A Forge World Christmas 2017: Congrats jlmb_123

[jbaeza94]

It’s that time of the year again!

 

I really enjoy the community we have here, people from around the globe getting together to enjoy a hobby. I’d like to extend my gratitude too you all by doing a Forge World giveaway! The last 2 years revolved around experiences I had in a game, and you guys trying to figure out what they were. This year I want it to be about you guys, and your experiences.

 

Cool! So how do I enter to win?

 

Simple actually, all I ask is that you give a short narrative of something that you experienced in the hobby. It could be something funny while painting (I know how many cat owners we have here), amazing acts of heroism (a lone Deathwing terminator going toe to toe with an Imperial Knight), or a memorable moment (first tournament victory). Of course, it is not limited to these examples. Share something! All entries are due by 30 November 2017 at 2359, B&C time.

 

Great! I made my entry, now how do I win?

 

Now you just wait! I will be using a randomizer to select a winner; I thought it would be more fun this way. The winner will be announced within 24 hours of the event ending.

 

What can I get if I do win?

 

It’s really up to you. You get an in cart value of about the price of a Sicaran tank, but it’s not a hard price limit. You can mix and match sets, or get a single large set. For example, the first year, the winner chose a MK3 Despoiler Squad and a Templar Upgrade Set. Last year, Brother GRC chose a Leviathan Dreadnought with weapons (beautifully painted btw, you guys should check it out if you haven’t). You won’t be limited to just Space Marine sets either. I know some of you like to dip your toes into the pool of heresy from time to time, or to mingle with xenos. I will be messaging the winner to discuss the prize. I'm willing to work with you.

 

Is there anything you ask of me if I win?

 

Yes, 2 things.

1. You need to be willing to provide me an address so that I may mail the prize straight from FW to you.

2. I ask that you upload a picture to this page so that we can all enjoy what you chose. It doesn’t need to be painted.

 

 

 

If there are any questions, please ask! I will be adding an FAQ to the post as the questions come in.

 

Seriously guys, I’m glad I can call you guys my community and my peers. I wish you all good luck. I can’t wait to read your stories.

 

FAQ

 

Does the story need to be DA related?

No, it can be from any aspect of the 40k and 30k.

Edited December 3, 2017 by jbaeza94

[twopounder]

Oh, best memory ever came at a tournament at a local shop in the middle of 3rd edition. My friend had just finished a game with his orks, and I was playing and old school ravenwing army. I had 11 bikes on the table (two squads of four and three attack bikes) along with the Master of the Ravenwing. My opponent was moving his models, so my friend wandered over to talk to me. He was swinging this big, steel tape measure in his index fingers while he did.

 

He laughed at something, and the tape measure slipped from his fingers. Then time slowed down to about 1/10th its normal pace.

 

The tape measure glided towards, no homed in on, the sergeant at the head of one my bike squads. It made contact center mass and the sergeant exploded while the wrecking ball of a tape measure rumbled through the squad. Then time sped back up. Just a base remained, perfectly stationed where the sergeant had been. His various appendages were scattered all over the store. There was actually a short scavenger hunt to try to find them all. Though my friend was trying to apologize, he couldn't stop laughing either. My opponent was rather well spirited about losing valuable time in our game over it.

 

The last time he was out here on leave (almost 20 years after the incident, no joke) he was swinging a tape measure next to my game while I was playing Ravenwing. I stopped and glared at him. Yes, a death glare. He looked down, starting laughing and put it away.

Edited November 17, 2017 by twopounder

[o8oo Anarch]

A hobbying moment I'll never forget due to the permenant reminder I have.  My DAs started life as a pure DW force, but through 6th I add the RW and eventually GW.  Not too long after I started the GW marine bases went and got bigger, as I planned to expand the force I decided get in early and swap my few guys over before it became a huge army. 

 

So I'm at my buddys house and we are doing some modeling/painting (I'm rebasing) when he has to nip out briefly to get his gf and leaves me to it at the kitchen table.  Maybe 5mins after he left I've got my hobby knife and I'm trying to persude a very stuborne assault marine that he doesn't want his old base. All of sudden with a small crack he dives from his base and the blade goes through the very tip of thumb before arcing down across the the palm of my hand.  My thumb stung but as I looked down futher my hand opened up and began to gush blood all over my mates kitchen table, chairs, floor and eventually sink area.  Question I faced was, how do I bandage this? Dunno if my mate would appreacite me dying his white tea towel red, neither did I want to trek blood through his house to get to the bathroom.  So I'm left to rifle 1 handed through his kitchen draws like I'm robbing the place, whilst staying within reach of leaving my heamoraging hand over the sink, for a 1st aid kit of some description.

 

Turns out there wasn't 1, so 30mins later when he gets home I'm still stood at the sink bleeding everywhere, feeling kinda light headed and apologizing profusely for apparent crime scene that his kitchen had become. Wound up having to borrow 1 of his gfs "lady pads" to wrap it, in order to go get stitches.  Several hours later having explained to nurse how deep the cut was, she removed the pad with a look of skepticism as it had stop bleeding and proceded to prod it, at which point it literally squirted across the room! As there was no one currelty free to stitch it, the nurse went with the sticky strip things.  A week later when it came time to remove them, it contuned to bleed profusely and I ended up having to have it restuck for yet another week.  I shall forever bare the scar.

 

Turns out those poxy S4 AP- D1 chainsword wielding assault marines can do some damage!

[Wrath of Bruinen]

Wow jbaeza94, what a generous thing to do. Talk about getting into the spirit of the season!

 

Here's my humble offering, I hope you (and anyone else) enjoy!

 

About halfway through 7th ed, I attended a 'no holds barred' tournament, which I significantly underestimated. My Death-Raven army fought through so much cheese they became lactose intolerant, but like a true Dark Angel I just gritted my teeth and pushed on. In one game I played against two wraithknights, my first time facing such a foe. My back was up against the wall from the start, but I managed to whittle one of the wraithknights down to one wound. I had fired everything in my army, except for the grenade launcher on my Ravenwing banner bearer. He launched a krak grenade, hitting, and rolling a six to wound. My opponent failed his saves, and so Brother Baelor slew a mighty wraithknight.

 

Not content with such heroics, in my next game I played another eldar player, this time with only one wraithknight (because he brought a revenant titan too!!). Things were again looking dire, and although the wraightknight was slowly being brought down, my army was dropping rapidly. Eventually, Brother Baelor was all that remained of the command squad, and with the wraith knight on 2 wounds left, he cried out to the Lion and the Emperor to bear witness to him, and charged into combat with the dread foe. Baelor hit with 2 attacks, and then rolled 2 sixes to rend (the only way I could hurt it in combat). My opponent then failed his two scatter shield invuln saves, and his two FNP saves...Baelor had felled the wraith bone construct.

 

And so was born the legend of Baelor Wraithbane...

[sneakybamsen]

My most clear memory from the hobby was when I was playing a mate's no-holds-barred eldar list. It was 7th edition, and we had as mates agreed to bring the nastiest stuff we could to try something different.

 

He had bought, modelled and painted this beatiful wraithknight in a week, without his two most trusted opponents knowledge, and to this day I still feel somewhat bad about what happened after deployment.

I was going first wiith my double-demi list, and his knight was not in cover, so I took my best bet, dropped a command squad with banner and grav and two HQ's plus a dreadnought with multimelta within range of the knight. I poured everything that could do harm to it into killing it, brought it down to 1 wound with some grav luck, and it came down to brother Cyphriel in his iron-encased tomb. His multimelta lit up, hit, wounded, wasn't saved by either shield nor FNP, and he became a legend within the company.

 

My opponent knew by then the game was more or less already decided, and by the end of turn two, he conceded. It was a hollow win to me, and I feel so bad for taking out his brand new and so beatifully painted model so fast. It was intented to absolutely wreak havoc, and in later games it got to do just that. Worst part was that it got to do absolutely nothing on the table after a week of slaving with brushes and paint-pots.

[Brother-Chaplain Kage]

Back in the late 90s I played in tournaments at my LGS for every weekend for about a year, mostly with the Blood Angels that were my first army. There was an entry fee but first place won a Battle Force of their choice, and I mean the old school square Battle Force boxes. 

 

 

I placed in the top three almost every week and won myself a good number of battle forces over that year. 

 

Now, aside from the starter box that had marines and the old dark eldar in it, it was rare to see any DE stuff on the shelves in my area and the LGS manager said almost all of the line except special characters had gone to direct order only from GW. In the span of six or seven months worth of tourneys I can only remember one of the regulars showing up with a DE army he built mostly from buying the box set sprues that marine players didn't want on the cheap, but he was not very good with the glass cannon army and gave up on them after two or three tourneys. 

 

A few months down the road several guys are talking about how awful the DE codex is (harping on the direct order only for most of the line as proof of how awful they are) and this one regular who had been playing orks the whole time I knew him, and losing badly with them on a regular basis, tells the group that they can be good if played by someone who knows what they're doing and they laugh him off. The following weekend, Bad Ork player shows up with a glossy purple dark eldar army full of open topped transports with a ton of blasters, dark lances, and disintegrators and proceeds to take everyone apart with it, tabling a number of players within 3 rounds. I didn't face him until we were the two finalists and I spent the whole game chasing him around the table with my jump pack Death Company and chaplain and some rhinos while he slowly shot me to pieces. I did finally catch his archon and squad of incubi bodyguards with my DC and chappie and charged them, managing to bring down the whole unit (archon's shadow field had held the entire game and popped on the first save against my crozius) with the chaplain being my only surviving model who was then promptly gunned down giving him the win. 

 

After it was all over, I asked him why he always played his orks and not those guys since he very handily won the tournament and could be every weekend. His reply was that he had always excelled with that type of army and since most people underestimated them it wasn't any fun to play them because he wasn't really capable of dialing back his competitiveness and tabling most people in short order, so he switched to orks and even though he lost with some regularity he was having a lot more fun with them. However, a bunch of wraithlord and wave serpent spamming eldar players talking about how awful DE are got him riled up enough to take us to school.

 

He also told me I was the only player that ever managed to kill his archon and gave me a holstered splinter pistol from his extras and suggested I put it on my chaplain as a trophy, which I did. 

 

 

In the right pic you can see it on his right leg, painted purple in the same style as the DE army it came from. 

Edited November 27, 2017 by Brother Chaplain Kage

[G8Keeper]

The best (and most hilarious) memory I have is attending a Games Day many a moon ago with 3 of my mates.  We had sauntered about all day carrying a shiny new box of 10 Leman Russ tanks, using them as a seat at times when the legs became weary and of course as a makeshift table.  We stopped to take in a giant Apocalypse game, it had just been launched in which a mixed Imperial Army was pitted against a huge Ork Horde.  Things weren't looking good for the Imperium but then, a bombing run from I believe a Marauder (memory is hazy there) was called in!

 

(paraphrasing)

 

"Right, you there! Makes these Greenskins pay for their insolence," Mr Kelly exclaims to one of my friends (notoriously unlucky)

 

After some awkward noises and confused looks he scoops up something like 5 or 6 dice, draws back his arm and rolls what I believe were wound rolls requiring 2+'s to do some serious damage to basically the Ork spearhead. The dice clatter off my Leman Russ box, miraculously all staying on the lid and as they settle a gutteral belly laugh errupts from everyone nearby as they see every single roll is a 1.  I have no idea how the game progressed, Phil Kelly didn't seem best pleased but for years my mate has been constantly reminded of this. 

 

We don't hear from him anymore......

[Chmur]

Damn, already wasted my best stories by writing them already :) I guess reusing my recent post is not good enough ;) I'll see if something happens in the next few days!

[Stoic Raptor]

Does it need to be Dark Angels related?  Because I have an epic story from the glory days of 2nd Edition, but it's about my Space Wolves (and I know there's that rivalry).

[jbaeza94]

No it does not. It can be about anything in the hobby. Let's hear that Space Wolf story!

[Stoic Raptor]

Very well!  I hope you enjoy it:

 

In 2nd Edition, my opponent and I played a campaign where each of our warlords was our personal "character" and advanced as the campaign went on.

I used Ulfgrim ("wolf-face"), a Wolf Guard Terminator, armed with an assault cannon and cyclone launcher (you could do that, back in 2nd Edition). Ulf had gained an extra Wound during the campaign so he was even tougher to kill.

My opponent was playing Eldar and the mission was for me to move my army across the board to a spaceport landing pad for extraction by troop ship (we used a Star Trek runabout model which actually looked pretty good for that scale).

At one point, Ulfgrim had to cross a street that was covered by two squads on overwatch atop a hill at the end of the street. Guardians at the base and Dark Reapers on the hilltop. Ulf stepped out and they all fired. The shurikens that hit bounded harmlessly off his armor. One of the missiles missed, one hit but failed to wound, and one was stopped by the armor. Then Ulf returned fire. The assault cannon mowed down all the Guardians and the cyclone eliminated the Dark Reapers, leaving the hilltop a smoking ruin.

Ulf climbed to the top of the hill just as a trio of Jet Bikes moved toward his position. Again he opened fire with his assault cannon. The first bike was destroyed and careened into the second, destroying it as well. The third bike failed its Morale test and retreated off the board.

By this time, the rest of the army had made it to the spaceport but his forces threatened to overrun them while they boarded. Ulf chose to hold the gate so that his brothers could embark safely. He was charged by a squad of Howling Banshees. He took one wound in the melee, but killed one of them in return (apparently, being punched in the face by a missile targeter can be fatal). He fired with his assault cannon... and rolled triple jams. The magazine detonated, killing him and the remaining Banshees. The rest of the army was safely extracted and his sacrifice won the day.

That sort of valor is guaranteed to get what's left of you interred into a Dreadnought - so I modified a metal model of Bjorn. When the plastic SW Venerable Dreadnought kit came out, I built a new model, equipped with the same weaponry (and a wolf-skull head, in keeping with his name). To commemorate the victory, the model has the squashed body of an Eldar warrior beneath one foot (20 years later, my friend still does not think that's funny).

The assault cannon bears four yellow rings, one for each squad he slew single-handedly that day, and he earned the honor-name "Alvsbane" (Elf-Killer). I've since moved to another state, and my best friend here also plays Eldar - and Ulfgrim continues to live up to his name and his saga.

This was probably the most memorable 40K battle I've ever played, and I wrote a short story of the tale.

 

So, I present to you the saga of Ulfgrim Alvsbane.  Keep in mind this was written around 1997.  I know there may be some minor inconsistencies with the current Chapter lore - unlike GW, I have not revised my story in the intervening years.  It's kind of long for a forum post, so click on the spoiler tag to read it.

A Wolf in Winter

By Shaun T. Scott

 

In a darkened crypt the size of a cathedral, deep in the heart of an ancient mountain whose pinnacle pierced the very heavens, a giant arose from his centenary slumber. Skin hard as stone shook off the dust of a hundred years of sleep. Men had been born, grown old, and died during his brief repose. Times were dire indeed if his young custodians had roused him so soon. They lived for centuries, yet to him even they were as mayflies. Though it seemed as no time had passed at all, his rest could be measured by his dreams. Most of them were dreams of fire, dreams of glorious battles where legions of men fell before his steel. Some were dreams of an icy wilderness, where the wind blew strong and cold and the hunting was plentiful. The dream from which he had been awakened had seemed particularly vivid, nearly real but for a sensation of detachment which had distanced him from the events as a seeming observer. Yet he recalled each and every aspect to the finest detail. The recollection caused him to shudder as if he had taken a chill. Of course, such sensations were alien to him now, but so long ago…

 

The warrior stood upon the ridge, helmet open so that he might smell and taste the crisp arctic air. The sunlight sparkled on the snow in the valley below, its brilliant glare causing him to narrow his eyes as he surveyed the land below. The day seemed too pleasant for what was about to transpire, but he was ready nonetheless. His vigilant eyes scanned the horizon as his keen nose tested the wind for the scent of his enemy. They were nigh, and he was prepared. His Litany of Readiness was interrupted by the arrival of a runner. Though the bondsmen stood quietly at a respectful distance, Ulfgrim had smelled him approaching minutes ago. Completing his invocations, the towering man sealed the helmet of his Terminator armour and turned to his vassal. His grizzled face was now replaced with an image of a snarling Fenrisian wolf. Though the thrall was tall among his tribe, he was but a dwarf to his master, who so towered over him that the servant was forced to look up in order to speak. The thrall swallowed hard as a lump formed in his throat. Though this thrall served his lord well, Ulfgrim’s visage was even more fearsome when he was clad for battle. As the hirsute man stood and awaited permission to report, he could not suppress his shivering. Ulfgrim chuckled quietly at the smaller man’s weakness. Was his shivering caused by the terror of being in the presence of a living god, or was it merely the cold? To a Wolf, this sub-zero cold was a trifling thing. Cold like this had not bothered him for fifty years…

 

The drakkar tossed about as the angry surf swelled about the little ship. The boy muttered a prayer to appease the gods of the sea. The storm that raged around him was a certain sign of their wrath. If they were angry, they would surely swallow the boat. Only deeds of glory would placate them. He and the others of his clan had been adrift for weeks, seeking a new home. Each day had been laden with hardship since the fires had burst from the ground and the thundering seas had claimed his land and everything he once knew. Ulfgrim remembered that day vividly. His mouth felt parched and his skin crawled with the heat. He could still smell the burning bodies of the villagers and their homes. The smoke from those fires caused his eyes to water even now. His past was forever lost, but he no longer dwelt there. He lived for the coming day, for the battles to be fought and the glory to be won. The young man stood at the bow, scanning the stormy sea, looking for any sign of other lost souls upon it.

Behind him, he heard the cry of an infant. The baby had been born just a few days before their exodus. The child would certainly perish during their voyage and perhaps its mother as well. Starvation and exposure had claimed many of his kinsmen, and their deaths would surely not be the last. Many more would perish unless they found a new home soon. The only hope for survival on these hostile seas was to pillage the supplies that would sustain them until they could reach a new island. He turned away from the crying child and its shivering mother, and continued to seek any sign of something amid the tempest around them. Moments later he spotted a brightly-colored sail through the darkness, and cried out for the warriors to stand ready.

His brothers and the other young men of his tribe stood at the gunwales, awaiting the chance to leap into the fray and claim glory for themselves and their clan. The boy did not fear death; he welcomed a glorious end in battle, for the skalds of his people sung of the Messengers of the Wolf-Gods, and how the most valorous warriors were taken in death to feast in the halls of the Gods and fight battle upon glorious battle.

Their ship crashed headlong into that of their enemy, its prow splitting the side of the other vessel. The young warriors swept onto the doomed ship, striking down all that stood in their path. The screams of the dying were devoured by the howling winds, and the seas drank deeply in the blood of the fallen. Ulfgrim leapt into the fray, bellowing a war cry and swinging his axe in a great arc. Warriors seasoned by many summers of migration fell before his furious assault. Though the ship canted from side to side as it bobbed upon the swells, its deck slick with seawater and blood, the young man stood his ground, ensuring his comrades the time they needed to loot the ship. Like their homeland had, the damaged longship was beginning to sink beneath the waves. The Wolfbrothers leaped from the sinking ship with their arms full of plunder.

The stricken ship lurched, taking on more seawater through the ragged hole in its side. “Go!” Ulfgrim shouted to his Wolfbrothers, “I will free the ship!” The young man clambered upon the bow, hacking away with his axe at the carving of the fierce sea-dragon head that now trapped his vessel, threatening it with the same watery doom as the looted ship. He could feel the sea mercilessly tugging the two ships down, locked in an embrace that promised death to both if he did not succeed. The young warrior rained blow after blow upon the prow as the icy winds bit at him and the heartless sea stung him with cold, salty spray. 

Between the howling of the ocean wind and the roar of his own ragged breathing, Ulfgrim scarcely heard the roar of water behind him. Sparing a momentary glance over his shoulder, he saw an enormous wave rising towards the two ships. With one final, desperate blow, he cleaved through the carving and freed his ship. Just then, the wave struck the ships, separating them and sweeping the young warrior off of his perch. As he fell, he expected to feel the sea’s cold, watery embrace, but instead he struck the hard wooden deck of the sinking vessel his clan had just looted. His axe bounced from his hand and lodged itself in the broken mast of the enemy longship. He rolled to his feet and looked for his comrades, but the ship of his clan was now far away, tossed about in the storm. He thought he could see a young woman on the deck reaching out for him, and he was unsure whether the sound he heard was her crying or merely the taunting of the unforgiving wind.

“So,” came a voice from behind him, “it looks as though I’ll not die alone after all.” Ulfgrim whirled around and saw an older man rising to his feet on the unsteady deck. The wounds he bore looked nasty, but Ulfgrim could now see that none were lethal, and that this cur had feigned death, perhaps hoping to seize the advantage and catch Ulfgrim’s band unawares. Clearly, neither man had been expecting to be trapped upon this sinking ship, as the other now sailed away, forever beyond their reach.

The old man pulled his sword from a body upon the deck. Ulfgrim recognized the face of Frotti, a younger Wolf Brother, who had clearly been stabbed in the back in treachery by this foe. “Dog!” Ulfgrim screamed, and rushed unarmed at his deceitful, honorless enemy. “Have you no honor, to stab a man in the back?” 

“I do not, young pup,” sneered the old man, “honor does not feed one’s family or keep one warm. Honor did not save my clan from death at the hands of your people.” Swiftly, he raised his sword and thrust it into the chest of the headstrong Wolfbrother.

Ulfgrim’s breath left his lungs suddenly in a spray of blood. Glancing behind his foe, he noticed his fallen axe, still lodged in the mast. Summoning the courage to face a death worthy of the Wolf-Gods, he spun suddenly, wrenching the sword from the grip of his foe. Snatching his axe in the same motion, Ulfgrim brought it down upon his adversary, beheading him before his own weapon fell clattering to the deck from his nerveless fingers. His breath came in ragged, bloody gasps as he fell to the deck beside his decapitated opponent. As he lay in his final hour unmoving upon the planks, the hungry seas lapping at his legs, it seemed to him as if the sun had broken through the heavy clouds. Then a giant of a man was standing above him, seemingly unfazed by the foundering shipwreck. He was clad in black metal armour, and wore the pelt of an enormous wolf upon his back. As he turned his gaze upon the dying young man, Ulfgrim beheld a face of an ancient man, whose golden eyes held the wisdom of ages and whose fangs nearly reached his chin. This was indeed one of the fabled Wolf-Gods! The giant spoke no words, but lifted the mortally wounded warrior in his arms as easily as a man might pick up a pig or a chicken. Then the boy felt his body slip away as he was carried to the hall of the Wolf-Gods…

 

‘Lord Ulfgrim?’ The bondsman’s words intruded upon the Pack leader’s reverie, bringing him back to the present. ‘It is time.’

Ulfgrim nodded silently and followed the thrall down the slope. It would be a good day for hunting.

The Space Wolves had been summoned to this world at the behest of the colonial governor. Thule was a young colony, established only a few generations ago. The rich mineral deposits on Thule made mining profitable, and the greatest hardship the colonists had yet to face was the difficult farming, and the occasional boreal predator. Despite the lack of deadly indigenous life, there was something inimical to life on Thule. The Space Wolves had arrived, and woe is to the enemy of the Emperor. They had not come to hunt bears. They were here to hunt Eldar. The mysterious enemy had come to Thule and demanded that the humans withdraw from the world. The colonial governor refused, but not before summoning assistance. The Space Wolves were the nearest Chapter, and had arrived to protect this holding of the Emperor. Ulfgrim toyed absently with the paw that hung down onto his shoulder pauldron. The paw was part of an enormous black wolf pelt. The Fenrisian Wolf that Ulfgrim slew during his Rite of Passage was one of the largest brought down by any Space Wolf in the chapter’s long history. It was said by many that only the Pelt of Wulfen worn by the Great Wolf was larger. Ulfgrim’s mind traveled once more to days of glory past.

 

It was cold here in the Hyperborean wastes, so cold. Ulfgrim was the leader of his Blood Claw pack, and had served in Grimnar’s Great Company for several years. Though the senses of a Space Marine were sharper than those of a normal man, and Space Wolves’ the sharpest of all, Ulfgrim’s were even keener than most of his brethren. His expert reconnaissance had saved his unit from ambush many a time, and his ferocity in close combat had protected the main body from several assaults. His valor had attracted the attention of the Great Wolf, who decided that this young Marine should be promoted to the Grey Hunters.

As was the tradition of the chapter, candidates for the Grey Hunters were required to prove their worthiness by venturing out into the lands west of the Fang, clad only in skins and unarmed. The young warrior was expected to track the largest wolf he could find and kill it with his bare hands. He could only return to the Fang if he brought with him the pelt of the wolf he slew. Many young Blood Claws perished during this trial, some from exposure or starvation, but more at the deadly claws and fangs of their prey. Ulfgrim was determined to survive. He had passed the test of Morkai, wherein he established mastery over himself and the seed of Wulfen. He had survived the Blooding, those days of delirium and feverish hunger. This was but a ritual hunt compared to that grueling ordeal.

Though the cold bit at his flesh, Ulfgrim traveled on. He had tracked this wolf for three days, observing its habits and following its movements. The wolf was gigantic, the size of an ox. Its paw prints were larger than Ulfgrim’s face. The cunning Blood Claw had already learned in battle that it was foolish to confront a superior force head-on, so he devised a plan. That afternoon, he would kill a smaller herbivore. Though he was hungry, this carcass would not serve as food. It would be bait for larger prey. Outside the great wolf’s den, Ulfgrim left a trail of blood for the wolf to follow. When it emerged to hunt, it instinctually sought the wounded animal that had passed its lair. The trail of blood led through the lowlands and into the wooded foothills above. It stopped abruptly at the base of a tall tree. The wolf sniffed about, catching the scent of its prey nearby. As he began to dig between the roots of the tree to locate the kill cached there; the hunter became the hunted. Ulfgrim dropped silently from the branches above, landing on the back of the giant carnivore. The beast thrashed and snarled as Ulfgrim held on dearly. He sunk his own fangs into the creature’s neck, and it howled in pain as the Marine’s acidic saliva burned within its body. He raised his fist and brought it down hard at the base of the wolf’s skull. Still, the mighty predator fought on in its death throes. His prey soon threw the young Marine, and he landed hard upon the frozen ground. As Ulfgrim looked up, the slavering black wolf occluded the ashen sky. Determined to die valiantly, he sunk his fangs once more into the creature’s throat. The metallic taste of the wolf’s hot vitae flowed into his mouth, and Ulfgrim slaked his thirst with the creature’s lifeblood. The beast slashed at the young warrior with its claws, laying open the hunter’s flesh in several places. Still, Ulfgrim hung on. Soon, the great black wolf shuddered and died, collapsing onto the victorious hunter. Ulfgrim dragged the beast back to its own lair and for the first time since leaving the Fang, he slept. The carcass of his kill kept him warm against the howling night winds.

The next morning, the sentries at the Fang noticed an incredibly large wolf approaching their emplacements. Their vigilance increased as it continued to approach. Soon they realized that the creature was walking upright. Was this one of the Wulfen, those deranged monstrosities that had failed the test of Morkai? As they trained their weapons upon the approaching figure, it cast aside its cloak. Their brother, young Ulfgrim, had returned home. He was truly a Grey Hunter now.

 

Ulfgrim was separated from his comrades and pinned down among the ruins, but he knew no fear. Great Wolf Grimnar and his brothers in the Wolf Guard were counting on him to carry out his mission. Brother Haakon had fallen moments ago, his chest torn open by an Eldar missile. Ulfgrim fired several storm bolter shots toward the enemy position, until his weapon was destroyed by enemy fire. He knelt beside Haakon’s armoured body, and whispered a prayer to Russ and the Emperor. Then he clapped his fallen brother on the shoulder. “I will see you again, Brother Haakon, in the Wolftime.” Though his brother Marine had fallen, his weapon might save the lives of Ulfgrim and others of their company. Ulfgrim began the Litany of Armament as detached the assault cannon from Haakon’s armour. He slapped a fresh ammo cassette into the weapon and attached it to his own armour. Ulfgrim worked quickly, knowing that soon his enemy might dispatch a squad to investigate.

The Ulthwé Eldar held the hill at the end of the street with enough firepower to decimate an entire squad of Men. But he was no ordinary man – he was a Space Wolf, a Son of Russ! He feared not the Alien, for he knew that the Wolftime, the final days of the Space Wolves, had yet to come - and he would be there to greet Russ upon his return. Gripping his weapons as firmly as his resolve, Ulfgrim strode into the intersection. A hail of shuriken ricocheted off his Terminator armour and the auditory pickups in his helmet carried to him the sound of missiles being fired. The first struck the ground before him, his auto-sense cutouts sparing him from the blinding flash and the deafening roar of the blast. The second missile struck his shoulder pauldron, spinning him around and nearly knocking him off his feet but failing to penetrate the thick adamantium shell. The third missile found its mark, driving into his breastplate with such force that it deformed the nearly impervious material. Ulfgrim felt several of his ribs crack from the impact, and felt the warm wetness of blood within his armour. Yet still he stood, undaunted, like a wolfen Colossus. Now it was his turn. The assault cannon on his right arm screamed a staccato symphony of death, mowing down the squad of Dire Avengers dug in at the base of the hill. They jerked about like demented marionettes, and then fell as if their strings had been cut. A full salvo of missiles barked from the tubes above his head, streaking a fiery trail of death toward the Dark Reapers on the crest of the hill. An instant later, the hilltop erupted like a long-dormant volcano. When the fires subsided, the hill was devoid of life. Ulfgrim moved on.

 

* * *

 

A normal man, even another Marine, would not have heard the shrill whisper of the Eldar jet bikes. Only the sharp senses of a Space Wolf alerted Ulfgrim to the impending danger. He stalked to the top of the rise just in time to see a squad of Shining Spears cresting the next ridgeline. Like silent birds of prey, the Eldar swooped down on their quarry. The Wolf Guard Leader stood his ground. His assault cannon whined as he once more brought the barrels up to speed. The Shining Spears set their lances and raced toward him. With steely resolve, he triggered his weapon. Bullets rained upon the leftmost bike, destroying its starboard stabilizer and blasting the rider out of his saddle. As the wounded biker fell to his death, his unmanned bike slued to the left, striking the next bike in formation. This bike exploded, dismounting the third biker in line. That unmanned machine plowed into the ground, never to fly again. The final rider, seeing the Marine bringing his missile targeter to bear, broke off the attack. Once more, the valiant warrior had blunted an Eldar advance. But the burning vehicles were already a memory to Ulfgrim as he moved on to link up with his squad and his Lord.

* * *

 

Ulfgrim joined his pack a kilometer from the starport. If they could break through the defenders, Grimnar and his retinue could board the shuttles and make a daring suborbital strike on the western continent, where Lord Blackmane and his forces were pinned down. The arrival of reinforcements from Grimnar’s company could break the back of the Eldar invasion and drive them from this world. First, the Wolf Guard would need to drive through the Eldar line like a spear to seize the control tower and shuttles. Then they would need to hold the starport long enough for Logan’s detachment to embark. It was a dangerous, nearly suicidal mission, one for which the men of the Great Wolf’s Guard were ideally suited. Jaw set in grim determination, the ancient commander ordered his men to move out.

* * *

 

Minutes later, the Terminator-clad soldiers had entered the fray. Brothers Asulf and Thorolf had charged the squad of Wraithguard that met them outside the gates. Asulf’s lightning claws tore the nearest foe in half with a sharp crack and a flash of blue-white lightning. The dismembered construct fell to the ground, the spirit inhabiting it lost forever to the warp. Thorolf raised his storm shield just in time to deflect a shot from his foe’s wraithcannon. The bolt of primal energy struck his upraised shield, releasing another blinding flash of light. The Marine closed the distance to his adversary in a few short strides, bringing his thunder hammer down upon the Wraithguard’s armoured shell. The powerful energies contained within the weapon were loosed with a thunderous boom, crumpling the Eldar warrior’s mechanical body like an empty can. The pack mates fought with the fury for which Space Wolves were renowned. The two men had been brothers before they were chosen by the Wolf Priests, and had fought side by side in every battle since. They would defeat their enemies or fall together. With a mighty war cry, the rest of the retinue surged through the gate to engage the defenders within.

An Eldar Farseer and his Warlock bodyguard emerged from behind the control tower to meet the Imperial attackers. The doors of a nearby hangar burst open, and a towering Wraithlord strode out onto the tarmac. Logan bellowed his rage and charged the lanky war machine. Morkai, held firmly in its master’s fist, howled in its lust for battle. It longed to taste the blood of their foes, and Grimnar intended to oblige. As he rushed forward, the ancient Pelt of Wulfen bent light around his massive form. Shots from the walker’s scatter laser failed to find their mark as the shimmering and blurry figure closed with his opponent.

The Rune Lord Runvard marched forward to fight the Eldar commander and his retinue. Runvard’s weapon, a relic psycannon from ages past, spat bolts of psychic force at his adversary. The arcane runes of the Farseer’s armour deflected the shots. Asulf and Thorolf rushed forward to assist the priest. Each engaged two of the Warlocks accompanying the Eldar wizard, leaving Runvard free to deal with him one-on-one. Ulfgrim and Brother Gunulf continued toward one of the shuttles. Half a dozen Striking Scorpions sprang from its covering bulk to assault the Marines. Ulfgrim fired a burst from his cannon, and two fell. Gunulf bathed the rest in an unrelenting crimson inferno from his heavy flamer. The still-burning Scorpions danced about briefly in their death throes, their fiery corpses succumbing to the flames just short of the advancing Wolves. The Wolves left their fallen foes behind, small fires still guttering on the charred bodies, and continued on to their objective.

Ulfgrim spared a moment to glance over his shoulder at the melee behind them. Asulf had disemboweled one of his foes and was locked in a lethal embrace with the other. He caught the Warlock’s Witchblade in one claw, and neatly beheaded him with the other. Thorolf stood over the shattered form of his fallen adversaries, howling his rage to the skies. Only a closer look showed Ulfgrim that one of the Witchblades was lodged in Thorolf’s chest. ‘Avenge me!’ Thorolf screamed with his last breath as he fell to the pavement. His brother Asulf howled in anguish and fury, and the Eldar seemed to hesitate momentarily at the sound. Runvard redoubled his attack, smiting the Farseer with his glowing force axe. The startled Farseer barely parried the heavy blade, but the sheer energy of the Rune Lord’s onslaught still drove his enemy to the ground.

Grimnar had closed with the Wraithlord, but a smoking crater in his shoulder pauldron evidenced the spirit warrior’s prowess. With one swipe of its great fist, it tore Logan’s storm bolter from his armoured gauntlet. As it raised its other fist to batter the Great Wolf down, Logan spun with the impact, smashing Morkai into the walker’s vulnerable knee joint. It toppled to the ground, helpless. The Great Wolf clambered up onto the fallen machine and brought the bloodthirsty weapon down again and again, until the ruined machine lived no more.

Ulfgrim could see the rest of his company approaching the field, falling back as overwhelming Eldar opposition harried them. They would reach the launch pad in time, but unless there was some way to stem the tide of the enemy, his comrades would never safely board the shuttles, much less leave the pad. Sensing his duty, Ulfgrim turned back toward the gate. 

 

* * *

 

Almost all of the surviving Marines had passed through the gate, but the enemy was nearly in firing range. Eisen, the Iron Priest, was preparing the shuttles for launch as the soldiers embarked. ‘Brother Gunulf, it is time for you to go,’ Ulfgrim said bluntly. His comrade, knowing the sacrifice his Pack Leader was about to make, accepted the order with sanguine serenity. Clapping his old friend on the shoulder, Gunulf said ‘Your bravery will be remembered, my Brother. As long as even one Space Wolf lives on, your courage will be sung in the Great Hall.’ Ulfgrim nodded, regretting only that his gene-seed would probably not be recovered for future generations of Wolves. But the price he was about to pay would ensure that the Space Wolves would live on. He watched grimly as his best friend turned and loped toward the waiting shuttle.

As the lead elements of Eldar closed in, Ulfgrim took up his position under the gate’s massive arch. Chanting an ancient war song, he began to open fire with his cannon. Alien upon alien fell to the reaping scythe of projectiles. He stopped only for a moment to reload, but never faltered in his chanting. The casualties piled up before him, an altar of grisly sacrifice to the will of the Emperor. Still the enemy continued their onslaught. The barrel of his weapon began to glow the color of the Firewolf's maw, bright with the heat of the Emperor's justice, yet he continued to fire, pausing only to reload once again. An alarm blared in his helmet speakers. ‘Warning! Weapon at critical temperature!’ The Space Wolf grimly ignored the alarm, ceasing neither his song nor the rain of fire he was bringing down upon the advancing foe. More Eldar went down to his hail of slugs, and never did he stop chanting or firing. Return fire began to strike him. Some shots even penetrated his armour, but in his steely resolve he paid them no mind. Before long, even a warrior such as Ulfgrim would not be able to stave off the seemingly endless waves of aliens. Even as he felt the rumble beneath his feet that told him the shuttles were lifting off, the white-hot barrel of his cannon drooped and jammed. *Weapon Malfunction* flashed in his helmet display. He jettisoned the weapon. There was no longer a need for it. Activating his missile system, he glanced briefly at the status on his heads-up display. The tubes held his last full reload of missiles, but even a dozen missiles would not be enough. He activated the locking mechanisms that would hold the missiles in the tubes. Soon, he would join Russ. Soon, it would be his personal Wolftime. 

The smoke from his hail of fire now obscured the battlefield from normal sight. Ulfgrim switched to infrared and watched the numbers in his range finder dwindle as the Eldar forces continued to approach. He needed to wait until the main body had closed to within twelve meters. From the smoke, a pair of Howling Banshees emerged to assault the stalwart Space Marine. Their wailing war cries did not strike terror in his heart. He was possessed by the calm of a warrior who had accepted his own inevitable death. He was willing to pay the price, and cared not to count the cost. He smashed his targeter into the facemask of the first Banshee. Her wailing ceased as his powerful armoured fist tore through metal, flesh and bone. He felt the bite of the second Eldar’s blade as she drove it through his arm. His hand lashed out and locked around her wrist. He was sure she could see the grin behind his face plate, just as he was sure he could see the terror in her eyes as an understanding of his plan dawned upon her. Ulfgrim laughed as he overrode the launch failsafe and gave the command to launch a full salvo. ‘For Russ! For the All-Father!” was his final shout, but only the Howling Banshee heard it as it was drowned out by the sound of a dozen missiles detonating simultaneously in the launcher. He felt excruciating pain tear through his body as he was engulfed in a searing white light.

 

* * *

 

Ulfgrim opened his eyes. He seemed to be lying on his back, but he could feel nothing, as if he were disconnected from all other senses but vision. Through blurred eyes, he could see only the timbered ceiling above and the flickering of torchlight at the edges of sight. Looking down upon him was the Primarch himself. He could not fail to recognize the face of Leman Russ. Then his vision began to clear, and Eisen the Iron Priest gazed down upon him as well. Ulfgrim realized that the first man must be Ulrik the Slayer, the Wolf Priest who had saved him, decades ago, from a watery grave. “Be just and fear not, Brother Ulfgrim. You will live to fight many more battles,” Ulrik declared. “Your packmates sing of the heroism of Ulfgrim Alvsbane, slayer of Eldar.” The grizzled old Wolf Priest was the oldest living Space Wolf. Only the Iron-Fathers, the dreadnoughts who slumbered in the vaults beneath the Fang, were older. The oldest of these man-machines had fought alongside Russ in the days of the Heresy. Each and every one of them ranked among the Chapter’s most valiant heroes. Now he would join their ranks, fighting only the worthiest foes, living with them in their sacred Hall until the day that Russ returned - until the Wolftime.

 

* * *

 

The assembled Priests of the Chapter sat in rapt attention as he finished his tale. It was in this way, through the oral tradition of those who fought the battles of the past, that the history of the Chapter was preserved. The Iron-Fathers were the living link to the days of yore. The saga recounted, all of the Priests save one stood up and filed from the chapel. Ulrik the Slayer approached him and laid a gauntlet on Ulfgrim’s adamantium sarcophagus. Words from a long-dead bondsman echoed across the gulf of time as the ancient Wolf Priest said, “Iron-Father Alvsbane? It is time.”

FIN

 

 

Here is a picture of Ulfgrim as a Wolf Guard, sketched by a friend of mine:

 

Here's the conversion I made for him when we played back in 2nd Edition:

 

Here's the original dreadnought model I used for him, and a WIP of the newer one I began working on when the SW Venerable Dreadnought model came out (note the Striking Scorpion squashed under his foot to commemorate his title):

 

I thank you for letting me share my most exciting 40K memory, for taking the time to read my battle report and the story it inspired, and I really hope you all have enjoyed my post!

 

 

Edited November 17, 2017 by Ulfgrim Alvsbane

[robofish7591]

When the deathwatch codex came out I dove into it, I really liked how much character the models had.  One of my friends got into deathwatch too, so we decided to play a deathwatch vs deathwatch game.  During the game his corvus blackstar drops into hover to drop off a kill team, between the corvus and the enemy troops my midfield is just annihilated.  With most of my antitank weapons gone at this point of the game, I really only have one option to take out his corvus, I have a killteam with a power fist armed black shield flying around in my own corvus.  The kill team was armed with shotguns, so they really aren't going to be much help.  I decide to charge anyway.

 

My corvus drops into hover mode and as the rest of the kill team jumps out and starts waving their shotguns menacingly at the hovering enemy flyer, the black shield leaps out of his own plane to uppercut the other one out of the sky.  The resulting explosion even killed some of the enemy troops too!

 

I had rolled ridiculously well on that attack, with almost all of my attacks hitting and I think I even rolled two explodes results.  It was pretty hilarious, and it was the highlight of that game for both of us.  I still make sure that black shield makes it into all my deathwatch lists.

[dtse]

Mine is kind of weird. As you may know I run the CanHammer YouTube channel. Part of the channel features hobby videos of me doing whatever I’m doing. Compared to our battle reports they get very few views. So recently I thought about stopping them altogether because while they garner few views they take as much time to make and edit as a batrep. And I feel like I’m just talking to myself all the time. Which I kind of am.

 

Anyway the story is that one day I got a private message from one of our subscribers who I presume is one that actually watches those videos. And he said something very simple.

 

“I love your hobby videos. They don’t get as many views as your batreps but they are your best videos by far IMO. They inspire me all the time to continue to hobby and improve just like you have over the last year. Keep doing them!”

 

So that’s my story of inspiration.

[Frater Cornelius]

I've got a short story about DA from when Khorne Daemonkin release. I was messing around with some DA units just to try them out.

The game was 1850 against KDK. It was an extremely close game. I had DWK, Belial and the LSV, but they didn't really surprise, they carried the game as was expected of them. I had Tacs and a Nephilim, but they didn't really make the difference.

 

No, the real heroes were a Scout Squad and a Venerable Dreadnought. The details are a little hazy, but I'll try to recall them.

 

The Scouts were charged by 5 Khorne Dogs and 3 dudes died on the charge, one dude the next turn, but they did 5 wounds to the dogs I believe. The last Scout held out until the last turn, reducing the unit down to one dog with 1W before failing one save. Boy, I wish we had the re-roll Stratagem back then :D

 

The Venerable Dread started out slow, taking a few shots with his Assault Cannon. But then came the Melta bikes... and left right after, because the Dread did not die and killed them in return. He then continued to smash his way through the opponents, before ending up infront of a vanilla Bloodthirster. They fought and the Dread smashed him, too, surviving the encounter.

 

My opponent called those two models the 'Slaughter Buddies'. Apparently, the Blood God was pleased. But I didn't care, because I was even more pleased with this rather unlikely experience :D

[Riptor]

Oh, a lovely idea and very kind of you.

 

I actually have a fairly recent memory that I think will stick out in my mind. I must say though, this is neither related to my Dark Angels force, nor in fact is 40k, rtaher taking place 10,000 years earlier.
Playing a game of 30k against my main opponent a couple of months ago, my Night Lords against his Word Bearers.

 

Now, a little background on both lists. My friend tends to enjoy playing flyer heavy armies, with his Word Bearers revolving around two Storm Eagles delivering a payload of some 40 marines right behind my back lines. Meanwhile, my Night Lords are very infantry-hate list which evolved in part due to my local meta being infantry heavy, so I was not prepared to take on these two storm eagles in the slightest.

So it is top of turn 2 (he won the first turn), and not a lot has happened yet. Both of his storm eagles arrived, and make a beeline for the centre of the board where my forces are most concentrated. One storm eagle is holding Lorgar Transfigured, an Apothecary and 17 marines, so that one is my main worry. Having nothing in the way of anti-tank I took a pot shot with one of my LR Proteus' lascannons at it, hoping to do some kind of damage. Rolled a 6 to hit, the 4+ required to penetrate, followed by another 6 to destroy the flyer outright. It crashed and burned, totally missing all of my models, and killing every single model inside with the exception of Lorgar.

 

My friend and I were both stunned to silence at this unlikely scenario, and after a few minutes of laughing we continued our game. Through the next turns the other Storm Eagle unloaded it payload, and Lorgar joined up with these marines and charged my veteran squad (along with Sevatar). Not to be outdone by a simple Land Raider, and in a move that I hope would make A D-B proud, Sev and his boys proceeded to tank Lorgars squad and the golden skinned primarch himself for the rest of the game. Bit by bit their squads dwindled until only the Prince of Crows and the Aurelian remained, locked in a battle that overshadowed anything that I have seen in a game since.

 

After the game ended we couldn't bear to leave that fight unfinished. Turn 5 finished the game (and I actually don't recall who won), but we decided to continue Sev and Lorgars battle. On what would have been turn 6, Lorgar crushed Sevatar with his mace, defeating him instantly. The prince of crows managed to tie Lorgar up for exactly as long as I needed him to, and not a moment more.

Edited November 18, 2017 by Riptor

[Pearson73]

First off, I'd just like to say how generous this is; it's folk like you who really make the B&C what it is.

 

My tale takes place back in the mists of sixth edition, where my warband of Slaanesh worshipping renegade Astartes fell upon the stoic multitudes of the Imperial Guard:

 

Rank upon rank of the weakling mortals, backed up by armoured elements and emplaced artillery, faced off against the forces of chaos across an expanse curiously devoid of terrain. Undaunted, the mechanised elements of the traitor forces sped forwards, dodging artillery blasts and searing energy bolts that shredded the supporting infantry squads. One by one, the Rhino personnel carriers were reduced to burnt out wrecks and eventually even the mighty Land Raider that carried the warband's dread lord was transfixed upon multiple las beams, reduced to a smoking ruin as basilisk shells landed amongst the dazed occupants crawling from the twisted exit hatches.

 

Bolt shells ripped forth out of the smoke that hung heavy over the battlefield as the last remaining renegade warriors charged into the midst of the imperial lines. Only the lord Cantek Tor and his two chosen bodyguard were left of the original assault force, with screams of praise to their dark master, they hurled themselves upon the humans, blood arcing high into the air with each swing of tainted blades. Slowly the two elite warriors were dragged down by the masses, Tor strode through the storm of grenades, plasma and las fire, grimacing in pain as shots pierced weak points of his battered war-plate. Knowing his end was nigh, the lord charged, pistol spitting incandescent death, even as his ancient blade crackled with dark power...

 

Silence rained over the corpse strewn plain, the hulls of once mighty battle tanks belched greasy smoke high into the air, bringing a premature nightfall. Of the traitors, none remained alive, however the Imperial forces were equally ravaged, with but a Chimera transport vehicle and heavily damaged Vanquisher battle tank surviving. Though but one man, if an Astartes can ever be described so, the chaos lord had personally taken the lives of fifty-three men, including the company and platoon commanders of the force, ruined an armoured transport and silenced the guns of a Leman Russ.

[Greenz]

3 years in a row! Jbaeza, your generosity is truly incredible brother!

 

While I don’t know if I can top Anarchs painful tale, I’ll throw in with a fuzzy evening going back about 15 years

 

I was probably about 19. No, wait, I was definitely 19*. My buddies parents were away on vacation, so we decided to enjoy ourselves a few small games of my DW vs his Nids, along with a couple cases of beer. After the first couple games and a few cold ones, we decided to spice things up a bit. We agreed on a house rule: at the beginning of our turn, if we had finished a beer we could place a bottle anywhere on the table as a spore chimney. After a few more alcoholic beverages, the game was definitely getting lively.

 

For our 4th game of the night, we were getting rather inebriated. A couple turns in we decided to turn it up a notch: at any point in either players turn we could place a “spore chimney”. Well, this resulted in several bottles being hastily upended and slammed onto the table, blocking LOS and overall just being pains to each other. My personal favourite was a perfectly timed placement denying him a crucial charge of his genestealers!

 

The next morning we came down and saw our shenanigans in a sober light. The table was covered in empties and models!** I didn’t win a single game all night, but that hardly mattered. It was probably the single most enjoyable game of my hobbying career!

 

*the legal drinking age in Ontario, Canada is 19. Therefor we must have been that age, of course ;) Under no circumstances am I promoting, nor endorsing the consumption of alcohol to minors. Though you are missing out!

 

** to the best of my knowledge, no livers were harmed in the production of this story

[Dark Luke]

So recently had a doubles match. We each used a 1000pts in a game of relic. The team holding the relic at the end of 5 turns basically wins.

Anyway I ran a 1000pts of ravenwing and my friend used 1000pts of ultramarines and opposition used a 1000pts of orks and ynnari ( I know weird allies)

 

Anyway they went first, I managed to make all my saves for everything that was fired at me and my friend lost 6/7 primaris marines in turn one.

Our turn came round and we moved ready to attack. My dark talon had flown over a 20 man unit of ork boyz. And drops the bomb it’s carrying killing 7.

Straight into physic phase I manage to take 4 wounds from wave serpent with smite and my friend kills 2 ork boyz with smite. Both aversion and might of heroes go off also.

 

After flying over them boys I decided to try mop up the remaining 13 with my hurricane bolters, managing to take off another 10 leaving just 3.

 

My friend fires his units knocking 4/5 wounds off a unit of kill kans and killing another 7 ork boyz from another unit of 20.

 

After finishing shooting phase we rolled into assault phase. I decide to charge both a unit of black knights into the remaining 2 kills kans and sending sammael, my ancient and apothecary following them. The kans are wiped out along with a mek boy (Ork mechanic?)

by the knights and they’re warlord sammael.

My friend destroyed a unit of def koptass with a unit of terminators he had deepstriked that turn.

 

So with our turn one over we’d managed to wipe out roughly 800pts in turn one.

Both me and my friend grinning like Cheshire cats

 

I probably could of been abit more descriptive with what went on but that game was one of them games where everything just fell into place and the dice gods where very good to us

 

Hope you enjoyed it

 

Luke

[Chmur]

So, as I will not have any better story, I will do a write up about how I got into the world of Warhammer.

 

My first initial contact with Warhammer has been around the year 2000 when my classmates in high-school started playing Warhammer Fantasy Battles and Magic the Gathering. I loved their great figures (it was Bretonia and Dwarves that I saw, still remember it clearly to this day)... however, as MtG was fairly easier to source, at that time both money and location wise, I started dabbling with MtG.

 

Fast forward 5 years, at the end of the first year at uni we have got nostalgic with some former classmates who have moved on to study in the same city as I were, and we decided to see if Magic is still alive and kicking. In the shop we went to play and get our booster packs, was active Warhammer league and tournaments. They had the boxes (and at that time we still got the huge boxes of whole battalions and armies) displayed. It was then that I learned there is something like Warhammer 40K. I still did not play or purchase any model at that time - still too expensive compared to Magic (not really in total, but at the way you had to fund the hobby) and as I didn't know anyone in the community and my friends didn't want to start it with me, I have it a pass... sort of.

 

I have bought my first Warhammer books to read. I did what many do, and went with William King - both for Fantasy (Slayer series) and with 40K - Space Wolves series. And I became a huge Space Wolves fanboy - in theory. I mean, what's not to like? Space vikings? How cool can that be, am I right? My dabbling with Warhammer as a game then ended with me purchasing 40K rulebook to learn what is needed to play and dropping it as "cba" at this point.

 

Fast forward 10 years to 2015ish - already past my career of MtG pro player ;) and just finishing my judge exams for MtG and running my own little club, enjoying my games of Modern, Legacy and very casual Commander with the guys at pub, I have met (my now) wife. That meant some drastic changes in my life, like moving cities, countries, leaving my Magic friends behind... I took my cards, of course! In the new city, I tried to get back into the MtG playing but it didn't really feel... engaging. And then, one friday evening, playing at FNM (Friday Night Magic - basically the least competetive get-together-to-play-some-games event in Magic world) I sat at my third game against a kid (I think he was like 14 or so), flicking his cards and being so over-hyped to get a win - then it hit me. This is not for me anymore. I've been that kid at the opposite side of the table before, but now I was a husband, a grown man (they say) and moreover, it was not fun to just play cards if there was no one fun to play them with/against.

 

Opposite on the same street (and 2 doors down) of the store where I used to play Magic, has been a shop with "nerd" and metal peripheria - you can get anything from Dr. Martens shoes to funko-pop of Groot in there, as well as collectible figures of movie etc props. And they had this big sign saying "Games Workshop" overhead. As I was slowly transitioning out of Magic at that point and picked up scale model building (as another forgotten child hobby I now had the possibility to just pick-up, try and see if I like) I one day sat at the desk, building something and pondering all my Black Library books in my library, the old dusty 40K rulebook I have always kept and occasionally flicked the pages of to see those awesome models and battles... I made the decision.

 

I started investigating into the local 40K scene - thinking that worst case, I will build and paint few models like I always wanted to for the sake of building the models and painting them and never play them (but hey, that's one thing off my bucket list!). Oh boy was I in for a surprise. I found out a very engaged and passionate community of people willing to teach me anything from rules to painting tips, I found plethora of "old farts" who really just enjoyed playing the game for playing the game's sake - I had so many losses that were bloody enjoyable battles I can't even remember them all!

 

 

What started then at the end of 2015 has been one hell of a ride. I went back looking for Space Wolves, but as the Dark Vengeance was the cheap kit at that time (and remember, I wanted something cheap to model at that time) I got into Dark Angels. I never wanted a full-out Chaos and never felt like Xenos player, so I started investigating about these brooding robed guys... and I fell in love. I fell in love with the Chapter, fell in love with the models, fell in love with the hobby that allows me to convert the hell out of all plastic kits, that allows me to hobby on my own free time and then pick up games with others... Yes, there were rough patches where I left 40K for about a year for AoS as I hated how complicated 7th was (for new player to memorize all the rules, books, opponent armies) but hey, I am now back, stronger than ever and already expanding my hobby projects so wide that I have no idea what to do first!

 

I have just finished painting my Shadespire warbands (from starter box so far) as my wife likes Shadespire. I have boxes of Skaven to be painted. I have all new Primaris boxes lying behind me that I need to get to doing - seriously the kits are modeler's heaven! I have box of Calth and Prospero that I need to split between my Consecrators and my new project - 30K Alpha Legion that will dabble in 40K first...

 

Yeah...

[Kyttie]

I don't know how mine competes to some of these hilarious stories but there was one story that instantly sprung to mind...

 

 

Quite a few years ago when i was getting one of my friends into 40k, i took him to a local store that had gaming tables that you could rent out. when we got to the store we realized a tournament was about to start, and after a game with my friend (i think we only played like 500 or 750pts) i ended up filling in for someone at the tournament. Anyway like 3 rounds in (semi finals i think) i was playing a guy who i'd seen a couple of times in the store, he was playing his tyranid force which he had spent some ridiculous amount of time painting it. about an hour into the game my friend went to get us all drinks and snacks, and on his way back in as he opened the door, i kid you not a HUGE pigeon flew threw the door, kamikaze dived into the table and broke no less than 3/4 of this guys army (after parts getting crushed and then pushed off the table). Needless to say that the guy went silent for a minute, then had a brief spout of rage, before we all had talked him round bought him a beer and were laughing about it.

[Chaplain Raeven]

You crazy bugger. You're the brother we need, but not the one we deserve. 

 

I haven't played many games yet, but I do remember the only game I ever won. I was playing with a Deathwing army in 7th edition, where I had 2 squads of scouts and a Librarian with all the rest filled out with 3 squads of Terminators, including a Librarian in TDA. My opponent played with Dark Eldar, where all his troops were in transport, he had jetbikes and he had a flyer. I thought I had lost before we even started playing. Luckily we played the Relic.

 

The scouts and their commander died fast, really fast. I was lucky enough that one guy survived the barrage from his complete army long enough to Deepstrike my terminators in. I teleported them right at the relic, where my Librarian in TDA took it in custody. My round of shooting was horrible. I took down 2 hullpoints of his transports, even with all the rerolls. He butchered a squad  and hit a second pretty bad, while the 3rd squad ran away with the relic. I had basicly lost 4/5 of my guys by the end of round 3.

 

In turn 4 my opponent finally parked a transport close by to finish up the wounded squad, which only had 2 Terminator left. The Dark Eldar shot their pistols, killing one Terminator, but failed their charge! I knew I couldn't kill the squad with one guy, so I charged the transport instead to keep them away from the relic. I managed to get the 10" charge, and bashed the transport to the ground, making it explode as a result. Half the squad died from the explosion, it was a glorious sight! The terminator didn't survive the turn afterwards though.

 

During the same round, my last squad with the relic was getting hammered from all sides. The flyer took down most guys. The barrage of fire took down every single terminator and reduced my Librarian to one wound. At the start of round 5, the Librarian was surrounded by 2 squads of jetbikes, 2 full transports and a flyer. That crazy bastard saved EVERY. SINGLE. WOUND! It won me the game, since the roll to continue the game came out in my favour. It's the only game I still remember, and I haven't played more than 10 since I started the hobby.

[StormLion]

Despite being 31, a sci-fi and fantasy (not the same thing) geek, and lover of RPGs and action video games, I've just gotten into the WH40k. So I don't have any stories of amazing victories or heart wrenching losses. Instead, I have a story about my newbie self over reaching and thus screwing up, resulting in me having to spend more money to fix the problem(s). 

 

It involved my first Redemptor Dreadnought (I have 2...well 2.5 you'll see). I decided that I wanted to try and magnetize the weapon arm so I could swap in and out depending on the game. I bought everything I needed, watched a video that made it seem really easy...then totally messed it up. The magnets on the guns were too "out" and the magnet on the arm flipped around, moved too much, and ended up too deep into the arm. I ended up cutting way the arm and then trying to rebuild it with green stuff (also the first time I used that). While I may have lived with it (it wasn't pretty but it was serviceable), it wasn't the only mistake I made on that model. For those of you who have purchased the Redemptor, you know that on the legs there is that "piston" that goes from the crotch to the hip. Its pinched between two pieces and meant to not be glued on the hip. Its a son of a b to get done right. Anyway, I botched the job...on both legs. I they free-wheeling parts on the crotch glued so I could maneuver it and then I couldn't get the piston where it belong on the legs. It was a disaster! I ended up cutting out the piston and I was just going to let it go. But looking at it (this was before I glued the top to the now screwed up legs) I couldn't let the screw up legs and the screwed up arm/guns go. 

 

What did I do? Ebay. I ended up finding the guns, should, and legs all on ebay and rebuilt nearly the whole damn thing. I then ripped off the messed up legs from the base and re-used the base. 

 

I've decided to keep the legs and guns as a monument to my failure. They serve as a reminder that I need to crawl before I can run and to not get ahead of myself. Since then, whenever I've thought about getting crazy, I've looked at them, taken a breath, and told myself "take your time."

[Helycon]

I would just like to tip my hat and commend you for your generosity good sir!

And I wish everyone good luck and good fun in the competition!

[jbaeza94]

I would just like to tip my hat and commend you for your generosity good sir!

And I wish everyone good luck and good fun in the competition!

Why don't you enter as well? Your welcome to join

[HsojVvad]

Just coming back to the hobby after dealing with depression and life. So nice to see that we are so friendly here and someone is willing to do something nice for perfect strangers. 

 

For my story, I don't have much stories to tell, but it was back in 4th edition Dark Angel codex when the the 5th edition Space Marine codex came out. I played my first ever tournament. Not knowing the rules everyone was very nice to me. A few people kept saying, "why are you using the Dark Angels codex, use the Space Marine one.". I replied "no it's ok, I want to use my codex."  Funny, I am stubborn that way. I guess I fit in perfectly being a Dark Angel. I got crushed, but had a blast. Had some good funny stories how Azzy got scared and ran away (failing a morale test) and how Belial fell over his shoe laces crossing dangerous terrain.  

 

I forgot my way after that. Life, depression. Only started playing again, because we finally have a gaming store and now it brought people back playing 40K again. So when we finally got a new codex in 7th and 7th edition there was nobody to play with until end of 7th. 

 

Now I have come back and realized after reading these posts I truely have lost my way, and while I forgot what I said back in 5th edition I will try and repeat it from what I can remember. This is aimed at no one buy myself so I can reinvigorate my passion for the Dark Angels. This is a reminder for me of what passion I lost. Just remember this was for 5th edition back then, but I am trying to make it into today for myself.  I am digging out my Dark Angels and can't wait to restart my army. So here goes. 

 

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I am a Dark Angel

 

I am a Dark Angel. I play as a Dark Angel. I don't play to win, I play to have fun. I play because I am passionate about the Dark Angels. I love the fluff. I love the minis. I love the history. While it may have lied dormant, I have Dark Angel blood in me. I like how we have different ways to play. I love how we have different character to play. While the rules may not regulate to it, I can take pride in my minis when I field them on the field as Dark Angels and not Space Marines in green. I do not knock off the the players who use the 5th edition Space Wolf codex to play as Dark Angels, for they do so because it gives they minis character with rules to play as Dark Angles. They do not do it to win, but to play as Dark Angels that our 4th edition codex does not let us do. 

 

We do not need to win. We play to win yes, but we play for fun. We use the Dark Angels codex or play as Dark Angles that uses rules that can be relayed as Dark Angels when we play. We still loose. We still smile because we are playing with what we love. With what we are passionate about. While we may loose a lot, we do win sometimes. OH how much if the victory so much sweeter when we do win with our 4th edition codex or rules that represent Dark Angels. 

 

I love our minis. I love the style of them. I love how we can paint them in multiple ways. We can paint them green. We can paint the white. We can paint them black. We can paint them any colour we want and we are always still as one. 

 

Yes we may cry. Yes we may pout and complain. We act like little children having tantrums because our rules are bad or our rules don't really let us play as Dark Angels. Why do we complain? We complain because we are passionate about what we are. We love our history. We love our lore. Again, while we all love to win, we don't need to win. Why don't we need to win? Because we play Dark Angels. If we needed to win, we would be playing another army. Those armies do not give us joy though. Our modelling, our painting, our conversions, blood sweet and tears go into our minis. We take pride of our Dark Angel minis when we place them on the battlefield. While we know we face an uphill battle because our codex our the rules we choose to use, "gimp" us, we play like we are Dark Angels. You can say we are stubborn. No matter the odds, we still continue to play, just like our Brethen who lost their lives to the Genestealers. They didn't balk. They took on the odds and lost.

 

So while we may complain like little children that we have it so bad compared to others, we are only human. So we are unlike Dark Angels that way, that we misbehave that way. Again we are just human. We are also very much like the minis we play with as well. Because we are human, we are passionate. No matter the rules, we still buy our minis. We still enjoy modelling them. We still enjoy converting them. We still enjoy painting them. We have passion when we play them. 

 

While I may have lost my way, I found my way home. 

 

I am Dark Angel.

 

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So nice to be back, Home. 

Edited November 27, 2017 by HsojVvad