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+ The Ashen Blades + Primaris Captain Conversion


Spaced Hulk

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The Ashen Blades

Thought for the day:

"Between the stars the ancient unseen enemies of mankind wait and hunger. Every voyage into the nothing is a confrontation with horror, with the implacable things of the warp, and with man's own innermost fears."

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"Survival is no birthright, but a prize wrested from an uncaring galaxy by forgotten heroes."

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"When aid did finally reach us, it came from a totally unexpected quarter. However, in addition to the wargear and the ships and the 'reinforcements', also came the grim realisation that our fears were justified, and that our brotherhood truly was destined for extinction. Not through the crucible of war or the machinations of our enemies, or even from the malignant horror that has torn the whole galaxy asunder, but from that harshest and most inescapable of fates. Obsolescence.
The Chapter will endure, even if our kind will not. We will keep our colours and heraldry, as a reminder of all that we were and all that we have lost. But we take a new name, to remember till our last breath the broken blades that have been reforged amidst the ashes of our own home world."

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"Vengeance is your sword. Hatred is your shield. Loyalty is your armour."

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Edited by Spaced Hulk
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Thank you for the kind words brothers :thumbsup: As you've probably guessed, this is a WIP blog for my new army, the Ashen Blades. They're actually the Successors/Replacements for my old homebrew Chapter, the Sword Bearers, who (fluffwise) had been driven to near extinction even before the 13th Black Crusade and the birth of the Cicatrix Maledictum. The army will be mainly Primaris marines (because I love the new models) but there will be a few bitter veterans of the original Chapter who have managed to survive, and now form the First Company of the Ashen Blades.

@ Marius Perdo: Cheers mate, hopefully I'll make enough progress to be worth following! :smile.:

@ deathspectersrg7: Thanks for the encouragement as always brother! :thumbsup:

@ Draakur: Thanks mate! The scheme is almost identical to my old Chapter, so I've actually had a fair bit of practice painting it already :smile.:

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@ Bjorn Firewalker: Cheers mate! The Ashen Blades (and their predecessors) are indeed Successors of the First Legion. However, while the original Sword Bearers were members of the Unforgiven (eg: with an Inner Circle with full knowledge of the Fall of Caliban), the Primaris warriors of the Blades are completely ignorant of the Fallen (at least for now...:whistling: )

@ The_Stray_Idea: Thanks mate! And glad you liked the iconography, especially as all heraldry, chapter icons and tactical markings will be freehand. I'm not brilliant at freehand painting, but I'm even worse at applying decals, so hopefully practice will make perfect :smile.:

@ Chaplain Dosjetka: Cheers Chaplain! :thumbsup: I can't take credit for the 'Thought of the day' though, as they're from previous GW publications (there's a handy index of them on Lexicanum). The resin chainmail is from Spellcrow, but sadly I'm not sure they make them anymore.

More background and fluff will follow, but for now here's another WIP model. Thanks for looking!

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Thought for the day: "We are all a weapon in the hands of the Emperor."

Edited by Spaced Hulk
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//+ Data Archive Access Granted

//+ Clearance Level: Inquis Omega One

//+ Accessing Datafile IC.M42.211.35B (cross ref: Ultima Founding Chapters)

//+ Preparing Transcript....


A Brief History of the Ashen Blades


We live in treacherous and unstable times, where memory itself is unreliable and fact and fiction oft become intertwined. Chronomagos and Remembrancer alike have struggled to record all that has occurred, for communication across our great realm, our great Imperium, has never been more difficult. Still, I will tell you what I know. Or perhaps more accurately, I will tell you what I believe. The truth? That is something you must decide for yourself.


They were raised in the Ultima Founding, like all their ilk. A product of Cawl's millennia spanning industry, their original designation was the 45th Primaris Assault Company, commonly referred to as Strike Force Orpheus in recognition of their First Captain. All of First Legion gene-stock, with approximately twenty per cent originating from ancient Caliban, with the remainder born of either far distant Kimmeria or Terra itself. A dedicated close assault division, Orpheus fought as part of Guilliman's vanguard during the early years of the Indomitus Crusade, earning battle honours at Galthalmor, Tallarn and the Second Siege of Badab.


However, these victories were not without cost for the relatively inexperienced Primaris forces, and by the midway point of the Crusade, Orpheus had been relegated to acting as a tactical reserve, having suffered almost sixty per cent casualties by this time. Those that survived were now all hardened veterans, each with over half a century of combat experience fighting some of the most vile and horrific foes mankind has ever encountered.


It was a hard schooling, but the lesson was a relatively simple one.


Learn fast, or die faster.


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Thought for the day: Survival requires sacrifice.


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Very cool. I suffer an extreme form of never-enough-itis and constantly feel the need to flesh out my DIYs more and more, never really starting many of the physical projects as a result, as I never feel they're "done" or ready to be born in model form. Keeping it simple, brief and to the point like this is probably how I should go.

 

Great showing here, keep it up. You've got a good thing going! :)

 

This actually makes me think I should make my own ashy chaps (the Ashbearers) in Primaris form, rather than as an earlier established Chapter as I'd always planned...

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  • 2 weeks later...

Cheers guys, appreciate the kind words :thumbsup: Work is progressing, albeit slowly. Should hopefully have some more painted models to post soon. In the meantime, here's the completed (and ready for paint) model from my second post.

++ Vid Capture: Letholdus, Voted Lieutenant of the Ashen Blades Eighth (Close Assault) Company, also known as the Revenants. ++

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++ The second in command of the Revenants, the warrior known as Letholdus is also the Eighth's chosen champion, a highly skilled sword master and duellist who has yet to be defeated in the Company's practice cages. Like every member of his Order, Letholdus wears the jet black livery and deaths-head iconography that distinguishes the Revenants from the rest of the Chapter. As mysterious as all his brethren, Letholdus rarely removes his war helm and is constantly accompanied by a servo-skull familiar, a cybernetic companion that records each close combat engagement he takes part in, in order for him to study his opponents and thus further perfect his own martial skills and fighting style. ++

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Thought for the day: A wise man learns from the death of others.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Beneath the Palace of Thorns

As the Great Rift tears the galaxy asunder, a roiling tide of chaos and anarchy spreads inexorably through the Imperium of Man. On over a hundred thousand worlds, humanity suffers as Old Night returns, beset on all sides by foul renegades, opportunistic xenos and the predations of daemons.

With reality and the warp merging together, breaking every known law of physics, strange phenomenon and impossible events became commonplace. This is particularly true of old, historical battlefields, which quickly become the sites of new and terrible conflicts. On Tallarn, the ruined shells of a million tanks and armoured vehicles erupt from the barren dunes to re-fight their ancient battles, each metallic carcass animated by vile daemonic entities. On Ichar IV, the Pale Necromancer summons an army of the dead to assail the remaining population, the survivors of the invasion by Hive Fleet Kraken now forced to defend themselves against the ghosts of their own fallen comrades.

And on Badab Primus, a dreadful citadel is raised by sorcery from the molten depths. It is a twisted facsimile of a traitor fortress destroyed during one of the Imperium's darkest hours, the infamous Palace of Thorns.

It is in these strange and terrible arenas that the warriors of the Ultima Founding are tested to their limits again and again...

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* * *

Lieutenant Daan was the first to die. It was a poor death, an ignoble death, and it pains me to remember it even now.

He was on point, leading the platoon through the labyrinthine tunnels of the palace to rejoin the Phantom's Second Company. This was his habit, despite everything the Codex teaches about 'preservation of the chain of command'. Before the Archmagos took him, Daan had been training as a scout of the Ravenwing Order, and ten thousand years of stasis imprisonment and Cawl's relentless experimentation had done little to dull his own native skills and tendencies.

Even so, he did not detect the enemy until it was right above him, and by then it was far too late to do anything but die.

The daemon was an immense, spindly legged nightmare. Arachnid in form, with a chameleonic skin that blended perfectly with it's environment. It had stretched itself out across the roof of the tunnel, it's long limbs reaching down to the floor to form an archway that was indistinguishable from the grim Gothic architecture that surrounded us.

Only when it moved to attack did we become aware of it's presence, and even with Astartes reflexes, the Lieutenant was unable to avoid the killing blow. As he spun around to shout a warning, simultaneously raising his bolter to target the hellish monstrosity directly above, a pair of razor sharp mandibles sheared together like a guillotine across his torso, severing him completely in mid thorax.

As the two sundered halves of his body fell, releasing an ocean of blood and organs from within, Daan clenched the trigger of his auto-rifle, emptying the entire magazine in his death spasm.

Most of the rounds hit the wall or the ceiling, blasting out great chunks of ferrocrete. Two of them, unfortunately, did not.

The first errant bolt struck Brother Harahel directly in the throat, somehow passing exactly through the small gap between gorget and face plate. The resultant detonation neatly decapitated my squad mate, his headless torso crashing ponderously to the floor beside me.

The second round ricocheted from Sergeant Amediel's own battle helm, striking just below the visor protecting his left eye. Incredibly the round did not detonate, but the force of the impact broke his stride, momentarily halting his charge towards the daemon. It also threw his head backwards, so he did not see the pair of obscenely long, blade-tipped legs that lunged towards him with incredible speed. They punched effortlessly through his chest and abdominal armour, his back plate and his power plant. For a moment Amediel just stood there, unmoving, skewered by the thin, skeletal limbs. Then the legs began to retract, raising him into the air towards the spider-daemon's drooling maw. For a moment I thought the razor sharp mandibles which had so easily slaughtered the Lieutenant would be employed a second time, but instead the beast vomited a foul, black fluid directly onto Amedial's face plate. Even from where I stood, over twenty metres away, I could smell the harsh, bile-like acidity of the liquid.

Almost instantly it began to eat through the Sergeant's battle helm, dissolving plasteel and ceramite as easily as boiling water melts snow. He convulsed immediately, dropping his weapons and clawing desperately at the neck seal of his armour. It was futile, of course. That was the first time I had ever heard an Astartes scream, and it is a sound I sincerely hope you never have to hear. Thankfully it did not last long. His body was still shaking even as his cries subsided into a strangled, wet gurgling.

By this time we were all firing, the roar of bolt rifles deafening in the close confines of the tunnel. But even as the beast's chitinous armour split and shattered, as spindly, segmented legs were severed and pale, viscous ichor began to pool beneath it's bulbous body, I knew it would take more than mere boltguns to finish such a monstrous opponent. As I fired, I could see the wounds healing over, the chitin reforming and fresh blade limbs beginning to grow out of the beast's abdomen. And so I made a decision that many, perhaps even I myself, would consider foolish. I dropped my rifle, and ran forwards.

I had covered only half the distance when the spear-limb ripped into my chest, lancing straight through my primary heart. The agony was indescribable, and I needed no Apothecary or medi-servitor to diagnose the severity of the injury. As the leg began to retract, pulling me towards the daemon in exactly the same way as Sergeant Amedial, I forced myself to remain calm, repeating the mantra of the Faithful to focus my mind and ignore the pain burning through my torso. I knew I had but one chance of survival.

And so, as I was dragged past the blood soaked, dismembered remains of the Lieutenant and the still smoking, headless corpse of my Sergeant, I was able to reach out and grasp the one weapon which might defeat our enemy. Amedial's broad sword – 'Grief Bringer'.

It is a fine blade. Perfectly balanced, power active and forged of the highest grade Martian steel. Cawl's artificers had utilised classical Calibanate designs for many of our close combat weapons, and Grief Bringer is a perfect example of their craft. As I rose into the air, my power armoured weight lifted easily by those terrible spear-like limbs, I swung the blade upwards with all my remaining strength.

In a single, vertical cut, the sword sheared easily through the daemon's fleshy bulbous abdomen and skeletal thorax, splitting the beast cleanly in half.

And that, Remembrancer, is how I acquired my sword and lieutenant's stripes, and of course the mechanical heart that beats even now in my chest. But most of all, I learnt an important lesson.

To defeat the darkness that assails us, we must be prepared to sacrifice everything.

Losses are acceptable. Failure is not.

- From the personal remembrances of Juan Ricos, known as 'Iron Heart' by his brothers, First Lieutenant of the Ashen Blades 3rd Battle Company.

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++ Archivist's Note: As First Lieutenant, Ricos has earnt the right to wear personal heraldry on his right pauldron. The chequers in the lower left quarter are a commonly seen battle-cypher amongst the descendants of the Dark Angel's Legion, whilst the green field in the upper left denotes his birthplace as Ancient Caliban itself. The black field in the upper right quadrant indicates that his rank (displayed as the numeral '1') was a 'jump step' promotion awarded on the battlefield. The lower right quadrant bears the High Gothic quotation: "Bellum uero ferrum ferro et voluntatem cordibus vestris". Presumably a personal motto, this can be loosely translated into Low Gothic as: "War breeds iron hearts and iron will." ++

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Thought for the day: It is through the destruction of our enemies that we earn our salvation.

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@ Bjorn Firewalker: Cheers mate! :smile.: And yes, the Lieutenant's name is indeed inspired by 'Johnny' Rico from Starship Troopers (one of my all time favourite SF novels).

@ deathspectersrg7: Cheers brother! :thumbsup: Been trying to improve my rather basic freehand painting skills, so hopefully practice will eventually make perfect :smile.:

@ Chaplain Dosjetka: Thank you kindly brother! :smile.: Glad you liked the fluff, I don't have as much time to write as I used to so I'm a bit out of practice.

Minor update today as I'm currently (and slowly) painting an Intercessor squad. I really wanted to get the limited/anniversary Primaris Captain, but as there are no store birthdays nearby that I can realistically get to, and I refuse to pay the extortionate prices the model is going for on ebay, I decided to convert my own. Here's the result. Thanks for looking! :smile.:

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Thought for the day: A warrior's faith in his commander is his best armour and strongest weapon.

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