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Amidst Brethren we Bleed-(Omegon 2.0)

Horus Heresy Blood Angels Alpha Legion Night Lords Iron Warriors

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#51
Skalpynock

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Now I could go with the obvious and just assume that's a Thunder Warrior, but the white and red… Albian Ironside?


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Legio IX: the Warbringers Proto-Legio IX: the Steel Guard

Legio IV: the Void Eagles Proto-Legio IV: the Morning Stars

 


#52
The Observer

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Hey guys! Sorry, university and work caught up and I had to write the odd critical paper, but I'm back!
 
I'll cut the brabble and give you some XXth legion flavour!

WP_20160303_011_zps9wmyjfqy.jpg

Veteran Nahm, Veteran-Seeker Squad Oharat-II, 14th Company The Cinderborn

 

"What has burnt, shall arise again, only to perish in flames once more."

                                                                                     

                                                        -The Cinderborn's creed

 

Veteran Nahm, born Terran, was a survivor of the nascent stages of the Ghost Legion. Standing taller than many of his cousins, he was indeed an impressive sight to behold. He, as many of the Cinderborn, chose to embellish his warplate for purely aesthetic reasons, refusing to wear more than the barest minimum of tactical markings. What might strike one as an unusual trait for the Alpha Legion, is a testament to the XXth insidious minds. After all, doesn't the snake only strike after its prey has lost itself in the shimmering scales and deep eyes of the predator?

Nahm was a close and trusted advisor to his Praetor, Harrowmaster Lyr'am. Serving across at least five cousin-legions, with or without their knowledge, Nahm has brought back a wealth of tactical knowledge. His greatest achievement, the infiltration of the vaunted Ist Legion, assured him a position among one of the three Oharat squads, a form of veteran squad pioneered in his legion. Oharat-I, II and III, would serve as Seekers and regular tactical Veteran squads, though with a much bigger wealth of expirience and the capability to change their roles in the midst of battle.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------

 

So, hope you like him! Many people resort to giving bare to none information about their Alphas and while I see the temptation in that, I'll actually resort to describing them a bit more (Not only *Hurr-Durr I am Alpharius* tongue.png) because I think that the culture of the XXth legion offers much fruitfull soil for one's own ideas. I have a few more Veterans of Squad Oharat-II and III lurking on my table (A few even in Mk III flavour!), so expect a few more of them.

On topic of my Night Lords; I have started fleshing out the fluff more, which I will release periodically in this thread. I wanted to explore this idea of loyalty among murderers and traitors. I have a Praetor with Jump-Pack leering at me on my desk (That I still have to paint for this months Legion thread, but psst nobody tell BCK...).

Blood Angels and Iron Warriors are a bit on the backburner as I am slowly painting my B@C marines for them.

 

Now, Unification Era, what am I doing with that? Well, inspired by many talented hobbyists on here (Not the least BCK and Hyaenidae), I have decided to dip my toes into this foggy area of the fluff. This first Sigmarine/Skitarii kitbash was a tester for something I had in mind for a long time.

Readers might have noticed that in my last post containing my NL praetor, I mentioned something called the Helvetian Technocracy. For all that don't know, the Helvetian Republik was one of the names Switzerland had during its time under Napoleon's rule.Without going to deep into the formalities the premise is the following; During WWII the mountains of Switzerland (Especially Gotthard (No, not the band!)) became hosts to several bunkers, incase the Axis decided to attack (Google Swiss Reduit if you are interested on that topic). Between now and the Unification Era, a few things happened.

-A prosperous culture was estabilished, though it waged war often with the Panslavians (Especially from the Yugoslawian region).

-The bunkers were fortified and upgraded, eventually creating a whole Hive-City underneath Gotthard (By now called Goddardia).

-As the first mass-nuclear wars began to take place, the Helvetian elite retreated into the bunker-hive, taken samples of lower-class humans with them.

-Goddardia is basically isolated. Slaves are engineered from the lower-classes. A multi-stage plan is initiated. The scientists decide to tamper with human genetics in an attempt to create post-humans.

-Slaves revolt after several centuries, but are banished to the lowest hive-rings along with failed experiments and criminals.

-Two societies are created: The Helvetian Academics (Think of Rapture at its zenith) and the Exiled (Imagine the prison hives of Albia).

-In the early stages of the Unification Wars, the Emperor decides to estabilish a beachhead in central Europe and decides to use Goddardia to this purpose.

-The Vaults are opened for the first time in millenia. The Emperor takes the Helvetians into his fold (They see him as like minded, a man of science yaddayaddayadda). The Gene-Cohorts serve in the Unification wars, somewhere between Thunder Warriors and Astartes in terms of strength, dexterity etc. However, their minds are still human and not as fortified as Astartes' ones, thus PTSD, fear and the like are a thing.

-The Emperor later on takes many children from the Exiled-hive and the Academy to advance his Legiones Astartes project, as they are some of the few, few, few radiation-free samples left on earth.

-From here on you know the rest.

 

I will be building examples of the Goddardian inhabitants; Gene-cohorts, failed experiments, a scientist and much more. If you have any suggestions (or even wish to partake in this endeavour) do not hesitate and voice your mind! Keep in mind, this is all still very rough. As always, give me your honest criticism, I appreciate it very much!

 

PS: A tutorial for Iron Warriors, Alpha Legion and Death Guard  are on their way smile.png .


Edited by The Observer, 20 April 2016 - 11:01 PM.

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#53
The Observer

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Hey folks!
I've finally managed to get a bit painting done and I'd like to hear your thoughts to my WiP's smile.png

IW20Praetor202_zpsucjq3yqh.jpg
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Brass and iron is almost finished, I just need to put a thinned Nuln Oil wash over both and add some chipping, rust and grime. The yellow also only needs one or two washes, then comes chipping and blood effect. I plan on adding one of the larger IW transfer onto the cape, hope that will work out somehow^^. The base will be a dried earth and noxious sewage mix with sparingly applied dried grass and snow. The pouches, grenades, patina and axe-hilt will serve as contrast points, as I plan on adding olive, khaki-beige and pale turquoise.

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Here is also a picture of my Night Lord's allied Archmagos and I'm immensely happy with his progress! :D The yellow patches are a remnant of the time I planned on adding him to my Iron Warriors but he just didn't do the trick. He looked to slender, wicked and diabolic to be part of my Iron Warriors, so I'll be building a more hulking brute from the Myrmidon Set made by FW. The yellow will be replaced with red, along with a few more specks of red, blood and bone.

 

Hope you enjoy and leave a comment or criticism if you feel like it. I really appreciate it! :)


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#54
The Observer

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XX: The History never to be told
 
"Do you feel well, remembrancer?" The giant took place infront of Lanta. His eyes were the colour of burnt umber, set in a pale face. He was not disfigured like the World Eaters or the Iron Hands she had served, but neither was he as beautiful as the Blood Angels and Emperor's Children she had seen. The Astartes was oddly...plain.
"Yes, Lord Thetum." She was still tired, she always was while traversing the Warp. Her answer was a lie and Thetum knew that. "How can I be of help to you?"
"A good question." The astartes sighed heavily, his turquoise warplate grinding as he did, "I wish you to record."
"Pardon my ignorance, sire, but record what?" Lanta was confused, in her whole time with the XXth legion, she never had recorded a single thing. She had only catalogued heraldry for Forge-Lord Silas, never seeing a single of those picts again.
"The truth." Thetum smiled, "The truth about us, the Cinderborn and the Alpha Legion."
"Is this in accordance with the Harrowmaster?" The remembrancer knew the protocol. Such a thing had to be authorized by no lesser than the praetor.
"Yes it is. I have brought something for you." He offered her a bundle of paper, a pot of dark ink and an iron quil. "I was told, that you prefered older techniques and materials."
Lanta accepted the present with gratitude, the effort must have been immense in gathering these objects.
"I have everything I need, please begin when you feel ready, Lord Thetum." She spoke as she dipped the quil into the vessel. Her hand did not betray her nervousness.
"My name is Thetum, member of the Alpha Legion, soon to be declared traitor and heretic by the very empire I helped building." He exhaled, concentrating only on the scratching sound. "This is the tale of the Cinderborn. My tale. Our tale. Nobodies tale. It will not change a single thing in the events that are to unfold in the comming years, yet it means all the more. An age of fratricide is to be born. Cousins will turn on each other, brethren will bleed and cry and a father's dream will die. First, we have to start at the very beginning. Who are the Cinderborn? Now, we are one of the assault companies of the XXth legion, bringing war to vessels and citadels alike. Once, we were the Emperor's secret knife, the ephemeral  punishment to those who opposed unification."
"Unification?" Lanta asked, stopping her quil. "As in the Great Crusade?"
"No, Lanta," The astartes spoke softly, "Unification as in the Unification of Terra. We were part of the Ghost Legion, we were the Amaranthine Coil, the Undyk's Breath and the Cinderborn. I was born on Terra, as the child of a glass tube. A vat-grown thing, already tampered with before I had even drawn my first breath. I was not the first, not by far. I would go on and witness many things. The opening of Goddardia and the siege of Roma, only to name a few. You look at me with disbelief, remembrancer, but it is true, sons of Alpharius have served the Emperor long before our legion had been officialy founded. But hush, that is a tale for another day."
"Why Cinderborn? What does that name mean?" Lanta asked. Thetum was silent at first, perhaps weighing the answer he was about to give.
"It was given to us after the Battle of the M'rya Trench." He finally spoke.
"Given by whom?" The remembrancer proded, her scraching never ceasing.
"By the Emperor himself." Thetum sighed. "We were maybe a handful, no more than fifty brethren, hidden amongst the Helvetian Gene-cohorts. The brutes were armed with heavy slabs of steel and hydraulic claws, a true phalanx of destruction. We were winning the battle, killing like we were born to. Only a few pockets remained before the earth tore itself apart. Then came the fire. The Sak'arha Theocracy unleashed a barrage of siege weapons, hidden beneath stone and rock, just outside of our auspex. Molten slag and iron rained upon us, killing most of the Cohorts and a dozen of my brethren, among them our leader. We were about to be broken, like badly-tempered steel smashed against a boulder. This is when the Emperor's gaze rested upon us."
"He was there?" For the first time, Lanta looked up again.
"Yes he was." Thetum laughed, "A god in all but name, watching us bleed, testing our strength, our worth. This is when one of us felt the need every soldier feels once in a while; the urge to prove himself, even if it meant dying. He arose from ashes, his grey plate scorched black, clutching one of the steel shields and bearing a primitive bolt carbine in his hand. As he arose, so did we, assassins no more, but warriors. The XXth had no warcry. We blasted them to pieces and cut them apart in utter silence. The battle was won, with much blood, but it was won. This is when we knelt before Him. This is when he spoke to each one of us."
"What did he say? What was his voice like?" This was every remembrancer's dream, Lanta thought.
"Arise, my hidden blades, arise from these ashes you Cinderborn and know, that you have served me well." Thetum was standing, a sudden hardness radiating from his features and voice, "This were the only words I ever heard him speak. With these words he left us that day, just as I leave you now. I shall return when my duty allows it and I will tell you more, remembrancer."
"I shall await your visit, Lord Thetum." Lanta answered as the protocol demanded it.
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#55
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VIII: A good man goes to war
 
It was dark. It always was. The massive ship was creaking as it plowed through the oily nether. Servants draped in deep-blue robes wandered through the iron innards, using small globes or torches to light their way, until they finally found the master's gate. The blast door, fashioned in the likeness of a cephalid monstrosity, loomed over them, its fire-lit glory evoking pictures of ancient temples and forbidden domains.
The leading servant lifted his arm and knocked four times. The master knew that they were here, his post-human body allowing him to smell the blood in their veins and hear the thrumming of their hearts, yet still, traditions needed to be respected. After a short pause, the door slid open with a pressurized hiss and revealed a vast gallery, filled with ancient relics and banners. Amidst this collection of past crusades stood the master.
Clad in his powerarmour, a bastardized mixture of various marks, he turned towards the small procession. He was smiling, not the cruel, sadistic face-gash that most Night Lords called a smile, but a genuine, welcoming smile.
"Greetings, adept Karthima" the giant spoke "What brings you to me?"
"Greetings, Lord Sariel of the Crimson Sons." Karthima's voice was accompanied by a deep buzz, the mark of his freshly implanted vocalizers "We have arrived to deliver armament W-CC-0002101 to you, as you wished t-23 standard hours ago."
"Ah, so you bring me my chainsword?" Sariel chuckled "You bring me Reaver?"
"Yes, your chainsword. What a profane way of describing such a sublime piece of work." The adept grumbled as he turned around, reaching for a bundle of simple, scarlet cloth. It was heavy, very heavy, and Karthima's subtle, implanted hydraulics strained against the weight, but he just about managed to present the gift in a halfway decent manner to his master.
Without a word, the Night Lord slowly reached into the cloth and produced his favoured sword. It was almost as long as he was tall, but far slimmer and more elegant than its brute cousins. Without a ceramite housing, one could see the beauty of the layered chain and its serpentine teeth. It was perfectly balanced, the burnished brass and deep crimson marble decorations were elegant, yet simple. Sariel thumbed the switch and grinned. A few of the adept's followers whinced, expecting the usual screaming of chainswords, but this was no such simple weapon. Reaver let out a soft sigh at first, then the gears kicked in, spinning the teeth so quickly that the sword appeared to have a forged, cutting edge. The sound it emanated was no screeching, but rather a gentle wailing, like the Bain'she in which his albian brethren believed.
Truly, a work of art. Sariel thought to himself. "Thank you, adept Karthima. Please leave and inform the Archmagos that I will be joining him in the Great Awakening."
"Sire" the adept could feel a cold sensation rushing down his spine "May I inquire as to which engagement would require the awakening of all twenty-one dreadnoughts harboured on this ship?"
"Did you not notice?" Sariel was smiling again, but this time there was a certain sadness and pity in his ever-black eyes. "We march for Terra."
There was a long pause. The adept was analyzing and re-evaluating the situation with the new informations. He chose to silently retreat and leave the master to his own thoughts. There was no goodbye, no apology for his ignorance. Not after such a revelation.
 
Sariel was alone now, swinging Reaver in slow, wide arcs across the gallery. He knew this blade better than anything else. It was his oldest and most prized possession. The Himalayzian forges had given birth to it, melding marble, ivory, brass and adamantium into one single piece of art. The teeth never needed replacement, they never needed sharpening, forged from some mystical ore and blessed by the Trihephaistian council.
Sariel's eyes came to rest upon the three names engraved in brass. Irina, Tor-Buhtrak and Haddrak. He had the names engraved again, after they got shorn off in the Thramas-Crusade.
Irina, a gene-forger of the helvetian technocracy, was the woman that helped fashion him into what he was now. A great thinker and even greater step-mother, she had worked with many others to make project Effigia Angelum a full success, while managing to comfort children that did not understand what was happening to them. The mother of paragons... Sariel did not know what happened to her. He had never bothered to find out. Strange, how we tend to forget.
Tor-Buhtrak, proud thunderwarrior and magnificent bastard. The Night Lord grinned. He remembered his old teacher very well, a burly mountain of muscles and iron. He had shown Sariel how to wield a blade and how to gut an enemy. More importantly, he had taught him the importance of brotherhood.
"Your brethren, be they bound by blood or by oath, are the only thing that are truly your own. When all else fails, stand with them." Sariel recited words he knew by heart to the empty darkness. They were the words that had forged the Crimson Sons into what they were now; a tightly knitted company of several thousand men, each and every one of them a true brother. They were still murderers and sadists, but they turned their inner darkness against xenos and enemy, not against the own. A single thunderwarrior's legacy had managed to create a safe haven amidst tides of murderers and betrayers, a place were even the VIIIth had trust in one another.
Haddrak, my cousin. Sariel was by now resting upon his old and simple iron throne, his fingers trailing alongside the engravings. I wish you were by my side now. Haddrak used to be one of the Paragons, much like Sariel, but he had died upon the death-world of Brachtne. Nothing remained of the old Dusk Raider, his body and arms cinders scattered by the volcanic wind. He had grown with Sariel, they had shared honest laughter and bitter grief, loss and victory. Not many of his paragon-brethren were alive nowadays. Sariel only knew of himself, Warsmith Uragan of the IVth and Supreme-Nephilim Lazav of the IXth, but there were probably more. The Night Lord did not care, he would kill them all if need be.
Sariel stared at his sword for a long time, then he finally stood up and sheathed it.
The sword was many things to him. Weapon, testament, legacy and memento all in one.
It had protected him during the Unification of Terra.
It had aided him during the Great Crusade, the second, greater Unification.
Now, it would be the harbinger of his will in this third, and final, Unification beneath the Warmaster.
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WP_20160415_005_zpszo7m9xxu.jpg

 

Hello all! I've returned with the first WiP of my power-armour version of Sariel. I went with a chainsword and pistol as I always wanted to have a Praetor in this "standard sergeant" configuration, it just somehow oozes classic Astartes to me...

 

Anyways, I will be putting up a bit a longer post concerning the Effigia Angelum and the paragons in the next day or so, my own spin on the creation-mythos of the Legiones Astartes.

It's 4 in the morning here, so there isn't much else I could say right now... :D

 

Leave a comment, citique and ideas are always welcome!

 


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#56
Pearson73

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Nice work on the Archmagos, the blue and yellow look great.

#57
The Observer

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@Pearson73; Thanks mate, he's almost finished, just give me a day or two smile.png

 

So, I've finally found some more time next to writing critical papers and reading stuff, though I did manage to grab not only one but two of the 30-year edition Space marines biggrin.png

Anyways, the Effigia Angelum. I've always been interested in the Unification Era and especially in the scattering of the Primarchs and the creation of the first Astartes. Inspired by Hyaenidae, especially his Firstborn project, BCK and many more, I've decided to come up with my own proto-astartes; The Paragons.

 

As the Emperor discovered the Helvetian Technocracy beneath Goddardia, he also discovered one of the very few remains of humans untainted by radiation. Salvaging much of its gene-forging technology and recruiting some of the scientists (Genetrix-Prime Irina Beroshkic for example), the Emperor utilized these children in an additional Proto-Astartes project. You see, I don't want to invalidate other people's work, because many fanmade things have become personal headcanon to me, which, I am very sure, many of you have expirienced too. Hyaenidae's work is eponymous with the Unification Era and as soon as someone mentiones the IInd legion, I think of Athrawe's Lightning Bearers. What I seek, is co-existence in my personal head-canon. Thus the Effigia became one of the last testbed-projects, yet still set long before any form of mass-induction happened. The project drew from and improved upon other projects, resulting in physically unflawed Astartes, in some instances even surpassing Astartes-standards. The Paragons' function was to serve as exemplars for the legions to come, to be among the greatest of their kind and an idol to strive towards, until their fathers would be found. An ideological primarch-proxy if you will. The fates of the paragons are manyfold. Some fathers resented their sons exemplar, chastisizing or even exiling them as punishment. Some paragons would be doomed to alienation from their legion; Sariel, for example, always struggled with the paranoia and treachery that the hive-born Nostramans brought into the legion. Some became all their father and legion represented, like Uragan of the IVth.

Ultimately, there is no unifying flaw to the paragons. There might be a paragon of the XIXth who would earn great respect from Corvax, because he never truly fitted amongst the Terran stock that the Raven Lord so despised and would thus find brotherhood among the sons of Kiavahr, while the few remaining Terrans would ever loathe him. There might also be a paragon of the XIIth, who would rather die to Angron's blade instead of breaking himself to feel unity with his failed father. The possibilities are endless and since each legion has about half a dozen of Paragons surviving the project, I (or anyone for that matter) can take each and every paragon down any path I want. The emphasize I want to put on this little project of mine, is change. How a hero of the Unification might become a pariah among the children of his father's homeworld or how someone, regarded as an extremist during the wars for the Segmentum Solar, might be rewarded with praise and honours by his new-found father and thus become a true hero to the fresh influx of space marines. Some are wracked by mental pain, some see themselves as "true-Astartes", some would fade into oblivion while others would find their ways into the annals of not only one, but several legions.

 

In order to kick this little thing off, I've decided to make a paragon for each and every legion (Yes, even the IInd and XIthsmile.png ) and for that, i present you with a list of titles that will serve as my working inspiration smile.png

 

I: The Bulwark

II: The Roaring Shade

III: The Giantslayer

IV: The Shattered Hand

V: The Survivor of Lakuta

VI: The Oathbreaker

VII: The Lamenting Pilgrim

VIII: The Duskwalker

IX: The Angel of Tempest

X: The Hellforged

XI: The Hollow Soul

XII: The Mercifull

XIII: The One who stood

XIV: The Aegis

XV: The Nightmare Child

XVI: The Voiceless

XVII: The Deacon of Cinders

XVIII: The unyielding Giant

XIX: The Deathcaller

XX: The Ashen One

 

If anyone has ideas, questions or criticism, I'm open for anything! biggrin.png


Edited by The Observer, 08 October 2016 - 10:33 PM.

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"What if the struggle between the Emperor and Chaos is a simplified example of Hegelian Dialectics that cannot reach a solution due to an insidious, capitalistic bid for the consumers money?" - A censored.gifpost by yours truly, 12th of August 2017, before the clock struck 1AM


#58
Soldier of Dorn

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Damn, dude. That list of names is scary all by itself. Although I have to ask, if you've put the Nightmare Child down there, where's the Could-Have-Been King? :P You really must watch a lot of Who with all these references.

 

Love the concept of the paragons. Honestly, when you posted in your last update that you were gonna put your own spin on the Astartes creation myth, I had my doubts, but now that you've posted some details, it seems like a really cool concept. I may even have to steal it for myself.

 

However, I think that more details of what sets the paragons apart from the rest of the Legions, what exactly qualifies them to serve as primarchs pro tempore, are needed. You say in your post that "[t]he project drew from and improved upon other projects, resulting in physically unflawed Astartes, in some instances even surpassing Astartes-standards. The Paragons' function was to serve as exemplars for the legions to come, to be among the greatest of their kind and an idol to strive towards, until their fathers would be found. An ideological primarch-proxy if you will." but you don't really give us a lot of information beyond this concerning how exactly they surpassed Astartes standards or were beyond them.

 

In much the same vein, it seems a bit doubtful to my mind that the Emperor would commission his geneticists to create more than one paragon per Legion or that there would be absolutely no common thread connecting them all. I can move past the first, as obviously you want to leave the story of the paragons open to those who want to use them in their armies and it can be reasoned that each of the paragons represents a different aspect of the Legions and it can then be reasoned that multiple paragons would each exemplify a different aspect of any given Legion, but the second one bothers me. That there is nothing beyond being forged from the same project and utilized in similar ways among their Legions that the paragons have in common is an oddity in my eyes. They should, in my opinion, have more tying them together than just that. But this is a minor quibble, and I'm sure once we know more details about the paragons that all my complaints will smooth themselves out into a beautiful narrative whole.

 

In any regard, it's an awesome idea, and one that I will most definitely keep filed in the back of my mind when crafting the background for my Heresy-era projects. I look forward to being able to read more about them.


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For the light of Sol, and the earth of Terra, we stand. For the oaths we made, we stand. For the blood in our veins, we stand.
For the stones laid by our ancestors, we stand. For the days that have passed and the days that shall come, we stand.
For the living and the honour of the dead, we stand.

 

"Marines aren't soldiers, they're monks whose prayers are murder." - Haugesen, 12 June 2019


#59
The Observer

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Damn, dude. That list of names is scary all by itself. Although I have to ask, if you've put the Nightmare Child down there, where's the Could-Have-Been King? tongue.png You really must watch a lot of Who with all these references.

 
Haha, thanks!^^ Yeah, I'm a huge fan, ever been since I saw a few episodes as a little kid. I find that the series has astonishingly many names and good concepts for how pulpy it actually is (Not that I complain, mind you msn-wink.gif  ). Now, about your suggestions!
 

However, I think that more details of what sets the paragons apart from the rest of the Legions, what exactly qualifies them to serve as primarchs pro tempore, are needed. You say in your post that "*snip* you don't really give us a lot of information beyond this concerning how exactly they surpassed Astartes standards or were beyond them.

 
Good point and I'd like to adress that one with specific care. Much like Hyaenidae has detailed in his thread, some of the first Astartes might have very well been an attempt at "straining" the boundaries of what an Astartes could really be. With the paragons, this manifests in many ways: they are bigger, tougher and/or faster than their brethren, however, due to the improved nature of the project, they do not suffer from the same physical drawbacks. Imagine them standing somewhere between Astartes and Custodes. This I will try and represent with conversions based on forgeworld's character series, as they seem to be a tad bigger than regular marines.
Many of the paragons also display some innate psychic abilities. An example would be Sariel's ability to traverse vast distances without actually moving, provided that the enemy actually is aware of his presence (as confusion, fear and the like function as a beacon if you will) and that the vision is obstructed as Sariel "jumps" (Just your good 'ole mysticism). The powers should have a certain sense of mystique or opacity attached to them.
Another very important aspect is their aura. The primarchs themselves have a very specific effect on all Astartes, to some degree. "A primarch should be inspiring. Our genetics should react to the mere sight of them. Think of the moments you laid eyes on Horus, Dorn, or Magnus. (...) Think of when you stand nefore Lorgar: the awe and reverence that beats through your blood." (Aaron Dembski Bowden Betrayer p. 51). This is what i coin under the term of aura. A presence that boosts men and post-humans alike; imagine yourself standing in the shadow of Alexander the Great or having the gaze of Julius Caesar fixed upon you. I imagine that the paragons have a similar effect, albeit not as strong and confined to their own bloodline.
These are just some of my ideas on the clipboard. If you have any suggestions or want to propose alterations, please do not hesitate! smile.png
 

In much the same vein, it seems a bit doubtful to my mind that the Emperor would commission his geneticists to create more than one paragon per Legion or that there would be absolutely no common thread connecting them all. I can move past the first, as obviously you want to leave the story of the paragons open to those who want to use them in their armies and it can be reasoned that each of the paragons represents a different aspect of the Legions and it can then be reasoned that multiple paragons would each exemplify a different aspect of any given Legion, but the second one bothers me. That there is nothing beyond being forged from the same project and utilized in similar ways among their Legions that the paragons have in common is an oddity in my eyes. They should, in my opinion, have more tying them together than just that. But this is a minor quibble, and I'm sure once we know more details about the paragons that all my complaints will smooth themselves out into a beautiful narrative whole.

 
Ah, again, very good points. Let's tackle the first one. I imagine that the existence of several paragons per legion is coincidental, and yet intentional, in nature. Paradox, I know, but hear the madman out! Imagine yourself running such a project: would you create only one test-tube at a time? Would you only try and forge one marine at a time? In my eyes it seems much more plausible to create a vast test-bed with several thousands or even tens of thousands of vats. This statistically maximizes the chance of getting at least one specimen, that will survive the ordeals of implantation, training and war. As fate would have it, several specimens survived and thus, by chance alone, each legion got several paragons. You have already touched upon the intentional nature of their numbers (though intentional or unintentional? msn-wink.gif ): "each of the paragons represents a different aspect of the Legions primarchs". There have been many theories that the primarchs represent fragments of the Emperors self. He created shards of his own person and being, and thus perhaps tried to create shards of the primarchs as he created the paragons. I see the paragons as aspects of their fathers, not of their legion. The former shapes the later and thus is not the same, I'd argue. This is why their brethren react to them as they do, why they feel inclined to see them as leaders or as above them, for they are vessels for forces that were meant to be with them and yet are lacking. Imagine a child growing up without a parent and searching for a surrogate.
Your second point is also quite a good one and has been pestering me for a very long time. Some of the things that I imagine unifying the paragons, would be a kind of emotional distance to their fathers. While the regular Astartes might feel reverance and blind faith for his primarch, a paragon might see all of this through more distanced eyes. They see their fathers from a much more neutral angle, thanks to their tampered blood not reacting just as strong to the primarch's presence. This might result in some paragons never truly finding attachment with their fathers (Sariel never truly found his link to Konrad, even though the latter admired the former). Some others might forge an even stronger bond, more out of conviction and less out of their genes urging them to (something along the lines of "The covenant of the blood is stronger than the water of the womb" type of thinking.). Other paragons oppose their fathers and die or are exiled(A Saturnine Ram who does not want to be tamed and tempered by Vulkan's teachings perhaps?). Again some paragons might even loathe their fathers, as the fragment of character, to which they are the vessel, forms only a small part of the primarch's character (Imagine a Warborn who is a true god-king of war, the pinnacle of martial prowess, and yet his father Roboute urges him to become a politician, a builder and thus act against the very thing he embodies; his father's lust for war).
The main unifier I see, is the relations to their fathers. As of relations between the paragons of different legions, I again draw parallels from the primarch's relationships. They were largely solitary beings, seeking to lead, and yet they had brothers they prefered to others. Horus and Sanguinius were very close, as were Fulgrim and Konrad/Ferrus. Some felt jealousy; like Roboute envied the Lion. Sometimes there was true hostility and hatred: Roboute and Alpharius, Dorn and Konrad.
I've already touched upon the close friendship of Sariel of the VIIIth and Haddrak of the XIVth.
They also hold a special position among their brethren. Those close to them feel their superiority, their higher blood. This might result in respect, but it most definitely sets them apart and even isolates them. They become unapproachable to their brethren, the common Blood Angel might regard his paragon as an idol, a totem to his father's glory, and yet he fails to see the person or character that is behind this totem. Custodes are like lions, Astartes are like wolves (Paraphrased from The First Heretic if my memory serves me right). However elevated the paragon is, he is still an Astartes and thus he craves and even needs this sense of brotherhood. Some try desperately to regain this feeling (Like Sariel as he imposes strict rules upon the Crimson Sons), others might fit in seamlessly (Like Warsmith Uragan) and others might accept their solitude, taking this burden upon themselves, in order to serve as something that their brothers can truly strive towards to, even if that means living with a crippled psyche.

By now, I have probably descended into rambling. The main point being, I guess, is that their unifying factor is the nature of their existence, sitting inbetwixt son and father, their blood confining them to the former, their soul, however, to the later.
 
Thanks for all the good suggestions and criticism, I value that a lot!
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On another note, here is one of my Imperial Space Marines! biggrin.png
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And I bring you some truescaling WiP!

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Hope you like them! :) Fluff for the Imperial Space Marine will be up somewhen tomorrow I hope...

Until then, thanks for everything!


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#60
Lexington

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This thread is just maddeningly good. Your conversions are extremely characterful.
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#61
Soldier of Dorn

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Wow. I was expecting some sort of brilliantly written response to my questions/commentary, but not that. You, my friend, have assuaged any doubts I might have had about the paragons, and indeed you have inspired me to possibly begin yet another army project simply so that I can incorporate one of their number, with your permission, of course.

 

The Imperial Space Marine looks really good in your paint style, especially with all the bright green accents. I might even go so far as to say it's the best one I've seen painted so far. I'll most definitely have it filed away for inspiration when I get round to painting the one I bought.


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For the light of Sol, and the earth of Terra, we stand. For the oaths we made, we stand. For the blood in our veins, we stand.
For the stones laid by our ancestors, we stand. For the days that have passed and the days that shall come, we stand.
For the living and the honour of the dead, we stand.

 

"Marines aren't soldiers, they're monks whose prayers are murder." - Haugesen, 12 June 2019


#62
The Observer

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IV: The Bonds of Old
 
The sliding blastdoor gave way to hot air and the clang of hammers. Vigilator Mikae's pitted plate gleamed in the fire of towering forges. Cinders scattered through the air, like fireflies in the ancient petrified forests of Olympia, and falls of molten metal evoked images of  pillars. Mechanicum Adepts were hushing around, orchestrating the creation of a thousand weapons and plates, each and every one of them imbued with martian and olympian secrets alike. One of the mechanoid humans, a towering brute of iron, turned around, leaving his forge untended to speak to him.
"Greetings, Vigilator Mikae" The voice was deep and bellowing, almost untarnished by the usual vocalizer-buzz usual for such implants "What brings you to my forge?"
"Greetings, Archmagos Vynurvo" The Vigilator hammered his fist against his chest in a warrior's salute "I come for my bolter, I was asured it would be repaired by now."
"Positive" The two crimson eye-lenses refocused on Mikae, gleaming like rubies in the hellish fire around them "The weapon made dysfunctional by a small-arms plasma armament has been restored to acceptable parameters. The lord awaits you at the centre of the forge."
The magos stepped aside, offering the Vigilator a path towards the central dais of the forge, a ziggurat-like structure hewn out of crude iron and granite. Mikae slowly ascended, listening to the fine tune of hammers. There it was; a singular clang standing out of the whole symphony. Not in discord however. The thundering blow of the lord was like an orchestrator, a leader. The first blow to begin the great work and the last one to end it.
Upon the dais stood an anvil, surrounded by ingots, forges, smeltries and pots. It looked like an altar to Mikae, especially with his lord facing him behind the anvil, like an ancient priest of fire and earth.
"Greetings, Warsmith Uragan." Mikae shouted against the roaring flames and the clattering hammers, thundering his fist a second time against his chest.
The giant looked up to him, absently plunging the blade he was forging into oil. He stood a full two heads taller than most astartes and was clad in thick plate. The armour was forged and layered adamantium, lovingly hand-crafted by Uragan during his studies on Mars and improved upon on Olympia. Mikae knew this because he was one of Uragan's three equerries and had thus accompanied him.
"Greetings, Mikae" The Warsmith returned the greeting, banging his own fist against the plate "Your weapon has been restored and improved."
The moment his lord set eyes upon him, Mikae felt a surge of blood and adrenaline coursing in his body. He felt reverence for this towering demi-god of war. Uragan would have been praised as the incarnation of Hephaistr upon old Olympia, the Vigilator was sure of that. The warsmith was a paragon, and perhaps the greatest among the IVth. A smith, a warrior, a general, but also an artist. Uragan was a master of Perturabo's virtues, gaining the respect of both the Lord of Iron and the Gorgon. His ferocity in battle was like a tide of destruction, yet it did not slight his capabilities as a general. He orchestrated ordonance and infantry in perfect unison, cracking fortresses like eggs. In many ways he was one of Perturabo's best.
"I give you Adena's Spear" Uragan handed the Vigilator the promised weapon. A bolter of compact design, encased in pale gold and inscribed with the litanies of endurance "I trust it will serve you well once again."
Mikae's hand slowly wrapped around the grip, his mind still occupied with pondering about his warsmith. Instead of his arm dropping slightly under the weight of the gun, it almost janked upwards. The bolter was lighter. Mikae could feel Uragan smilling behind his facemask. This was the wonder of Uragan's work. No one knew how or why, but he brought out the greatest things in his works. He forged blades that would never dull, armour that was impenetrable to any but the heaviest weapons. Librarian Naris had once told Mikae that the warsmith imbued his work with his soul, weaving might and sorcery into the iron. Perhaps his lord was a witch. Mikae did not care.
"Many thanks, Warsmith Uragan." The Vigilator bowed his head in respect "A sublime piece of work, as always."
"Go now, Mikae," Uragan's chuckle was rumbling like a landslide "Make good use of this gift on Terra."

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Hey everyone! I am back and bring you my Iron Warriors Vigilator! :)

Hope you like him, the warsmith is not too far behind either :D

 

@Lexington; Thank you very much!

@The Psycho; Well, the least I can do to honour your ideas and criticism is to give an in depth answer! :D Please, do not hesitate and incorporate one or even more paragon if you want, it would be a great honour!

The Imperial Space Marine was a blast to paint, I wish there was a whole squad-box of them. The rogue-trader design lends itself beautifully to this modern approach. The green is just simple Moot Green drybrushed up to white and then covered with Tamiya Clear Green. Can't wait to see yours!

 

So, next up are the Night Lords Archmagos and the Warsmith, so stay tuned folks!


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"What if the struggle between the Emperor and Chaos is a simplified example of Hegelian Dialectics that cannot reach a solution due to an insidious, capitalistic bid for the consumers money?" - A censored.gifpost by yours truly, 12th of August 2017, before the clock struck 1AM


#63
The Observer

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IV: The Shattered Hand
 
The grey sky was burning. Thick smoke rose from craters and screeching laser columns tore the air apart. Centurion Albarecht and his men had retreated to the inner circles of precinct 7-23 in west-Roma. The Iron Warrior's assault had been relentless, their artillery raining fire and phosphex on the Imperial Fists and bathing them in cancerous green smoke.
No wonder they call them the Felrain, Albarecht thought to himself, Bastards are raining shells on us like there is no tomorrow.
His own armour was over-strained, just as was his body, aching for rest after weeks of Zone-Mortalis engagements with these iron mongrels.
"Centurion Albarecht?" Only now did he notice that his eyes were closed.
"Yes?" He muttered, hoping that his mk III helmet was enough to mask his fatigue "What is it, Janneck?"
"They are closing in. They have already estabilished a circle around us." The phalanx warder was still young, not even a hundred years of service. Albarecht, a veteran of the battle for Roma, pitied him. The poor boy was talented. There were maybe two dozen of his men left. There were thousands of Iron Warriors around them.
"Then let's make sure that we die with honour, boy." The centurion sighed as he rose to his feet "And let's give them a hell of a fight!"
The warders were pounding their axes against their shields. How much they resemble their cousins of the VIth, He thought.
Then all hell broke loose. A leviathan dreadnought broke through the columns behind them, killing two warders beneath his feet. His claws crushed another two, while his chest-mounted volkite weaponry threw three more to the ground. In all of this confusion, iron-armoured sniper-squads started picking Albarechts men off like cattle.
"For the Emperor!" The centurion turned to Janneck, only to see him running towards a humongous Iron Warrior "For Ter-"
His warcry was cut short by a powerclaw. The ugly, crustacean-like construct punched through shield and armour alike, its razor-sharp cogs shredding the guts of the poor boy.
Albarecht felt his ire rise once again. The traitor had not even looked at Jannick. He killed him with ease, like one might kill a bug on a hot summer's day. He had killed the boy without even honouring the kill, no pride or anything. The traitor was focusing on him.
"Fight me, filth of Olympia!" The centurion shouted "I see your stare! Fight me!"
"Filth of Olympia?" The Iron Warrior shook his head, chuckling all the while "I was born north of this city. Deep beneath the mountains of Goddardia. My flesh was molded in the Emperor's very own gene-labs beneath Himalayzia. My men come from K'rn Gora, Srb'a, Helvetia, Albia and many more places of this world and beyond. I am older than your legion, boy. I am Warsmith Uragan. I am a Paragon, a champion of the Unification and the Shattered Hand."
"Shattered Hand?" The Centurion barked, the Iron Warriors around them were watching, not disorganized like the spectators of the XIIth aboard the Conqueror, but structured. Like a death-trap. "Does Perturabo's dirt-blood award titles for getting crippled by the enemy? Watch yourself or you might become Uragan the Headless!"
"This arm was not claimed by any enemy" Uragan laughed, rising his malformed iron claw. Fire made the blood-coated plates shine like copper "I bashed a mech-warrior of the Srb'aan tyrantguard to death with it. I bashed him so long, that ceramite shattered, flesh peeled off, bones broke and joints came apart. As your brother, lying in the dirt as he does, can attest, I have found suitable replacement."
Albarecht did not waste anymore time with banter. He stormed forward, demanding each and every last ounce of energy in his flesh to fire up. His blade fell in a swooping motion.
Knowing that he was about to die, he did not intend to sell his life cheaply.
Uragan parried easily, almost bored with his chainaxe. Swing, parry, swing, parry. The fight went on like that for several minutes. The warsmith did not fall back, did not evade a hit. He always parried with axe, claw or servo-arm. Albarecht could not land a single hit.
"Fight me properly, you bastard!" The centurion's throat was a sore mess, the spit was hot and tasted of iron "Show me how your honourless brood wins wars-"
As soon as he spoke the word honourless, Uragan lunged forward. He was fast, way too fast. Backhanded by the claw, Albarecht fell onto broken marble. He was dizzy, his head was spinning. After wresting his helm off, he noticed that his skull was cracked in several places.
"Honourless?!" The warsmith's voice was thundering across the plaza "You dare acuse us of being honourless?"
Uragan drew closer to Albarecht, kicking him over while he tried to stand up. "You dare?! In this city?! In this damned place where you took our victory and invalidated thousands of dead brethren and cousins?! We fought here, I fought here for months! I saw my dearest brothers die while you swooped in with your yellow fliers and stole our achievement!"
Albarecht fell to his back. His eye-lids were ruptured and bleed profusely. The only thing he could see, was the towering giant and the fire-lit sky behind him. He resembled an angry god of war, much like the old people of Roma had worshipped.
"You dare bear the bolts of Unification after speaking such accusations?" The Warsmith's voice had returned to a cold and brooding tone. He swung his axe and shredded the mark upon Albarechts chest. "Were you there? Hmm? Answer me, boy."
"Hnngh-" The centurion gritted his teeth as Uragan's weight came to bear on his chest "Yes! I was at Roma! I received accolades, as had every son of Dorn!"
"I know. From the dirt of the trenches, I saw the hypocrit that you call Emperor give you medals and standards. Do you know what else I witnessed?" The warsmith pressed his foot down even harder, making the ceramite splinter and dig into the flesh "I witnessed your utter silence. I saw, I felt your discomfort. It was palpable."
Albarecht was groaning, his lungs were being compressed and he could barely say a word without blacking out. Uragan was right, they did feel uncomfortable. They all felt the spiteful eyes of the IVth spearing their backs. The centurion rarely wore his honorary medal of Roma, it did not strike him as right.
"That is what disgusts me the most with your ilk, centurion" Uragan's voice was full of spite that had finally found its way to the surface, after centuries of festering in his mind and brain "You all knew you had commited a dishonourable act of greatest proportions, yet you act like you are all unblemished and the perfect sons. No wonder you are His praetorians. Hypocrites, all of you."
"K-kill me..." Albarecht wheezed "Be d-done with i-it and kill m-me..."
"Oh no, my friend." He took his foot off and signaled a heavy support squad to come closer. The centurion did not see them, but he heard the hiss of heavy-flamers. "Burn him. Make sure his ashes never leave this damned city."

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Good evening folks!

Here is the first of my Paragons, my very own praetor. :)

Hope you like him, it took me quite some time to figure out where I wanted to go with him and I think this is it.

 

What do you think? :D

 


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#64
AlphariusOmegon108

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that looks friggin awesomesauce


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#65
Morngrym

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Enjoying your thread very much and like your take on the Imperial Space marine!


"We have no room for hope. We plan and we act. Hope is for dreamers and poets. We have our will and our weapons, and we shall dictate our own fate."

 
— Lord Corax, Primarch of the Legio Astartes Raven Guard.

#66
The Observer

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IV: The Golham Awakens
 
Terra's surface was burning. Hell itself manifested in noxious fire and leaden air. Titans clashed against each other, like the gods of heathen legends. Iron and earth alike were torn apart by barrages of artillery and storms of plasma. Amidst this maelstrom of destruction, somewhere on the Ynd'an plateau, resided the Uduman fortress. This relic of the Unification had been annexed by the Imperial Palace, its face of a more savage era engulfed by gleaming gold and pearl.
Uragan was content with the beachhead they had constructed here. After spearheading into the fort, along with allies of the XIIth and XIVth legions, he took it upon himself to estabilish a direct portal-link to the orbit. Vast amounts of warmaterials made it through the warp-breach each minute; ammunition, tanks, armour, bodies. Everything a warsmith needed to conduct his bloody business. The fort had been sealed off by several intervowen void-shields of Uragan's own design. Nothing came in or left without him knowing.
One think was troubling him however. It was Archaios Khale, an Olympian who fought and fell during the Caretak Massacre. His broken frame resided within a leviathan-pattern dreadnought, a truly fearsome beast of war. Since then he had refused to rise from his deep slumber, very unusual for a warrior as sanguine as Khale. He was never terminated and his frame freed up for a new occupant, as the warsmith found such practices distasteful.
Uragan stood infront of the massive chasis, observing archmagos Vynurvo and his slaves work. The dreadnought had grown a patchwork of light rust and verdigris, resembling the old Olympian statues Uragan had studied.
"How is he, Vynurvo?" The warsmith sounded worried, an unusual trait for a son of Perturabo "Will Khale rise ?"
"Inconclusive" The hulking magos was even larger than Uragan, a hissing brute of cogs and oily metal "I express my gratitude for your return from the front. We cannot, again, complete the rites of awakening. Unit 02-112, prefered title Khale the Gholam, refuses to rise. My calculations predict that you will fare better."
"Is that so?" Uragan drew closer to the massive, corroded frame. pressing his hand against the iron, he could feel a slight thrumming "And why do your calculations predict that?"
"Is this question of relevance?" The magos' buzzed back, the almost childish spite made the warsmith smile.
"For the sake of this conversation, it is." He answered, closing his eyes and exploring the thrumming. The dreadnought was powered down, its reactor always resting and silent.
"Evidence as structured by priority: Priority Alpha, you have been trained on Mars, Olympia and Ryza. The Iron Lord himself has expressed admiration for your genius. You are one of the most capable adepts the Mechanicum has ever produced. Your knowledge even surpasses mine." Despite Vynurvo's earlier spite, this reasoning was devoid of emotion. The magos recognised a superior, rather than feeling shamed, the brass-brute took an example "Priority Beta: You possess the Gift."
Ah, the Gift Uragan thought. Vynurvo spoke of his latent psychic abilities. The Gift was a myth among the priests of Mars, the ability to mend iron, knit synth-brains and give life to the machine by will alone. The myth found new support in the Emperor's arrival on Mars, as he spoke the now-hallowed words, fixing an ailing knight-suit of the house Taranis.
"Machine heal thy self." The warsmith silently recited. Truthfully, he had tried several times to call Khale to war. The dreadnought had never answered any of his mental intrusions. Uragan never bothered to find out just how exactly this gift of his worked. Prefering the mystery clinging to it, he refused any kind of questioning when it came to this topic.
The thrumming was still there, still calm, almost as if Khale was waiting. Uragan knew that Vynurvo couldn't feel it, for it was something more ephemeral, akin to the machine-spirit and yet more. If the machine-spirit represented the mind, then this thrumming represented the soul born within the iron. This soul felt patient to Uragan, willing to rise, but not just yet.
Archmagos Vynurvo retreated several steps, for he did not wish to intrude in this most sacred of events. He observed silently, feeling the revery grow in his cold, mechanical heart. He had seen Uragan breathe new life into several Contemptors, augments and even battle-automata. This was one of the many, many reasons as to why he admired the Iron Warrior. This creature, this posthuman was the pinnacle of both imperial and mechanicum dogma: A scientist, warrior, engineer and ruler all in one.
Meanwhile the warsmith communed with the dreadnought's soul. He unravelled the threads within ceramite and iron, reading each and every incantation forged into the beast. There was nothing inherently wrong with the leviathan, save for the few nicks and bugs that every machine of war had. The machine was just simply unwilling.
Uragan felt his mind gently pressing once more against the cold soul. It felt like blowing against embers, slowly fanning the flame back to life. After what felt like ages, the thrumming became more lively, more focused. It was a hard task to stoke this fire, and Uragan felt relieved. This time, something was different. The dreadnought was more responsive to his goading, both in flesh as in iron.
Rise, The warsmith pulsed. Rise my brother, Terra awaits.
The frame budged just enough for rusty flakes to crumble down. Heed my call, Uragan pushed even harder, feeding the soul with emotions. He could feel all of his ire flowing into this cold frame. The thrumming was now underlayed with another sound, one that Vynurvo could perceive. The reactor's roar.
"He awakens..." Spoke the Archmagos, completely enthralled by his revery "Hallowed be thy name..."
Death... Now Uragan heard Khale's voice in his head, a feeble, wet sound. Death beneath an iron sky... The time has come...
Yes brother, Uragan's mind was completing the final rites of awakening, Rise Khale, rise and fight one last time.
The Gholam rose slowly, volcanic-red eyes scanning the fortress and claws grasping the air, aching to sunder bone, armour and flesh.
For a single second, silence fell in the Ulduman Fortress.

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Good evening everyone! Here is one of my two IW leviathans, the other one will be done somewhen in summer :)

I found that mixing warm and cold weathering colours adds quite a lot to the usually very boring large panels of iron.

Hope you like him!

 

@AlphariusOmegon108; Thank you very much! Means a lot coming from you as I've been enjoying your stuff for quite some time! :D

@Geostryke: Glad that you enjoy my stuff, the Imperial Space Marine was a blast! Can't wait to do my second one (As soon as I figure out what he'll be...)


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#67
Soldier of Dorn

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Awesome as always, brother, both in painting and in story! I really like the verdigris, it's not something I've ever seen on an Iron Warriors model before, but it looks really good. :tu:

 

Any chance you'll vow the next Leviathan for the ETL, since you're already planning on painting it this summer?


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For the light of Sol, and the earth of Terra, we stand. For the oaths we made, we stand. For the blood in our veins, we stand.
For the stones laid by our ancestors, we stand. For the days that have passed and the days that shall come, we stand.
For the living and the honour of the dead, we stand.

 

"Marines aren't soldiers, they're monks whose prayers are murder." - Haugesen, 12 June 2019


#68
The Observer

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Thanks for the kind words! :)

Actually, I thought about doing just that, seeing as how I'll be pilling up about 1000-2000 points of iron warriors this summer. The crux is, that I have to write not one but two proseminary papers during that period and I'm afraid that I wouldn't be able to get through all that stuff. I've planned quite a few things for the next leviathan and I just dont want to rush it, but there will probably be at least a centurion and a unit of veterans :)


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#69
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VIII: An Oath broken, another given
 
"Speak your name, you who kneels before me." The deep voice echoed through the chamber. The space was vast, akin to some catharric cathedral of old.  No source, save for a circle of fire set around the kneeling astartes provided light. Crimson eyes, glowing like coals, stared at him.
"I am Ulhafdnir of the VIth, former Kaerl of Jarl Alrik and usurper to his throne." The Space Wolf was forced to kneel, his arms bound to the ground by chains. He was far from home and his brethren.
"And why do you come to me, son of Russ?" The voice seemed to come from everywhere. It bore an accent Ulhafdnir couldn't exactly place, he guessed something from eastern Y'rop on old Terra "Why do you submit your arms to me and willingly risk life and honour?"
"I have killed my Jarl, gutted him like the filth that he was, thus honour I have none" He tried to discern who was talking to him and the several pair of eyes did not help "I have fought as a turncoat for a long time, until I heard of a man, a warrior and, perhaps, a visionary."
"Sounds fascinating, please do go on, I haven't heard a good story in a while." There was a grinding sound. Servos
"A World Eater told me about Lord Sariel. I knew this name; the Duskwalker of old Terra, the Weeping Angel and, in the tongue of Fenris, An té atá eagla. The One who is feared." Ulhafdnir strained against the chains, prompting several pairs of eyes to move "He spoke of an Astartes, a paragon, who believed in brotherhood beyond blood. I was told, that this lord was willing to give exiles an harbour, provided they were ready to follow his code of honour."
"This World Eater speaks the truth" The air shifted, as if something immense was rising. The clatter of ceramite on steel echoed in the chamber, as the highest pair of eyes descended. The crimson orbs all drew closer to the ring of fire, revealing several Astartes. Ulhafdnir realized that almost none of them were of the VIIIth, despite wearing the colours. There was a templar, bearing a battered shield and axe chained to his wrists. Next to him was a Salamander, his blue armour adorned with silver flames. Infront of Ulhafdnir, slightly to the right, stood an astartes bearing a II upon his knee. He bore insignias unknown to the space wolf, a peculiar flower amongst them.
"I am lord Sariel" Only now did Ulhafdnir's eyes come to rest on the speaker. He bore power armour of ancient provenance, mixing mark VI and VII legs with a mark V helm, mark II and IV arms. From his back rose an Anvillus pattern backpack and his mark III chest was sculpted to resemble bleached ribs. "So you wish to become one of the Adopted? Perhaps even a Crimson Son?"
"I wish to give you my oath-"
"You killed your own Jarl" The Night Lord cut him off "So I suggest you don't insult me with promising your oath and answer my question."
Ulhafdnir's teeth ground against each other, the sharp canines cutting into his lips "Yes, Lord Sariel. I wish to become one of the Adopted."
"Do you understand what that entails?" Sariel took his helm of and knelt infront of the space wolf. His eyes were deep and dark, like obsidian "Do you know the code of honour?"
"I shall not slay a brother, nor shall I leave him behind." He recited the World Eater's hearsay "I shall be whatever my lord demands me to be. I shall provide for my brethren as they provide for me. They give me shelter, I give them glory."
"Good, good. Your informant knew quite a thing about us, it seems." Sariel was smiling, which the space wolf found very unnerving "But you have already slain your brethren. Forty-eight sons of Russ fell to your fist before you fled."
"Lord Sariel, have you not slain brother and cousin to protect your honour?" Asked Ulhafdnir calmly. In the same instant, the Astartes with the strange flower and II had drawn a slender blade, pointing it at his throat.
"Please, Kazu, he is still our guest" Sariel rose again, prefering to look down on his prisoner "And I take no insult in the truth. I have killed brethren and cousins. Hundreds of them. Yet still men follow me. You, Ulhafdnir, stand alone before me. I could just kill you and take this beautiful suit of Indomitus armour that you have brought with you. Why shouldn't I?"
"Because you have honour, which is what I respect and wish to follow." The prisoner lifted his face "A man of honour."
"Then why did you not stay with your Jarl?" This time, another of the Adopted spoke. His face was aquiline and bronzed. The eyes were of a pale blue, like clear riverwater. A staff rested in his hand, several pendants clattered against one another, like the runes of a fate-teller. Upon his shoulder was a bronze scarab "Your lot values honour very highly, or so I was told."
"You hate me because of Prospero." The words were a statement, not a question "You have every right to. I have killed my share of your brethren and perhaps I deserve death for that. I don't take pride in the razing of Tizca, unlike my Jarl did."
"Is that why you have forsaken your oaths to Russ?" Sariel spoke "Because of Prospero? Some would call it one of the greatest victories against the traitor forces of Horus."
"It was no victory. It was a massacre. We caught the Thousand Sons unsuspecting and slaughtered them like cattle. There is no honour in that" Ulhafdnir snarled "And Alrik, may Morkai sunder his soul, took pride in it. He carried the broken helmets of our Tizcan cousins like trophies, as if he had slain them in honourable battle. I am not willing to follow such a man."
"Fascinating" Sariel seemed intrigued "What do you say, Nephrat, do you wish him as kin?"
The Thousand Son toyed absent-mindedly with a bone charm. "I say we let him swear the oath. I promise peel his mind like an onion, should he fail."
"Do you wish him to fail, old friend?" The Night Lord turned to Nephrat "You know that I don't permit bad blood."
"I know and oddly enough, I wish him to succeed," He drew closer to the wolf, kneeling down and looking him in the eyes, like Sariel had done "His mind is as open as a child's and he did not lie."
"So it shall be" Sariel laughed "The day a son of Magnus trusts one of Russ' dogs. 'tis truly an age of wonders."
Ulhafdnir could hear a click and his shackles opened. Two Adopted lifted him to his feet, before following the rest in forming a circle around him.
"Ulhafdnir, once-son or Russ, if you wish to be one of us, clad in midnight" Sariel stood with open arms, akin to some priest "Then speak our words."
"I swear fealty to the black skull, the Crimson Sons and Sariel, Duskwalker of Terra" The whole assembly droned "I renounce all primarchs, all ties of blood and former loyalty. I stand with my new brethren, bound by oath in true brotherhood. Hereby I ask for harbour and offer everything that is left to me."
"I swear fealty to the black skull, the Crimson Sons and Sariel, Duskwalker of Terra. I renounce all primarchs, all ties of blood and former loyalty. I stand with my new brethren, bound by oath in true brotherhood. Hereby I ask for harbour and offer everything that is left to me." Ulhafdnir stood tall and proud, at the same height as Sariel, feeling his twin hearts pounding with true conviction as he spoke these words.
"Hereby, Ulhafdnir, I declare thee Adopted."
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Good evening ladies and gents! smile.png

Here I give you one more of the Adopted, this time of wolfy flavour! I'm planning on doing a few more in the next few weeks, stay tuned, I have quite a few tricks up my sleeves^^

 

Hope you like him and I wish you a pleasant day! biggrin.png


Edited by The Observer, 07 May 2016 - 07:45 PM.

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#70
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XX: Those Unremembered

 

Remembrancer Lanta sat on her bunk-bed, as she had often done in the past weeks, and studied some of the documents Lord Thetum had given her. Ancient scrolls and books, filled with retellings of the Cinderborn's conquests, spanning from the first days of the Great Crusade to these days of betrayal. None, save perhaps for the savants of Terra, knew of these achievements. The Alpha Legion, apparently, prefered to remain unlauded, remembering its heroic history for itself.

"Greetings, Lanta" The voice boomed, as the door opened "I trust you find these little tales interesting?"

"Welcome, Lord Thetum" She replied, placing her fist above her heart as he had taught her "Immensely so. I never knew that the XXth had such great feats of war to show. What brings you to my humble room?"

"I have come to speak to you" The astartes unclasped his golden helm, placing it on her table "I wish to continue where we left off."

"As you say, sire" Pulling out paper and ink, the remembrancer quickly skimmed through her notes "What will it be? An event? A persona?"

"A place" The giant spoke softly, holding out a little charm in the shape of  a simple, silver cross with a double-helix engraved on it "Today I will tell you of my home. Helvetia."

"The ancient bunker-city beneath Goddardia? I have to confess, sire, that this is a pleasant surprise. From what you have told me, it seems that it was a place much to the Emperor's liking."

"It surely was. It was a realm that rejected all gods and believed in the universal truth of cold science and logic" Thetum sighed "But it was also a place that carved apart its children, vivisecting their brains in order to understand what they were and what they could become. There is a reason, as to why the Emperor chose the children of Helvetia and their gene-savants for the Effigia Angelum project. They were all remarkable in mind and body, even before the primarchs' blood reshaped them. The scientists already understood that, in order to advance, even the blood of countless children would have to be spilled. The gene-wrights took a great interest in the many psychic abilities that manifested in the iron bowls of Goddardia. It must have been something in the water or locked away beneath miles of stone that has radiated through our bones and warped our minds. Our Harrowmaster is one of these gifted children."

"Fascinating" Lanta mumbled, her quill scratching over the paper in a frenzy "In which way was he gifted."

"A good question. His gifts resembled much the fabled hydra that we bear upon our plate" Absent-mindedly, Thetum slowly closed and opened his fist, looking at it in curiosity "He can peer into many minds, some even suggest a primarch's one. I have felt it myself. When he sets his eyes upon you, he peels away anything that obscures your mind and spirit. These cold eyes lay you bare, your every thought and memory. The Ashen One knows when you lie to him, but he does not care, for your mind already tells him everything that he wishes to know."

"That sounds...terrifying" The remembrancer shivered "A very strong telepath then?"

"Exactly, but he is gifted with a second power, something that he has passed down to a select few of us" Thetum smiled, something that Lanta still found unnerving "He could erase himself from anyone's memory. First he opens the mind, sifting through masses of information and, when he has found what he sought for, he would erase himself without a trace. Like a scalpel that cuts out a speck of cancer."

"You said, he passed that down" Lanta frowned "I was under the impression that one could not pass down psychic powers, that they were very much random in nature."

"True, but we live in an age of miracles and the Emperor's gene-wrights know their craft very, very well."

"Are you one of those....mind sculptors?" She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know, but her curiosity would never give her rest if she didn't ask "Could you show me?"

"Yes." Thetum seemed to tense up, his eyes meeting her own in an intense stare. Lanta felt dizzy, her eyes could not focus on the Astartes, and soon enough, she fell unconscious.

Thetum took her papers, placing them on the table next to his helm, and covered her with a blanket, before he left the room. Outside he counted to three.

One

Two

Three

Lanta woke up. She was confused and her head hurt. Why was she facing the wall? She hated sleeping with her back facing the door. Perhaps she had one drink to many last night, but then again, she could not remember leaving her room for weeks. The remembrancer turned around and froze. There was a golden mark IV helm with black stripe resting on her table. Lord Thetum's helm. Had he been here? How didn't she notice? The heavy, iron door slid open and the astartes entered.

"And?" he wore a certain amusement on his face that puzzled Lanta even more.

"What do-" Before she could finish her sentence, her mind froze. In the fraction of a section, like a sped-up pict-feed, her memories returned. Thetum had come in, told her about the Helvetian children, their psychic abilities and the Harrowmaster. Then she remembered what he had told her about the ability to sculpt memories.

"I-it worked!" Lanta exclaimed "I really did forget that you were here!"

"I know." Thetum nodded "Your memories came back when you saw me, like with a trauma. The Harrowmaster calls us his Embers, pale shadows of his power."

"Fascinating lord Thetum" The remembrancer was truly astonished. Such a subtle power could have immense influence on the course of whole conquests. She imagined Thetum infiltrating a fort or headquarter, stealing whatever information he might require and vanishing without anyone really remembering him. fascinating and terrifying at the same time.

"I bid you farewell, Lanta" The astartes took his helm "Next time, I will bring you stories of Istvaan. Stories of the first, open fratricide."

"I bid you too farewell, lord Thetum" She bowed "I wish you a good conquest."

"This is no conquest, dear remembrancer" Thetum confessed with sorrow in his voice "It is murder."

----------------------------

 

Hey everyone! No pics today I'm afraid, but there will be some quite soon! Alpha Legion this time! :D

Just thought I'll throw some fluff down in order to get the creative juices flowing.

 

Have a nice day folks!


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#71
The Observer

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I: A Shield in the Night
 
"Third Claw approaches the enginarium." Atran voxed while fumbling with a melta-charge "The plasma-reactors will be brought down in five point three minutes."
There was no actual response, just an affirmative click. Atran and his two brethren, Ivor and Lethre, were the last survivors of third claw. The Castellax had not been kind, but Ivor's melta-charges and plasma-weaponry had helped bring the bastards down. Hallways of grey marble and dull iron, lit by failling lamps, were filled with smoke and blood. The closing stages of the Thramas Crusade were ugly, even the Night Lords had to admit that. A cold chill ran down Atran's spine, the cloaked angels carved into the walls were unsettling. They appeared alive, akin to vile and resentful spirits, ready to strike them down if they weren't shackled by stone.
The enginarium blastdoor was wide open, not blasted and torn apart, just wide open. Atran signaled his brethren to slow down, there might be prey still. All three of them could hear faint murmurs from within the wide hall. Slowly prowling in, like Nostraman stalkers, the Night Lord could make out a crouching figure. A huge Space Marine, taller than all three sons of Curze, and clad in archaic armour. He knelt infront of the thrumming plasma-reactor, his frame lit by light-blue and white arcs of electricity. The massive shield by his side was hung with chains and bore ancient Terran symbols upon it. Atran eyed the beautiful bastard sword the Dark Angel held. Like a polished mirror, the metal caught and reflected the swirling arcs of light, leading them to the angel-shaped crossguard.
Slowly the Night Lords drew their weapons, Atran's Nostraman Chainglaive gently purred in the darkness. He knew that the Dark Angel had noticed them already. His murmuring was now audible, a prayer it seemed.
"And thus I shall sunder those that oppose thy heavenly rule" The Dark Angel turned around as he rose, a mouth-grill being the only thing peeking out of his cowl "and thus I shall cast them down, into the abyss, like the heathen devils of yore. Praise be unto thee, God-Emperor who resides upon Terra."
Ivor, armed with a wickedly curved sword, stormed forward, his modified vox-emitter letting out a high-pitch corvid scream. Lethre followed closely behind, lifting a knife, aiming at the enemies neck. Atran decided to stay behind, prowl and wait for a chance or opening to strike. In the blink of an eye, the Dark Angel swung his blade and cleaved Ivor apart in one clean blow. Blood spurted in a wide arc, glittering like oil in the plasma-lit darkness of the enginarium, sizzling where it hit the plasma coils of the reactor.
Just as Lethre drew in, the astartes lifted his shield. No, not only lifted, he threw his own weight against it, not only halting the Night Lords assault but sending him crashing down onto the floor. The sword followed and, perhaps more by luck rather than skill, did Lethre roll out of the way, grasping for his knife.
"Die, heretic scum." The Dark Angel whispered as he plunged the blade into Lethre's back, through power-pack and black carapace alike. He thumbed the activation button of the sword and bolts of dark lightning tore the wheezing Night Lord apart "Rest in the knowledge that you failed."
With a wet sound the Dark Angel wrested the blade free of the smouldering corpse. Slowly he turned to Atran, pointing the gleaming tip at his head.
"You" The voice was a whisper, yet it carried across the whole room, clearly audible over the noise of battle and plasma "Step forward and fight."
Atran still resorted to slowly circling around his enemy, whirling and swinging his glaive, feigning attacks in an attempt to draw out an opening in his defense.
"Name yourself, little angel" The Night Lord barked "Tell me, so that I know the bastard who gifted me a new sword."
"I am Sulyvahn, born as André in the bowels of Helvetia. I am the Conqueror of Matruv, one of the Lion's advisors and honorary templar to lord Dorn" The Dark Angel stepped towards Atran, shield held in place and sword drawn "I have slain hundreds of your foul kin in this war. I have witnessed old Terra burn beneath the God-Emperor's gaze. I saw the very same ashes give birth to the grandest palace the universe has ever seen."
"Many titles. You must love to waste air." Atran grinned as he came into Sulyvahn's reach and swung his glaive. The roaring teeth gnawed at the black plate, only eating away the paint and revealing dense and hard metal underneath. The Dark Angel didn't do much, until the whirring teeth caught on the chains strung across the massive shield and jamming for the fraction of a second. He pulled and ripped the weapon out of the owner's hands, sending it to some far away corner in the back of the enginarium.
"I am a champion of the Unification." Sulyvahn spoke calmly "I have bested false gods and vile xenos. I survived the Rangdan Xenocides. I saw the Ghoul Stars and lived."
Atran stumbled, the blade followed quickly, cutting off his right leg right below the knee. The Night Lord screamed, flailing his arms as he fell on his back. He fixed his eyes upon Sulyvahn, ready to curse the everloving hell out of him and his father.
Instead he only saw the sharpened edge of the shield above his torso.
"I am the Bulwark."
-Crunch-
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Hello everyone, happy EtL to the participants and may the God's be in your favour!

I've decided to post a WiP of my next Paragon, Sulyvahn of the Angelum Tenebris. I decided to go with an astartes who actually believes in the Emperor as a god, as it tied nicely into the theme of a crusader or knight fighting for a higher cause. Still have to sculpt a cowl and add a purity seal or two. The base will probably be the same kind of orange rust tint that my blood angels have, because it will contrast nicely with black and silver.

 

Hope you like him and have a nice time!^^


Edited by The Observer, 08 October 2016 - 10:32 PM.

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"What if the struggle between the Emperor and Chaos is a simplified example of Hegelian Dialectics that cannot reach a solution due to an insidious, capitalistic bid for the consumers money?" - A censored.gifpost by yours truly, 12th of August 2017, before the clock struck 1AM


#72
Soldier of Dorn

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Awesome! Nice use of the Dreygur model, I really have to get my hands on one at some point (hopefully.) The shield is awesome, both in the story and on the model. I assume that it's from the Varanguard?


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For the light of Sol, and the earth of Terra, we stand. For the oaths we made, we stand. For the blood in our veins, we stand.
For the stones laid by our ancestors, we stand. For the days that have passed and the days that shall come, we stand.
For the living and the honour of the dead, we stand.

 

"Marines aren't soldiers, they're monks whose prayers are murder." - Haugesen, 12 June 2019


#73
Brother Dallo

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That's a beautiful looking conversion. One minor criticism though. I don't think "little angle" was quite the phrase you were looking for. tongue.png

 

Dallo


ETL_2014_Banner_V2_03B_Custos_Fidei.jpg 

So yeah, long story short.

Dallo <- Blame that guy.

  Obscura, on 08 Mar 2016 

 

 


#74
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Thanks guys :)

 

@The Psycho; Thanks for the nice words. Yes, the shield is indeed a Varanguard one. The kit may cost an arm and a leg, but its filled to the brim with good conversion and kitbash materials! Dreygur is awesome! He lends himself for everything, from sergeant to praetor! A true masterpiece, shame he is limited only.

 

@Brother Dallo; Thank you very much! :) About the "angle"....hohum...whistlingW.gif  No, thanks very much for that one, I am a shoddy proofreader^^


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#75
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 Arise winds of Fenris arise!

Grind the Stones

Tear the Hide

Let them hear our cries!

 

 Arise Wolf of Terra arise!

Shatter the Bones

Break the Tide

Sunder the Traitor's lies!

 


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My own blog (Update: 5.April.2017) smile.png : https://beneathterra.blogspot.ch/

 

"What if the struggle between the Emperor and Chaos is a simplified example of Hegelian Dialectics that cannot reach a solution due to an insidious, capitalistic bid for the consumers money?" - A censored.gifpost by yours truly, 12th of August 2017, before the clock struck 1AM






Also tagged with one or more of these keywords: Horus Heresy, Blood Angels, Alpha Legion, Night Lords, Iron Warriors

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