+ inload: Variance Hammer contest +

+ Meanwhile, in other news +

+ I entered a writing/model contest on a blog called Variance Hammer a few weeks back; and was slightly startled (and very flattered) to find out yesterday that I won. You can read about it – and see the other awesome entries here: [+noosphericexloadlink embedded+] +

+ The contest was themed around the 'unsung heroes of the Horus Heresy – my entry was Zaricus Cjarn: 

+ Centurion Cjarn: Aquila +

'Dheneb. The inhabitants might not call it that, but it is. It's an old one.' Zaricus Cjarn sat in the cold chamber alongside a scattered few of his Mustermates, listening to the gritty voice of the Palatarch of the Chain. He couldn't remember the speaker's name; or rather – like anything of little importance to him – he had determined not to remember it. The Kheledakos demanded discipline; and sometimes that required wilful ignorance. The lodge could always rely on its brethren to be circumspect.

The Palatarch continued. 'It's the last star in the zodiackal chart for the region.' Cjarn had remembered that. The fanciful shapes the Ancients had drawn between the stars might serve little practical use, but they were somehow iconic, unforgettable. They spoke to something deep within Cjarn, within the Iron Warriors as a whole: a need to draw patterns, forms connections.

Priding themselves on pragmatism, on the Imperial Truth, the Iron Warriors refused to confront or discuss this urge, even as they conquered the stars, even as they justified their irrationality to themselves. The Signs had demonstrable propaganda purposes, they reasoned. The Remembrancers shape their work into lions, and sea-goats, and weighing scales in turn as, one after another, the constellations came into the Emperor's realm. Humanity will respond. 

Even so, the primarch Perturabo would not have deigned to recognise this inefficient structure; but for the increase in recruitment for the Imperial Army – and the concomitant support for his Legion – that such  symbolism attracted. This star, then, was particularly special. This star marked the final point in the constellation Aquila.

+++

Ah, to the Legions, there is no speed too fast; no achievement too rich. They are too eager, too capable,  too fast for human frailty to concern them; certainly not to delay them. They are harriers loosed; darting out to find new lands, and bring them, forcibly if necessary, onto the stuttering, swelling maps of mankind. The Reserves become the IVth, become – briefly, quietly – corpse grinders, then spill over Olympia, and then...

And then... they make pause, for a little while. They are reforged; beaten into shape. They become the  Iron Warriors.

+++

The promethium-rich caverns of Dheneb Primary are a net of tunnel fighting; the Astartes of the Footsore 242nd Grand Company clashing with the combat rigs of the defenders, bottling them into boltholes and bringing down the fury of the Legion on them. Fury is not enough on its own. Reactive piledrivers give the combat rigs a punch that shatters ceramite; and debased STC trans-rifles give particles of heavy metal sufficient stopping power to reduce even armoured Space Marines to cooling corpses.

Cjarn is at the forefront, Comitas in hand. Cjarn fights well with the axe. The blade is flat-edged and a dull carbon-black at the apex of an unusually long handle. With the nudge of a runekey, it glows a subtle violet, just at the edge of sight – eye-watering and uncomfortable, like staring at an open fire from just too close.

The knob of the eagle-chased generator on the poll robs the bit of weight – but when your blade is hefted overhand by the swollen musculature and poise of an Astartes, and aided by the crackling, matter- disruptive technology of Old Mars, the difference is rendered moot.

In any case, the poll acts as a counterweight – which allows Cjarn the speed to de-power Comitas, add his other hand to the grip and heave. Ten foot tall and braced against the tunnel walls by secondary limbs, the combat rig nevertheless staggers forward, the axe embedded within the outer carapace like a fishing hook. The Iron Warrior releases his off-hand and reaches for a grenade, blindly.

His hand scrabbles at an empty belt. He turns his head to look.

+++

Deneb Al Okab Australis. The south star in the tail of the eagle. In truth, it was nowhere near the other
stars. As soon as craft left Terra, the lie was put to the constellations through simple astronomical
parallax; the still, glittering stars proving nebulous and reluctant to accede to humanity's dreams.

Reluctant. But dreams are sometimes irresistible.

+++

The distraction allows the combat rig pilot to rally; to whirl a primary limb down and across Comitas,
crushing Cjarn's hand and flinging him into the side of the tunnel wall. The rockface explodes with a
cloud of rubble and dust, and his armour begins to chime insistently, warningly.

He is bleeding. He is injured. He is furious.

Disarmed and scrambling backwards, Auto-gyros destabilised, he can't find his feet. His armour is dead weight; blank. It is coming back online too slowly. Cjarn skids over on the detritus as he tries to stand, the mass of his armour slowing him. Tearing off his helmet, Cjarn looks up at the looming combat rig, its primary arms raised to smash him. Comitas is lodged in its flank; yearningly out of reach.

His injured hand is bleeding angrily; the musculature clamping and spasming around shards of his gauntlet. He can feel the cold stone dust settling, turning the wet blood white. Scrambling backwards, his hand clamps around a cylinder. He doesn't look this time. Whatever the object is, it feels metallic in his dust-and-blood-caked grip. It feels solid. It will serve as a weapon.

+++

Cjarn is found, eventually. He is at the centre of a junction, breathing heavily amidst bodies. Blood – in great crimson loops – decorates the walls. Stimms and pain-suppressants render him near-insensible, his eyes wheeling and breath sawing in and out. The Apothecary pauses, before advancing warily towards him, palms up. Cjarn would not be the first Iron Warrior to suffer from combat psychosis.

In any event, the Legion recognises and rewards success. The events of Dheneb make Cjarn a  Palatarch, stepping into his dead sergeant's shoes. After Kolosos, the eye falls on him again, marking him as a brevet officer. And then... the Warmaster calls.

+++

Later, he can't remember how he had come to find the other axe – or rather, it is irrelevant.

He fights well with both, now. Comitas remains reliable; versatile. The other axe... is not. It is slightly too fast; the heavy head drawing on the shoulder. Where it strikes, it bites deep – too deeply, unless arrested. It requires more concentration to wield. Cjarn has had to adjust his expectations of what an axe can do; adapt his style. Now he can catch it by the throat reliably, collaring it. For all its shortcomings, it is a wonderful weapon.

A single piece of some curious metal, engraved and sculpted into a fanciful shape, the blade is otherwise plain. Unlike Comitas, it is unpowered; its technology begins and ends with being weighted, sharpened metal. To assist his grip, Cjarn has bound the whole handle with plaited leather. He did it personally, sceptical of the epimiletis-armourers' ability to match his requests.

+++

The Crusaders return to Terra, abandoning the cold constellations once more. Not in the winding manner in which the routes were found; not in a contracting halo, but in a spear-tip aimed at humanity's cradle. The maps of the Imperium are ignored. Lines and nodes collapse, like a chemical structure buckling; promising and hinting at possible new forms.

Too fast! too much!

+++

'Give me my armour! Give me my armour!' The phrase, which had started as a demand, had become a froth-laden bellow. The bondsmen, their backs to the cell, wince slightly as the marine begins to slam his fists against the dirty armourglass again. Over and over, he repeats his attacks, his hands little more than clubs of blood.

They try to ignore the battering, which continues frenziedly, without rhythm. His words – his mantra – become an atavistic howl, then a wordless shriek. One of the bondsmen nervously peeks over his shoulder. The naked Astartes' eyes are bulging in rage, unfocussed and pink with broken blood vessels. The armourglass is smeared with blood, with spit, with acid burns.

'Should we stum him again?' one of the bondsmen whispers. The other opens his mouth to speak, just as the door to the dimly-lit chamber begins to open. The great wheel in the centre turns, ponderously at first, then more freely. The bondsmen unlimber their rifles and bring them to their shoulder, trying to ignore the garbled, spitting demands of their charge.

'Pax.' The Iron Warrior's command is given as he steps into the room, and the bondsmen relax their aim and step back. As the caged Astartes sees the new arrival, the hammering slows, then renews. 'Give me my armour!' The last word trails off as the Astartes screws his eyes shut in rage and begins battering his  head against the glass, his hands open and trembling. 'I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!'

The new arrival steps forward, and raises a hand to place it against the armourglass, quizzically. He holds it there. It doesn’t so much as tremble under the other's barrage of blows.

'Is it meet to treat with us so, because a stranger is dead?'

The bondsmen look uncertainly at one another. Were the visitor's words a question? Again, the second bondsman opens his mouth to speak, and again stops short. The two Astartes lock gazes. They pause for a moment, their faces preternaturally alike; their individual birth-seed overcome and subsumed beneath the bleak dominance of the Emperor's genetic manipulation. Their faces, like so many of the legion, are scarred and imperfect reflections of Perturabo's; their features hard, as though chipped from a great flint. Their expressions are similarly bitter and bilious. Hard lines cluster around the free Iron Warrior's pinched, thin-lipped mouth. In its fury, the other's face has become a patchwork of strained white-yellow and red-purple, the skin pulled taut by muscle and clusters of tendons. Their faces are inches apart. His nose and brow are pressed against the glass, straining, desperate. His eye wheels, searching.

All of a sudden, as though a switch had been flicked, the caged Space Marine stops. His hands drop, smearing wetly down the glass. His breathing slows, though ragged puffs of condensation beneath his nostrils belie the suddenly-chilly exterior. He seems to relax a little, though his face remains pressed firmly against the glass, the flesh distorted, any nobility made grotesque under the pressure. The silence is as eerie as the rage.

He wets his lips, slowly. Then, his eye fixed on the visitor, and in a voice no louder than a whisper, he
speaks.

'Give me my armour.'

The new arrival appears to reach a decision. His face remained dour, but the bondsmen detects a hint
of amusement as he turns to address them.

'Give him his armour. Tell the centurion a very particular duty awaits.'

+++

The Primarch. Orders from the Primarch! Direct from his mouth; special orders, a special duty – and on
Terra! The hubbub, while low, is audible. The officers and specialists, variously seated or standing around the tiered chamber, try to anticipate Perturabo's purpose here; to find patterns or meaning in the choices of personnel summoned to the lodge chamber.

Cjarn, alone of those gathered, remains truly impassive. The others wear their masks: whether literally, in the shapes of their formal helms, or emotionally, their faces carefully – and wisely – blank as their mercurial Primarch steps in.

Words are spoken.

Comitas is belted at his waist. The other axe is in front of him. Cjarn's armoured thumb toys with a loose strand of the braided, bloodstained leather. The movement is not born of distraction. Cjarn's impassiveness is not a lack of care, or empathy. Nor is it a desire to reject this terrible duty – for the truth is that it is not merely onerous, not merely dangerous.

It is a duty monstrous in its implications: to cage and preserve a Primarch.

Neither for anger; nor cold revenge, but for the simple act of trapping an immortal in an eternal cage of iron, and allowing isolation to break the unbreakable.

Cjarn's humours remain in balance for one simple reason: because it is no longer just Cjarn that influences them.

+++

+ inload: Space Marine Destroyers +

+ Officio Monstrosa: Destroyers WIP +

+ With a little less than a week until my troops invade the Deathworld of Akkar [+nooosphericinloadlink embedded+], I'm scrambling to get a few extra figures finished for the Iron Warriors. I had intended to take the Ultramarines (life imitating art here, as the poor Ultramarines get sidelined from all my Horus Heresy gaming!) but there was an imbalance of Loyalists to Traitors, so I offered to bring some baddies to solve it. +

+ With just 2,000pts to bring, I'm not under huge pressure. It's meant that some very patient models have been bumped up the queue, so I'm working on the Destroyers, an Apothecary and a Palatarch (sergeant) for my Basilikoi (Tactical Support Marines). +

+ Here's a few WIPs:

+ After the first few stages, the metal is coming along nicely. Note the marine second from left is complete. +

+ A little further along, the metals are all but complete, while the black gun casings and pauldrons are just blocked in. +

+ And the reason the Destroyers didn't get finished last night is that I was working on a couple of other Marines at the same time. A veteran for the Basilikoi:

+ And a much-needed Apothecary:

+++

'The best parasite remains undetected.'

+ Olympian aphorism + 

As I look over the new intake, I keep my face a blank mask. It is not difficult. Not compared with Olympia. Akkar will test these hurriedly-trained neophytes. Some will live; others die. The thought fills me with as much emotion and concern as might the expenditure of ammunition. It is all part of the mathematics of warfare; their addition or subtraction is relevant only to the correct result: victory.

The jungle. however. That concerns me. It concerns Cjarn, too; though our increasingly mercurial leader grows less and less patient with every battle; every swing of that scavenged axe. It is fortunate that we have been assigned an Episcopi. As Cjarn's patience degenerates, we will have need of a cool hand; and a lifetime of uncompromising discipline has refined Artabas' thoughts to a hard, mirror-like sheen; much like those of his robotic companions.

This Muster was drawn hurriedly from a nameless swamp of a planet. Its children lacks discipline. I lash out with my maul, striking one of the aspirant Phalangites on the hip. Unpowered, it causes no harm – but he adjusts his posture, straightening. If I catch a curse, it is wisely curtailed.

I do not break stride. Nor does my mind pause. There is little enough time before deployment, and the jungle is an abstract and complicating factor. It alters the equation; changes the probabilities. Reaching the end of the hall, I nod curtly to the duty-Palatarch. He returns a crisp salute. As I duck beneath the exodus-bulkhead, I hear the sound of the recruits closing in on their errant Mustermate.

+++

Thick and cloying and aromatic. Akkar is alive. Alive in a way I had forgotten; abundant to the point of choking itself. Branches bend under the weight of wildlife. Fruits hang so heavy they strain the vines; insects form deafening clouds around gaudy, pulpy inflorescences. Such vitality feels sickly and corrupt; an over-ripe fruit bloated with syrupy, over-developed flesh. The hoot-swingers and cacklebirds are swivel-eyed; frantic.

Even the new Iron Warriors are affected. I am pleased the Muster's Palatarch has instilled more discipline in them. Their observable reactions are subtle. Nevertheless, the signs are there, for those that know to look. A flushed look to the skin. Wide eyes. A microsecond delay in response.

The glut of sensation Akkar presses upon you is hard to take in. Doubly so for the intake. Knowing only their homeworld's foetid brown wastes under slate-grey skies, and the spartan lines of our vessel, it is a wonder that they do not behave as though inebriated. Their new, post-human senses hinder as much as help here.

Still. Discipline. Those momentary pauses will kill them as surely as a blade. They have scant hours to adapt. Imperial shipping is inbound. This will be Legion war.

+++

Vox heavy with distortion, words mangled, my orders are necessarily simple. Our new Mustermate, Aftrokratori, gives vox-click assent – assiduous boy, I murmur to myself through blood-pinked teeth. The click is – predictably – all but lost in a haze of static. The others simply tap their pauldrons. I can sense their reactions: disapproval, amusement, mockery.

A moment later, supplementing our battle-sign with a hesitant, embarrassed nod, Aftrokratori taps his pauldron too. Hm. At least he learns. Turning away, I place my pistol on the ground for a moment, flex my heavy gauntlet; test the malfunctioning rotator cuff again. All of a sudden, I feel tired. I feel every one of my eighty-seven years.

My fingers feel thick and clumsy and numb as I retrieve my bolt pistol. My blood fizzes with sickness. Running my tongue over tinny-tasting teeth, I am aware of the gradual, insidious, siege my terrible atomic weaponry places on me.

Aftrokratori will feel its bite soon. Heh.

Perhaps he will regret his elevation to our coterie. Perhaps he will embrace the firesong. I care not.

I ignite my jump pack, feeling the harness tighten and press on my armour. Before the apex of the jump, I jink; already firing down at the defenders, already feeling the sense of weight fall away, already my blood singing.

+ inload: Rad-toting, gunslinging, habitat-burning Destroyers +

+  Iron Warrior Destroyers +

+ It's Australia day today, so what better way to celebrate the nearest thing we've got to Catachan than the deadly toxic Destroyers? (I kid! I kid!) +

+ We had a look at the first Psiloi (my 'in-universe' name for Destroyers) a earlier in the week-cycle [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+], with Aftrokratori, a relatively new member of the corps in Mark IV armour. +

+ I had decided that the Iron Warriors would share none of the other Legions' reluctance to deploy the Destoyer's semi-forbidden weaponry, so I don't want to pick them out with a unique paint job or something similar – I want them to look like just another unit in the army. However, as I learned with the Basilikoi (my volkite-toting veterans), this anonymous approach can mean that they end up looking a little underwhelming; so the challenge is to find a balance between standing out and looking part of the group. +

+ The jump-pack bearing, pistol-wielding nature of Destroyers gives them a unique silhouette in my army, so that already distinguishes them from existing stuff. However, to 'future-proof' them from looking too similar to a potential jump-pack equipped assault squad, I want to make them slightly different without going completely off-piste. +

+ My solution was to dig into the background. I thought the Destroyers were an opportunity to explore some parts of the Horus Heresy that I've always liked, but have never found a good excuse to do – namely heavy battle damage and Mark V 'Heresy' plate. +

+Bolt pistol-armed Destroyer with bionic arm (rear of shot) +

+ The brutal appearance of this armour type marks them out visually, and fits perfectly with the background: the Destroyers' rad-weaponry and tactical application makes them particularly vulnerable to damage and degradation, so it seemed fitting to give them the low-tech but functional Mark V, which in the background is a stop-gap mongrel suit, with plates issued to replace the higher-tech and hard to repair Mark IV. +

+ Having the newer members of the unit (such as Aftrokratori) in Mark IV, and their older, more battleworn comrades in increasingly complete Mark V, is therefore a nice way to segue the visuals from the rest of the army (mostly in Mark IV) and give them a distinctive look. +

+ Destroyer with suspensor-assisted missile launcher. One of the few models in the game who can have both a jump pack and a heavy weapon! Note the bionic leg; a standard part of the Iron Tyrant kit +

+ You'll also notice that there's some battle damage on the armour – a detail made easier by Master Crafted Miniatures, who (after a little pleading!) have produced some awesome battle-damaged pauldrons. I've also included some exposed bionics. Generally, I prefer to keep bionics in this army relatively subtle and hidden, as it leaves 'design space' for my Iron Hands [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+], who have a much stronger association with augmetics. However, given the Psiloi Destroyers' elite status, I thought it'd be fun to add some exposed bionic limbs. In addition to providing some visual flavour, it also hints more broadly at the Iron Warriors' genetic proclivity for accepting bionics, something that could be lost if I had none in the army. +

+ Here's a shot of the four members awaiting paint. I'm not sure if I'll expand them or not just yet, but they were fun to do. Relatively quick, too, as the arms for the dual pistols required much less chopping and reposing than is typical for the boltgun-armed marines. +

+ inload: Personalities of the Iron Warriors' 242nd +

+ Dramatis Personae +

What price victory?

Victory is priceless.

Motto of the Officio Monstrosa

+ Kolossos Kalamatas +

+ A traditional Olympian term for standard bearer, Kolossos is mostly reserved with the IVth legion to describe the Legion's heralds, rather than the more commonplace Company standards. +

+ As with other Legions, the Heralds of the Iron Warriors were highly-skilled warriors and diplomats both: exemplars of the Legion. By the later stages of the Siege of Terra, honour came to mean less than raw strength, and many of the later Kolossi, Kalamatas included, were elevated to their position for little more than their aggression and fearlessness than any of their less belligerent traits. +

+ So it was in those later stages that as the surface of the Iron Warriors was abraded, a darker alloy was revealed beneath. +

+++

+ Corpsemarker +

+ The grinding nature of Legion campaigns often left Apothecaries splitting their duties between battlefield first aid, geneseed retrieval and implantation. In many Legions, more onerous duties were often leavened by scheduled meditations or less draining combat training. +

+ The typical efficiencies of the IVth, however, streamlined this, cycling apothecaries through punishing tours of monotasking; leaving an individual on extended front-line tour; before being cycled immediately back to sort the geneseed of his fallen brethren for weeks on end. Such an approach doubtless had a brutalising effect on the Iron Warriors' Apothekarion as a whole. +

+ In addition, the Iron Warriors' unusual affinity for, and ready acceptance of, bionics meant that Iron Warriors casualties tended to be either quickly treated and pressed back into service, or dead. There was little post-injury care; with the pressure on the apothecaries resulting in their wards being viewed as tools to be repaired, or equations to resolve. +

+ Perhaps surprisingly then, the haunted, drawn visage of Apothecary-ordinary Constantine was a regular attendant at Lodge meetings of the Dodekatheon. Was he attempting to grasp at what slivers of brotherhood he could find amidst the gore; or had he become so inured to pain and injury that he felt no compunction to remain beside his charges? +

+ Constantine's honorific 'Corpsemaker' was equally cryptic – respect from the 242nd for his skill at arms and willingness to fight on the frontlines; or merely a veiled reference to the number of their dead he gathered? +

+++

+ Palatarch Oneomaster +

+ Honoured of the Basilikoi; a true 'Iron Warrior'; Oneomaster was nevertheless not Olympian-born. +

+ Iron Warrior Legionaries: Tactical, Tactical Support and Destroyers +

+ Psiloi Aftrokratori +

We weren't just infantry in there, of course. You don't hunt down a Primarch by fighting on his own turf. The Psiloi were there, too; the dedicated eradicators. The Destroyer corps. I'd seen their deployment by other Legions, and had always been surprised. 

They seemed hesitant; almost embarrassed by their use – at least, before the schism. It was a marked contrast with us. The Fourth had always done what was necessary, without hesitation or concerns of the thoughts of others. Our Destroyers were thus neither honoured nor abhorred; they were just warriors, the same as the rest of us.

Aftrokratori had a thick accent. He wasn't Olympian, but he fought like one. I never found out where he was from; and since he's been dead for years now, I have little inclination to find out.

His skin, like most Destroyers, was near-black as his melanchrome struggled to protect his organs from cooking within his Mark IV plate, as he was bathed in the baleful miasma of his ilk's rad-weaponry. The Psiloi suffered a great deal of attrition in terms of both men and equipment. The Warsmith's answer to this was simple: assign a permanent member of the apothekarion to the destroyer's Muster, and give them arming privileges.

That last point backfired on the Psiloi during the Siege. The rest of us scavenged from the battlefield or maintained our reliable Crusade-era plate. Certainly the Destroyers got first pick of replacement equipment; but owing to the rate of failure they endured, that simply meant they picked up the bulky, inefficient mongrel plate that was all the Legion could provide during those days. 

+++

+ The Muster continues +

+ Quite a burst of painting over the last few days. I've completed eight new marines for the Iron Warriors. The first five, shown above, are more Tactical Legionaries. I rarely tire of building and painting these; they're the iconic 'Astartes', in a way that more specialised or stylised squads aren't. +

+ These two are Basilikoi, my own cadre of veterans. Played in-game as Tactical Support Legionaries, it was fun to build a Mark V marine. The distinctive studded armour and brutal faceplate was a breath of fresh air. I like a non-uniform look in squads, as it helps to keep things interesting when painting. +

+ In addition, since I've included very little in the way of personal heraldry on my Iron Warriors, it's useful to have some different armour styles in an other uniform scheme, as it adds some visual interest to the mass of troops. +

+ I took the opportunity to revisit the volkite chargers these marines are equipped with. I'd left them with a very dull red glow. While a bit more realistic, it left the Basilikoi looking too similar to the others in the army, even taking their spiky shoulderpads and distinctive helms into account. +

+ Owning your hobby +

+ The other reason I don't tend to paint much specialist stuff, like this Destroyer, is that I always get a nagging feeling that I 'ought' to be painting more basic stuff. The stories and artwork are full of archetypal Marines with boltguns; the specialist are very much secondary. +

+ I've read that lots of people regard painting the basic troops as a chore, or a 'tax' to get the interesting stuff; so I guess that's the other side of the same coin. Both such opinions are, at heart, a bit silly – there's no way to have fun wrong: as soon as you start to feel that you're being directed to do something, you can lose that spark of enthusiasm, and things start to feel like work. +

+ For this reason, I'd encourage you to go with where your enthusiasm lies; and build and paint the models that you really want to make. Any ideas of what should be included can come in later. +

+ Bubbling under are another four Psiloi Destroyers (see below), two more Heavy Support marines with multimeltas, the Basilikoi's Palatarch (sergeant), and an Apothecary. Whether any of all of these get completed before the weekend is up in the air. +

+ inload: Orcs and the 'Footsore' 242nd +

+ Painting progress +

+ Out of nowhere, a band of orcs. I picked up a pack of the orc cards for Shadespire in a trade, and decided to dig through my box of bits to build my own version of Gurzag Ironskull's warband. Should work out quite handily, as the PCRC have picked up quite heavily on orcs! A few alternate sculpts should help to avoid duplication. +

From left to right: Not-Hakka; Not-Ironskull, Not-Bonekutta, Not-Basha

+ The orcs in the official warband are essentially what I know as Black Orcs; and I had a pile of those I bought for my much-delayed ork army (destined to be Skarboyz). However, I'd built and painted one or two as stock, just for the pleasure of painting them (they're great models), so these two provided the basis for Bonekutta and Basha, who are simply orcs with a double-handed axe and a pair of mauls respectively. The model on the right (Basha) needs a second maul to replace his cutlass, but is otherwise complete. The model second from right (Bonekutta) just needed a round base. +

+ The remaining two I built from scratch specifically. Hakka is a Black Orc with two axes, and a head swap from the new Age of Sigmar orc Brutes. Ironskull was the donor for that head, his own coming from the boarboyz set, which is oddly slightly larger than the standard brute one. Not wanting to have the leader as a stock model, I've swapped his rather crude-looking weapons for slightly less crude Black Orc ones, and left his armour off. THis necessitated a bit of sculpting work on the chest and back. +

+ Elsewhere on the painting table are these Iron Warriors, who have their basecoats complete, taking them to midway through part I of this tutorial [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+]. The next stage is developing the metal work and basically brightening them up a little. +

+ The five on the left are standard Tactical legionaries, the one on the right a Destroyer. +

+ inload: February's goals +

+ February's goals +

+ Not yet halfway through January, but I want to keep these goals realistic – enthusiasm ebbs and flows; but nothing stifles creativity like a deadline. Anyway, I've cracked the Iron Circle and Blood Bowl teams that were my main January painting goals; and have dug out some sprues for the Alien Wars building. With two weeks before the end of January, I'll be able  to work on them at my leisure, and have fun recreating the iconic Blood Angels army from White Dwarf. +

+ What next, however? Well, I managed to pick up the orc cards for Shadespire for a song. I've got a handful of Black Orcs painted up that fit the henchmen of the orc gang well; and I have a fun plan to convert the leader. That's element I of the goal. +

+ Secondly, I'd like to clear up my painting backlog. The five Iron Warriors below will go a long way to 'tidying up' my gaming – at the moment, I've got awkwardly-sized squads, and no way of fielding Rapiers. These five will fill some gaps and let me play more easily. +

+ Thirdly? I think I'll keep that open. +

+ inload: Heralds of Taurson +

+ Battle Automata +

+ Excuse the rather glarey pictures, please; it being the cold depths of Winter means that I rarely get time to shoot during daylight hours. Anyway, the Iron Circle are ready for battle; and none too soon, as Lucifer216's Knight Household – watch out for them in a future inload – are spoiling for a rematch following our last battle; the Confrontation at Coripaest [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+] +

+ Iron Circle +

+ The paint scheme's been described to death in previous inloads [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+], so I won't go over it much except to point out the little dangling skulls have red markings that match each Automaton's Muster markings (the yellow shape on the black pauldron). +

+ Having spent ages getting the 'IV' looking absolutely straight, I then immediately [SCRAPSHUNTERRORABORT]ed it up with some awkward muck/weathering. This pictcapture also shows the red eyes; an update on the previous iteration. I'm still in two minds about this, as I quite liked the black, hollow-eyed look, but it's definitely more eye-catching this way. My main concern is that I've ended up with purple, yellow and red accents. I'm half-tempted to repaint the eyes purple... but that's for another day, as I've got more to paint before then! +

+ Domitar +

+ In addition to the Iron Circle, I also took the opportunity to paint up a Domitar:

+ As is typical of such painting, being a relative afterthought meant that the scheme just seems to work better; no fussy accents, no over-thought additions... just a solid frame. In this instance, I think the red eyes work much better; as they haven't got anything to compete with (in contrast with the scattered details on the Iron Circle). +

+ When painting big models like his, it's easy for them to become focal points. As ever, I want my infantry to be the main attraction for the army, not the support; so I've tried to keep the models drab and serviceable – just right for Perturabo's Legion. +

+ MMXVIII Painting + 

+ With the Iron Circle sorted and the Blood Bowl team well on the way, that's my short-term 2018 painting off to a good start; and to keep it rolling on, I've decided to take up the ever-excellent Rob Hawkins' Wargame Hobby Bingo card challenge [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+] to keep things ticking over. Cheers for the idea, Rob – great concept! +

+ Given that the Iron Circle were almost complete, I don't think it's fair to use them for the card, but I think the Domitar will counts nicely for my 'Finish painting a model that's been in your to-do pile [...]' square. +

+ inload: Confrontation at Coripaest +

+ The Kehudo Spills is the first system of note with the Inner Isolation of Vectum, a region of space forbidden to Imperial travel. Of course, while Imperial ships do not travel inwards, the Archenemy forces within occasionally sally out... +

+ Such was the case as the embittered sons of Perturabo launched an attack from the Spills onto the isolated border world of Simmer, on the corewards and spinwards reach of the Invictus subsector. +

+ This attack was the first in a calculated series of assaults that formed the spearhead of the Archenemy fleet that came to be known as the Curdling Armada, a fleet that bypassed Imperial defences and travelled spinwards during late M41. +

+ Such a huge confluence of Archenemy vessels would have proven a significant – even catastrophic – threat to any Imperial subsector, but as it subsequently proved, the chaotic forces were after a specific prize – the Space Hulk Feverdream, which had entered the Tzi'Na Enclave, a portion of space newly claimed by the Tau... +

+ The opening moves that led to the subsequent Feverdream War, are detailed here:

[+inloadflow begin+] 

+ A couple of friends – Lucifer216 and Warmtamale – got together over the weekend for a few games, and we ended up playing a very enjoyable couple of games of 8th edition. I didn't make notes on this one, but playing against Lucifer216's beautiful Knight houses made for a visual feast that I wanted to share. +

The Footsore 242nd draw up a battleline through the outlying districts of Nanbred, one of Simmer's numerous manufacturing towns. 

+ Still being largely unfamiliar with 8th edition, I stuck with tried-and-tested infantry. The Iron Warriors all counted as Primaris marines (or Lieutenants, Captains etc.), and this worked beautifully well. +

+ Elements of House Temporis and the subservient House Nestis were present +

+ Fighting a full army of Knights with a 'standard' reinforced infantry list in earlier editions would have been a dreadfully boring game, with the infantry relegated to hiding and claiming objectives. In 8th, the Iron Warriors themselves could offer some useful support to the heavier-hitting armour. +

+ Knights loom over the battlefield, giving a great visual against the buildings and terrain. +

+ The line holds. +

+ 8th edition made for great-looking visuals, as there's no incentive to position models or vehicles awkwardly for some in-game advantage: you can just place them to look good! + 

+ This shot really shows the visual impact of fighting Knights – just check out the comparison with the three-storey building in the background! +

+ From infantry eye level, you have to Know No Fear to dare take on these huge fighting machines. +

+ House Nestis clashes with the savage forces of chaos. +

+ The game ended with a fairly conclusive victory for the 242nd, which leaves the way open for the Curdling Armada to advance on Tau space... keep an eye out for a new PCRC campaign. +

+++

+ Access more dataflow on House Nestis: [+noospheric inloadlink embedded+]

+ Access more dataflow on House Temporis: [+noospheric inloadlink embedded+]

+ Access more dataflow on the 242nd Cohort: [+noospheric inloadlink embedded+]

+ inload: Iron Warriors on the workbench +

+ Work in progress +

+ There's not a huge amount to say about these beyond 'you can blame the PCRC'. Enthusiasm is a funny thing – I thought I was all set with the Iron Warriors, but give me a couple of giant robots [+noospheric inloadlink embedded+] and suddenly I'm all enthused again! +

+ As you can see, I've been on a bit of a building spree. As long-term followers of the blog (thanks all!) will know, I tend to jump from periods of building to periods of painting – mainly owing to the fact that my workspace gets cluttered with either paints or bits. Inevitably, as I start to clear up, I spot something and start fiddling around with that. I find it a nice spontaneous way to work. +

+ Breachers! Giant-shield-bearing robots (that's giant robots with giant shields) deserve some shield-bearing infantry to accompany them. As with the others in this inload, I should probably have photographed them when primed grey, rather than sprayed black, but you get the idea. There are ten here, including a vox-link bearer and a Basilikoi sergeant (front row, second from right), marked out by his spiky shoulder pads. +

+ A destroyer. I've been hoarding a load of jump packs for ages – being as rare and expensive in the real world as they are during the Heresy, I've been saving them up for... some mythical perfect project. After being earmarked for the Ultramarines, then Imperial Fists, then an Iron Warrior assault squad, I've finally bitten the bullet and decided to just use the [SCRAPSHUNT] things on a set of Destroyers, a unit type I've never explored, but one that I think fits with the Officio Monstrosa project nicely. +

+ I'm very tempted to magnetise these Destroyers' backpacks, so that I can swap back and forth between loadouts. I really like the idea of Destroyers running through Zona Mortalis games, so I want that option too. +

+ These two Basilikoi above, like the three Legion Tactical marines below, are reinforcements for existing squads. I've been working in a very organic, unplanned way with the Iron Warriors, building and expanding the force as I go. It's a nice way to work; there's no sense of things being incomplete. +