known, was an amphitheatre in its own right, capable of seating the entirety of the 27th Order if necessary. Above the dais where Becke had stood so many times before was a banner bearing the iconography that they had marched under since before Becke’s time – a golden sword on a field of deep red. 

 

Alloken stood there now, facing the assembled astartes. Even Becke had taken a seat amongst the cadre, awaiting the news.

 

“I will be succinct, brothers. Before any more information can be divulged, Garviel must... interview each of you. This is as much for security as it is your own safety.” The assembled officers muttered discontentedly. Becke stood, as did Wolfram and Torsten.

 

“You’re going to have to do better than that, brother. This is my ship and you are not the Lion. You will be lucky if I recognise your authority.”

 

The interrogator-chaplain unlimbered his shackled plasma pistol, a move that drew several of the 27th to point their own sidearms at him, and calmly lined it up to Becke. Alloken’s honour guard clustered around their master, bolters aimed and ready. Officers of the 27th moved to do the same. Jaraxtes and his men proceeded to join Alloken. A plasma weapon whined to full power. The numbers seemed roughly even. Even enough for neither side to assume it would walk away from a fight.

 

“You shall obey, grand master. Now is not the time for petty defiance or shows of strength.” He strode carefully towards Becke. “If needs be, our own ships will destroy the Herald and all on her.”

 

“You would be killing your own men if you do.” Countered Torsten.

 

“Aye, that’s true.” Garviel stopped. “Think on this from our perspective. Vessels long thought lost reappear in the home system of the Legion. It is not outside of possibility that this is a clever attempt to bait and infiltrate Imperial forces.”

 

“What are you keeping from us?” Calmly asked Becke.

 

“Aldurukh.” Alloken said, over his guardians. “We will not negotiate, brother. Submit and the Rock will be open to you.”

 

The thought galled him. Submit. This was not what the legiones were for. The problem was, his hands were tied. If he refused, his men would die. Garviel likely would, too, as would Alloken’s bodyguard if not the supreme grand master himself. Principles and bloodshed or submission and shame. Wolfram and Torsten would choose principle, regardless of cost. Becke had learned otherwise. Blood and ammunition was Death’s coin. Shame could be forgotten. Karsten, of all of them, knew that.

 

“Stand down.” Becke ordered. A look silenced Wolfram, and Torsten knew better than to bicker. Bolt pistols lowered, bolters hung at hips. Garviel pointed his pistol at the deck.

 

“Does the 27th submit to interrogation, grand master?” The Chaplain spoke in a level tone. Danger still hang in the air, even if the crisis had been averted.

 

“Let it be done. I want this over with. I wish to see Aldurukh.” Becke relented.

 

The idea that Aldurukh still existed led to Becke to assume that Caliban still existed, despite any previous evidence. He had felt cheated when he first laid eyes upon the Rock. The interrogations had been fierce, Garviel employing all means to ascertain the loyalty of the 27th. Throne damn him, he had even killed Reveron and Futhark in the process, masters of their own companies. Seven other ‘casualties’ had occurred to the men of the 27th Order and Becke had not forgiven the chaplain for his brutality.

 

However, the truth was revealed there. On the Rock, Alloken had divulged to him alone of the Fallen, of the betrayal by Luther. Of all the unbelievable things that had happened so far, the fact that the 1st Legion harboured a traitor in its highest echelons was a hammer blow. As was the fall of the Emperor in battle. Terra and the Imperium had been saved at an extreme cost, Horus had been cast down and the traitors had been driven to the Occularis Terribilis.

 

The breaking of the Legions, by comparison, was easy to swallow. Which led to a last revelation by Alloken. The 27th, surely, would have to be turned into its own Chapter. It had the resources to be self-sustaining and, just by numbers alone, could not simply fold into the current Dark Angels Chapter. Until the petition to the High Lords returned, the 27th were under stewardship of Jurgen Becke, who in turn was tied to the Rock and Supreme Grand Master Alloken. 

 

For a time, Becke was at a loss as to what to do. Training took precedence, of course. Even minor deployments on desolate moons granted the 27th little reprieve of the limbo they occupied. It was on the Rock during this period that Karsten spoke to his commander. His visions had returned, strong as they ever were. The Ruinstorm had temporarily blinded his prognostication, although at the time it seemed like a permanent effect, much to Karsten’s chagrin.

 

Prognostication, at least to Karsten, was a not an exact science. Words and ideas came and went, often on the fading motes of dreams. He had dreamt of the ‘ashes of manticores’, of ‘third-born sons under the sword of damocles’ and the ‘twenty-seven blades of Alaric’. Little of it made sense to Becke, save perhaps the twenty-seven blades. Obviously it alluded to the 27th Order, or what was to become of it. Alaric, as far as Becke could recall, was an ancient Terran knight from a time almost as old as civilisation itself. When pushed for more, Karsten had no further recollections to give. The grand master ordered his librarian to look into this ‘Alaric’ and gather more information, if possible.

 

Years passed before word of a purge drifted through the ranks, first the serfs and then the brothers of the 27th spoke of a rogue Chapter – the Manticores. When pressed for knowledge, it was Jaraxtes who finally relayed the news – his peers deigning silence in the face of Alloken’s orders.

 

By candle-light the master of the Angels of Vengeance told his tale. The Manticores, chiefly led by their command cadre, had become corrupted by obscene artifacts. A collection of marines bearing Manticore iconography and pass codes, had sought out the Rock having escaped from the Chapter on a Frigate – the Elucidation of Eumines – with the intention of bringing the scandalous news to the rest of the Lion’s sons.

 

Jaraxtes, leading a combined fleet that even gave Becke pause when told, had descended upon the Manticores in fury. The fleet action that followed crippled the wayward sons of the Lion, their own squadrons and capital ships greatly outnumbered and all but surrounded. Master of the Manticores, Lord Cassiel, fell to a boarding action headed by Jaraxtes. The fight had not been easy – indeed, Jaraxtes sported new scars and fresh augmetics since Becke had last seen him.

 

Cassiel proved difficult to slay, swollen with foul magicks and warp power. The deluded fool believed to be chosen of the gods, one of the few. In truth, he was a mediocre strategist and an accomplished axeman. Slain by sustained plasma fire, the traitor burned before Jaraxtes’ very eyes. The Manticores had been slain to a man and their fleet reduced to wreckage. What elements of the Manticore flotilla that was still capable of flight were brought back with Jaraxtes’ armada.

 

Becke looked at Jaraxtes. He had spoken where all others refused. No reason was asked or given, even as Jaraxtes left. They both knew what was to come. Becke, with Karsten’s dreams, and Jaraxtes, privy to the machinations of the upper echelons of the Rock, were not surprised when Alloken convened the officers present.

 

“You are no longer ours to fetter, brother.” Alloken began. “The petition reply from the High Lords has been long in coming to us.”

 

Becke straightened somewhat, the long years dropping away. No longer was he or his men all-but-prisoners within Rock. Alloken nodded to Jaraxtes, Becke’s confidant.

 

“Grand Master Becke,” Jaraxtes intoned, “it is my pleasure to present you to the emissaries of the High Lords. The 27th will become a Chapter of their own.” Clasping Becke’s hand, Jaraxtes congratulated him. Those assembled roared their approval. Long had this last shard of the Legion reminded them of their failures. No longer was this the case – a new Chapter was to set forth from the rock, to assume the duties of the fallen Manticores.

 

Contrary to popular belief amongst the descendants of the first legion, the Blades of Alaric did not set sail with a mighty fleet under their boots. The long years in isolation had bled the 27th of their ships – distributed to other Chapters for use in war – leaving them with just the trophies of the Manticores to call their own. Long since tech-exorcised and re-dedicated, the ships performed well enough. However, it would be several centuries before the Blades could claim a properly sized fleet.

 

This, along with the detention or their forebears, led to growing distrust of the Dark Angels by successive generations of Blades. Of the Angels of Vengeance, the Blades are more forgiving. They remember Jaraxtes and the trust he placed in Becke. They remember the Manticores he crushed so that the Blades as a Chapter could live.

 

And, most of all, they remember that they are the last link to the Legion of old, the time before betrayal, before Luther fell. 

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Brother Captain Arkley Venerable Brother

Brother Captain Arkley

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First vow complete..

 

My bikes are missing shoulder pads and a hand weapon (lost 3 of my corvus hammers)

 

And waiting for custom pads from shapeways... I have spoke to the Good Captain about this. 

 

Better pictures this week. Bases will be done in august.

 

http://i1116.photobucket.com/albums/k574/jetpaczx/WP_20160612_04_54_55_Rich_zpsuvjm0efj.jpg

http://i1116.photobucket.com/albums/k574/jetpaczx/WP_20160612_04_53_06_Rich_zpsj9ppnyab.jpg

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Epher Veteran

Epher

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The red and gold looks really sharp! I like it and I liked it! They dont even look like they belong to the Chaos Space Marines. I think removing the tail banner was a good idea. Great depth of color. The marines in the first picture look like they are candy apple red!

 

Congrats on completing your vow! Lookijg forward to seeing more!

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Brother Captain Arkley Venerable Brother

Brother Captain Arkley

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OK hopefully these pictures are better...

 

http://i1116.photobucket.com/albums/k574/jetpaczx/WP_20160612_13_07_45_Rich_zps9emxtzqf.jpg

http://i1116.photobucket.com/albums/k574/jetpaczx/WP_20160612_13_06_16_Rich_zpsoxyoxer5.jpg

http://i1116.photobucket.com/albums/k574/jetpaczx/13404003_1781705762050541_5482345186051469174_o_zpszfunlnv6.jpg

 

And I will introduce the Cream Terror of New Mannheim :)

http://i1116.photobucket.com/albums/k574/jetpaczx/WP_20160612_14_29_10_Rich_zpsnq4pt1jk.jpg

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Greenz Veteran

Greenz

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Right on! Sweet marines Arkley. As much as you hated doing those bikes, they were well worth the pain!

I love the bone helmet. What wash are you using?

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