Squig's Space Wolves - A Repainting 18/04/16

[Big Bad Squig]

Its really dark, but I like it. Quite menacing.

 

Are you ETLing this year?

 

Thanks man!  I might make my first foray into the ETL this year, although I'm not too familiar with it.  I suspect I'd be pledging for the AoD subforum though (you can only paint for one, right?) if I did it.

 

In other news, I finished off the base.  I settled on Prospero themed ones after brainstorming fun things to do on bigger based things.  But more on that later.  Here's how the wolf is looking in his current state:

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/4/19/793725_md-.JPG

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/4/19/793726_md-.JPG

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/4/19/793727_md-.JPG

 

Not the best photos, but they show pretty decently what I've tried to achieve.

 

Squig out.

[Cry Wolf]

Great work on everything in here mate!

Whatd you use for the glass mate, it looks awesome, im just working on some Prospero Bases and made some "glass" out of blister pack plastic but they look nowhere as good as yours

[Dantay VI]

Which glue did you use, to avoid frosting the plastic?

 

Good luck with the ETL whether it be with AoD or The Wolves. And yes you can only vow for one forum.

[Nadir]

White glue works fine.

[MaveriK]

Long time no post haha very nice! I love the painting and the base.

[Big Bad Squig]

Great work on everything in here mate!

 

Whatd you use for the glass mate, it looks awesome, im just working on some Prospero Bases and made some "glass" out of blister pack plastic but they look nowhere as good as yours

 

Thanks!  My glass is plastic too, (though not GW blister plastic) although it took a couple of tries to get right.

 

Which glue did you use, to avoid frosting the plastic?

 

Good luck with the ETL whether it be with AoD or The Wolves. And yes you can only vow for one forum.

 

Trusty PVA, my friend!

 

Long time no post haha very nice! I love the painting and the base.

 

Glad you like it!

 

 

ÖNDURDÍS ORIANNOR

               

                In the ashes of Prospero, may I taste the blood of the traitor,

                Never showing mercy.

                In the ashes of Prospero, may I pass judgement,

                Never showing remorse.

                In the ashes of Prospero, may I ever hunt my quarry,

                Never forgetting,

                Never forgiving,

                Never yielding.

 

                From the ashes of Prospero may I rise again.

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798212_md-.JPG

 

 

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798213_md-.JPG

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798214_md-.JPG

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798215_md-.JPG

 

http://images.dakkadakka.com/gallery/2016/5/6/798216_md-.JPG

 

 

 

                The blood on the ground was fresh.  The air around it tasted of it.  The traitor had been near.  He could feel it.  He stepped forwards silently, hand resting on his dagger.  The cracked paving stones beneath him made little sound as he walked.  Only the sound of a light breeze rustling scattered pieces of singed paper disturbed the silence.  The quiet day was an irony to him.  This world was mocking him, even in death.  This is the day that you will die, it said through the whistling of the wind through ruined houses and ribcages picked clean of flesh by flames.  This is the day that you will die.  Listen to the silence and the calm and the peace.  It is the last thing you will hear.

                He shook away these thoughts.  He had stared death in the face, and howled, and death had fled to cower among the ruins.  He had nothing to fear from death.  Footsteps disturbed the quiet.  He looked towards the sound’s source.  A child, picking her way over bones and shattered glass.  He watched her for a moment.  She did not see him, coated as he was in dust and blood.  He blended in.  He weighed up a thought in his mind for a moment.  She was innocent.  Not deserving of death.  And then a face appeared in his field of view.

                So were we, brother, the face said.  We were innocent.  And now we are simply more corpses to blight this ground.  We were simply doing as the Emperor had asked, and they cut us down without question.

                They must be punished.  He stalked closer, no longer caring about the sound he made.  No matter how fast, a child could not outrun him.  He drew his dagger, feeling its weight in his hand.  It seemed heavier than it should have been.  The child turned.  Staggered back, turned to run.  He caught her in one loping stride, moving to strike.

                “Wait,” came a voice.  “Stop.”

                It was the Thousand Son.

                “You,” he said, releasing the child.

                “Am I to know you?”

                “You murdered my brothers.  Every last one of them.”

                “And you mine, it would seem,” the Thousand Son responded, glancing at the bloody knife.  “I suppose we have that in common.”

                “I have come to finish what was started.”

                “What is your name, Wolf?” the Thousand Son asked.

                “Never forgetting.”

                “What is your name?”

                “Never forgiving.”

                “Alright,” said the Thousand Son, sighing.  “It has come to this.  After everything we fought for, it will be ended by one broken warrior with a blade.  You came to my world.                  You burnt my city.  You are not who has been wronged.  You are not betrayed.  That word can only be used those civilians lying dead because of you and your Legion’s justice.”

                “Never yielding.”  They were the only words he had left.

                He took a final step forward.  The Thousand Son drew his dagger in response.

                A moment of emptiness.

                And then he lunged.

 

                ************

 

                He lay curled up next to the body of the Thousand Son, clutching at the knife in his stomach.  His vision was cloudy, red specked.  The wind whistled through ruined houses, and ribcages picked clean.

                “From the ashes of Prospero may I rise again.”