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'May You Live Forever' – A Company of Bitter Iron


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Cheers Soric, I'm pleased with how he came out. I tried to make him look a bit more rough-and-ready than my Guilliman (would go nicely with your awesome Red-Marked).

 

Dosketka, regarding the eyes, they're blank silver, so that might be what looks odd. This detail shows them (and the light cast by the sword on the chest) a little better – though if they still look off, it's probably sloppy painting!

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Thanks Fenbain. Here's some other detail shots:

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The dead Emperor's Children legionary is one of my favourite bits. Quickly slopped together, but the colours just seemed to work. The grey eyes and gold spirals on the shoulder pad were fun to try, 

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The WarpGhost, I can't deny the Fists have a kick-ass scheme (I used to play them back in 3rd edition), but I hope you'll consider Iron Hands – the Glorious Tenth raise the storm! 

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Time passes. One after another, the mortals perish to bolt rounds, matter impeller beams, mortar shells. Two kilometres out, we are alone. Our vehicle throws a track when we hit impact mines. We debark without comment, without pause, and begin running forward. 

 

Here on Isstvan V, our Morlocks – Clan Avernii, and representatives of other Clans they deem strong enough to fight beside them – have hammered into the Emperor's Childrens' lines like a wedge driven into green oak. Here there is structure, of a sort. Blood, armour shards and heat-sweat is rising over the line in an aerosolised cloud. I have never seen anything like it. Even from our vantage a few hundred of yards back, the cacophony of Astartes-on-Astartes combat is rising over the general din. 

 

As we watch, aspects of the line are swallowed by fireballs and missile impacts, or cleared by graser-sweeps and detonations, murdering conquerors of worlds and heroes of humanity like chaff. Such is the martial pressure that such gaps are closed near-instantly as rageful Legionaries pour forward to clash over the falling corpses of their brethren.

 

The Morlocks are driving forward furiously. There must be thousands of Iron Hands, each stepping forward with heavy tread to combat the glittering lines of the Emperor's Children. The line of advance is too broad to be centred on the Primarch; but for a glorious moment I see Ferrus Manus emerge from a storm of fire. His armour is aglow, his weapon – the mighty Fireblade – culling Fulgrim's elites with each sweep. It is glorious. It is an exemplary massacre; executed with all the skill and power the Tenth can muster.

 

It is monstrous in its fury.

 

It is also – I realise, with an unfamiliar cold twist in my guts – far from certain that it will be enough. 

 

On Medusa, the Morlocks are apex predators. The arrival of the Legion saw their brutal demotion; just as all xenos species – sentient, sapient or otherwise – was put firmly underfoot by the Imperium. Here on Isstvan, I recognise a similar result. Clan Avernii are powerful, but they are outnumbered. From our position in the rear, I see the strength of the Emperor's Children as the Avernii's flanks are overwhelmed. It is slow – I am sure too slow for the IIIrd Legion's liking – but inexorable. Predators, Land Raiders and Rhinos begin to curl around the Iron Hand line, supported by clades of marching purple-armoured figures. Furiously as my brethren fight, the line is being attentuated, draw thin as the Morlocks vainly try to keep pace with Ferrus.

 

I turn back, searching for our Primarch in the swell of destruction, even as we continue to sprint. We find ourselves walking over a field of the dead and broken; our pace broken by the curve of armour and forced to sidestep smouldering tank-wrecks. We meet and pass Avernii casualties, vainly limping or stumbling forward, their faces and limbs twisted into fury that borders on lunacy. We are swept up. There! Ferrus has emerged at the head of a knot of Iron Hands, who club and brutalise their way through the shimmering bladework of the Phoenix Guard. They stand at the base of a craggy hill, driving upwards.

 

Onwards to the peak! Onwards to Ferrus! 

 

+++

 

+ WIP shots +

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Well, I've got a few things to say, and not a whole lot of time to say them in, so I'll make this quick.

 

Firstly, Ferrus. Wow, just, wow. Don't get me wrong, I really love the FW version of Ferrus, but your version blows that model out of the water by comparison. Yours has a certain brutal elegance and feeling of inevitability that the official model lacks in comparison. Put a beautiful paint job on top of that as you have done  (those arms, man. those arms.) and no comparison can be made. It is, in my humble opinion, one of the most beautiful primarch models I have ever seen.

 

Then comes your most recent update, and the three models you have presented therein. Each are beautiful examples of your particular skill set, but the first one presses all the right bio-mechanical buttons for this humble unit. The imposing stance, the loose way he holds his axe, and even the curved line of his silhouette created by the flow between his shoulder pads and his helmet crest, all works together to carry a subtle but all too present air of quiet menace. Not evil per se or even openly aggresive, but the kind of menace present in Tyrion Lannister's famous threat "I will hurt you for this." A man who has tolerated much, and whose boundaries have finally been transgressed just that little bit too far, and the quiet anger rises. As John Dryden once said, "beware the fury of a patient man," and I think this bloke has been patient, and is now furious. At least, that's what I get out of it. It's a beautiful model.

Edited by The Psycho
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I love that manus. I'm legitimately having to resist changing mine to have Fireblade or (emperor forbid) getting another to convert.

Maybe you could switch him to killing by hand. Istvan has him going on the rampage in two awesome ways that never appear in artwork by anyone.

 

Apologist, this might be my favourite depiction of the Drop Site Massacre in any media.

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  • 4 weeks later...

Not much to add really bar "Wow", or possibly "I hate you". Has the usual combination of great models and awesome fluff we've come to expect from your logs, though the new first person stuff is really cool. I was wondering about the Baalite naming conventions stuff, is that canon or your own? If the latter could I, ah "borrow" it for my own dudes?

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Not much to add really bar "Wow", or possibly "I hate you". Has the usual combination of great models and awesome fluff we've come to expect from your logs, though the new first person stuff is really cool. I was wondering about the Baalite naming conventions stuff, is that canon or your own? If the latter could I, ah "borrow" it for my own dudes?

 

It's very polite of you to ask permission, but entirely unneeded – part of the great appeal of this hobby for me is the chance for us all to share ideas with like-minded enthusiasts, and see where those ideas go in turn.

 

The Blood Angels naming convention is simply what came to mind while building the model, so in short, I'd be flattered if you find any of the stuff that falls out of my head useful :smile.:

 

+++

For those wanting to see an update – bah! Ultramarines! bah! Iron Warriors! – here's a work-in-progress from where we left off:

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Edited by Apologist
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Not much to add really bar "Wow", or possibly "I hate you". Has the usual combination of great models and awesome fluff we've come to expect from your logs, though the new first person stuff is really cool. I was wondering about the Baalite naming conventions stuff, is that canon or your own? If the latter could I, ah "borrow" it for my own dudes?

 

It's very polite of you to ask permission, but entirely unneeded – part of the great appeal of this hobby for me is the chance for us all to share ideas with like-minded enthusiasts, and see where those ideas go in turn.

 

The Blood Angels naming convention is simply what came to mind while building the model, so in short, I'd be flattered if you find any of the stuff that falls out of my head useful :smile.:

 

While you say there's no need for permission, now that you've said you're okay with it, I know I certainly feel better nicking it for my own use. It's brilliant.

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  • 1 month later...

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[vox chrono §§:§§]

 

There are facts. These must be recorded. Thus. Firstly...

 

Firstly, we...

 

Firstly.

 

[input absent]

 

There are facts.

 

Firstly, there are facts.

 

[input absent]

 

Ferrus Manus is dead. 

 

[vox-incept interrupts]

 

[casing impacts]

 

[casing impacts]

 

[casing impacts]

 

[chrono damaged]

 

[casing impacts]

 

[casing impacts]

 

[recording terminated]

 

IMG_4465b.jpg

Edited by Apologist
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  • 4 months later...

+ inload: In Which Our Narrator's Name is Revealed +

 

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So also golden-throned Eos rapt away Tithonus who was of your race and like the deathless gods. And she went to ask the dark-clouded Son of Cronos that he should be deathless and live eternally; and Zeus bowed his head to her prayer and fulfilled her desire.

 

Too simple was queenly Eos: she thought not in her heart to ask youth for him and to strip him of the slough of deadly age. So while he enjoyed the sweet flower of life he lived rapturously with golden-throned Eos, the early-born, by the streams of Ocean, at the ends of the earth; but when the first grey hairs began to ripple from his comely head and noble chin, queenly Eos kept away from his bed, though she cherished him in her house and nourished him with food and ambrosia and gave him rich clothing. But when loathsome old age pressed full upon him, and he could not move nor lift his limbs, this seemed to her in her heart the best counsel: she laid him in a room and put to the shining doors. There he babbles endlessly, and no more has strength at all, such as once he had in his supple limbs.

 

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I would not have you be deathless among the deathless gods and live continually after such sort. Yet if you could live on such as now you are in look and in form, and be called my husband, sorrow would not then enfold my careful heart. But, as it is, harsh old age will soon enshroud you—ruthless age which stands someday at the side of every man, deadly, wearying, dreaded even by the gods.

And now because of you I shall have great shame among the deathless gods henceforth, continually.

 

+ Hesiod, Hymn V (To Aphrodite) +

 

 

+++

 

A return to my more narratively driven project. It's been six months since I've worked on these chaps in earnest, and there's lots bubbling under the hood. However, I realised I never actually told anyone the name of the narrator, our Iron Hand outsider. It's Tithonus.

 

Or rather, Lieutenant Tithonus, since we're now six months down the line and heading for Dwell... 

There'll be a bit more from Isstvan, as we tell the story in hindsight, but we'll also be meeting a new narrator. He's a scion of the Nine Winds, instead. Who are they?

 

The Nine Winds

 

Of the Nine Winds, what can be said? They were not made to be tethered, but circled about the axis of the world, driving the weather and bringing gladness to the beasts and birds. All was well in the vault, 'til the Eye of the Hawk rose and pierced the veil between the land of the spirits and the land of men. Then the Nine Winds were disturbed, and lashed about with the thrill of true freedom.

 

So great was their strength that the World Pillar itself trembled as they rushed about in gladness and celebration. This would not do. The Great Eagle descended from its eyrie. She saw that the Nine Winds had grown vigorous and headstrong since they had been made, that they would no longer be content to circle the realm as she had wished them. With flashing eye, she pronounced that the Nine Winds would henceforth be loosed to travel the world and bring their eyes and mouths and appetites and interest to every corner of the world-bowl.

 

The winds rejoiced, for they were lusty and keen. However, the Great Eagle made one condition, to which the winds must agree. They would be yoked in turn throughout the year, each taking its turn to drive the weather.

 

The winds conferred, and agreed to share. In turn, the gentle east wind and the wind from the south and the summer wind set themselves to the yoke, driving the weather, and all was well. When the time came for each to be freed and pass the yoke, the driving wind was released joyfully, to explore the land and sky once more.

 

And so it continued, with the sunning-wind and the wind of the mountain water and the north wind taking their turns. And then it came to the youngest wind, the wind of the year-turn. The wind of the year-turn was gentle and compliant and revelled in freedom, and the Hawk spoke with it. The Hawk planted silver words in the wind of the year-turn's ear, and told it that before his turn to drive the weather, he should explore more, go further, find more. And so the wind of the year-turn did not return at its allotted time.

 

Drunk in freedom, the wind of the year-turn gadded and flew about in the deepest corners of the land and the highest corners of the sky, and all men and beasts and birds were gladdened by its innocent joy. All save the north wind, whose shoulders were chafed and back was barked with driving the weather...

 

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Edited by Apologist
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Very happy to see this. Also somewhat amused to see "Hesiod" crop up in this context.

Cheers! In the Shadow of Leaves might be a bit controversial, but I've always liked this quote:

 

Among the maxims on Lord Naoshige's wall there was this one: "Matters of great concern should be treated lightly." Master lttei commented, "Matters of small concern should be treated seriously."

Tiny soldiers are serious business :biggrin.:

 

No way, a true scale jetbike! In the last couple months I've been dabbling in building a biker myself, but I never got very far. It's encouraging to see that it can be done well.

Ta very much. He's far from finished, but I'm pleased with what I managed to get done last night. The nice thing, from my point of view, is that the jetbike itself is unchanged – it's only the pilot that's altered. That's important for me, as my approach is to enlarge only the marines, leaving the hands, head, and equipment – whether backpack, boltgun or bike – as unaltered as possible.

 

He seems to fill the space quite well. I was afraid he'd look cramped, but the Scimitar jetbikes are huge, and the standard pilot is in a very roomy space.

 

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The arms are mostly done – just a bit of smoothing to be done, but the upper legs are just the bulk greenstuff over a paperclip wireframe. They'll need a lot of smoothing and detail. Here're a couple of pictures of the components.

 

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Edited by Apologist
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Your posts never cease to shock me in their ingenuity and creative story telling. Excellent use of that Hesiod quote, there are few better science fiction settings in which Greek themes and mythic proportions fit so thoroughly. I'm very excited to see you return to the Xth as well, great job on that jet bike pilot :)
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+ Six Months On +

 

For the fourth time that watch, I find myself approaching the bridge, my hand raised to alert the armsman-sentry. I am restless. We are all restless.

 

The corridor is dank stone – Venus-built – and dim, erratically lit by lumno-sconces that draw power from the damaged reactors. That there is light at all is a luxury Arrowsmith has only grudgingly afforded the armsmen.

 

Ah, Arrowsmith. Clan-captain Arrowsmith. A hard man to like, which makes it all the easier for him to lead. I owe him my life. The memories of Isstvan are raw, and the near-flawless memory my altered state has engendered, means they remain unsoftened by time. It has been six months, and still I see the fateful moment of defeat as though it were happening again, over and over. My sleep patterns are disturbed, my waking actions are agitated and distracted, and my fieldcraft is affected. My plate 'jects me with counterstimms to degrade excess hyperadrenaline.

 

We are all like this. Like this at best. Decades of experience have taught me that it is not always the best that remain standing; have taught me the arbitrariness of warfare. Of my meagre command on Isstvan, most are counted amongst the happy dead. Medardus, Triumph and myself. We are alive, but I hesitate to call us survivors.

 

Medardus has retreated into himself, shunning all company. Triumph has similarly isolated himself; communicating only in platitudes and Lodge rote. It is hard for Arrowsmith to enact discipline, particularly with we three on board. We are held in a peculiar mixture of contempt and awe. To have witnessed the Primarch's dea–

 

Ngh.

 

To have witnessed the event, we are unusual. The warriors of Sten, who make up the bulk of Arrowsmith's Recon company, seek us out. Some are sceptical, saying our account silver-tongued; others belligerent, as though by bellowing and posturing they can alter the events of the past. Others still are muted, mewling. That I find sickening.

 

So, one hiding, one in denial, and me. I wander. Perhaps it is easier for an outsider to remain outside.

 

Ah, one other. He is easy to forget. As the armsman salutes and waves me through, the portal to the bridge opens, and he is silhouetted. The Immortal. Hmm.

 

It is hard to take his oath seriously now. Have we not all failed the Legion? He intimated as much to me during the escape. As we reached atmosphere, I heard a vox-click. A private channel. I was focussed on the flight – anti-air fire has a wonderful effect of narrowing my view – and so I bore it no mind. I do not know how, or if, the Immortal overrode my plate, but I heard, above the roar of my own blood, five words that cut through my turmoil and chilled me to my core.

 

'We are all immortal now.'

+++

 

+ Warriors of Sten +

We rejoin our narrator on board the Nereid, a Venusian starcraft pressed into service to serve the Shattered Legions. He, and a lucky (well, arguably) few have become attached to other survivors from Clan-company Sten.

 

These are work-in-progress, but I thought I'd pop 'em up for your thoughts.

 

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An injured veteran (that trailing arm is smashed up, and he's missing a couple of fingers as a symbol of the damage done to the Iron Hands) alongside a marine who might not be quite what he appears...

 

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Who doesn't love a banner to rally round? Clan Sten's banner will be sea green, a gift from the Sons of Horus in better times, which has taken on a very different tone now. Not sure if this chap will be a Herald or a company standard bearer, but he's got a little servo skull with him.

 

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An axe-wielding marine – again, perhaps a squad sergeant, perhaps a Legion Command Squad member – alongside the Immortal, who's had a bit of adjustment made to his arm.

 

Thanks for the kind comments – any thoughts on Sten so far? Anything you'd like to see?
+++

Edited by Apologist
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