+ inload: Iron Warriors trio +

+ inload: Scions of the 242nd +

'Footsore no more.' Ostrod murmured, half to himself. It was a peculiar half-honour. He wouldn't be making landfall with the rest of the 242nd Grand Company. Instead, he was being made a Palatarch of his own Chain. Sergeant, he thought for a moment, before considering that there was no reason – none at all – to use the old Terran term now.

+ Ostrod +

Promotion and transfer. He, along with two others, were on a shuttle to liaise with a new Grand Company. The other two sat opposite him in the mostly-empty bay. Masked behind his helm, he sat rigid as his eyes scanned them.

One was unfamiliar. Ubricz he knew in passing. In their plate, he could be the twin of Ostrod. Identical armour; only details differentiated them. Ubricz had a rigid approach to armouring; as coldly efficient and unsentimental as the Iron Circle that he so admired. Besides the temporary transfer marking that had been stamped above each of the new officers' primary hearts, Ubricz's armour was unmarked by any personal honorifics or personalisation. Ostrod felt a peculiar sense of shame at the spiked pauldron and pseudleather apron he bore; the skull-shaped finials at the end of each strap seemed somehow opulent; needlessly boastful.

Ubricz sat as rigidly as his observer, hands resting on his knees. Besides the occasional rocking of the shuttle, he might easily have been an empty suit of armour.

Admirable, for an Iron Warrior.

+ Ubricz +

 

Spitefully, Ostrod looked for faults. It came easily to him. He noted the non-standard backpack – doubtless some recent replacement. Even Ubricz, it seemed, was not infallible. 

Frustratingly, that seemed to be it. Even the combat blade at his belt was perfectly placed for cross-draw. 

Dismayed, he looked for criticisms in Ubricz's armament. Newly-issued bolt pistol – that matched his own – and a chainaxe. Peculiar. An unusual, though not frowned-upon, choice. The axe swapped speed and finesse for power and reach. Ostrod smiled thinly. 

Variance. Weakness.

Satisfied, in some strange, unplaceable way, Ostrod turned his attention to the third warrior. Ident-runes flagged him as 'Ixod Konstantz'. The Space Marine bristled and turned to Ostrod with a clanking of heavy plate and grind of pistons. Ostrod barely stopped himself – shamefully – from flinching. Active reports. Konstantz had clearly tweaked his armour to alert him when being scanned.

+ Konstantz +

Ostrod looked away, feigning disdain, and the other Legionary turned back to the combat-ready slump he had been in before. He had, in any case, seen all he needed. Konstantz's armour was older than Ubricz's, or his own. Mark III plate, battered and war-worn. Ostrod wondered if it was a 'pure' set, issued as Mark III; or a mongrel suit, adapted and refined from a suit of Crusade armour like that worn by the other two on the shuttle.

There was something of the fanatic in Konstantz, Ostrod considered. Bristling, reactive, angry. He even wore trophies: an old ork tooth – judging from the discoloration, from some ancient battle – and a human skull. Ostrod couldn't help turning back for a second.

No, not a human skull.

That had belonged to an Astartes.

+++

+ Commission complete +

+ After a wait for the final bits, these three vicious warriors are all finished and ready for deployment by their new commander. I thought I'd get a few shots of the finished models, and post up a couple of thoughts and notes. +

+ Everything looks swish in a bell jar! Trazyn the Infinite would be proud +

+ This was a really enjoyable project – small, self-contained, and a welcome return to a favourite army of mine. I always judge the success of a commission by whether I want to keep it afterwards. I'm pleased (if slightly regretful!) to say that these three pass the test. +

+ Part of the reason that I keep coming back to Space Marines – despite thinking of myself as a Guard player at heart – is that they have such a broad and deep background. Each Legion, Chapter or Warband seems to riff on the basic concept of 'Space Marine' slightly differently, so there's a joy both of familiarity with the shapes and building blocks, and of opportunity in going slightly further or in a different direction with each model. +

+ One of the things that I wanted to do here was make use of bits that had appeared since I last worked on my Officio Monstrosa project – in the example above, a Space Marine Heroes series 2 Terminator. These figures are push fit and include integrated bases, which I think is one of the best things GW does in helping to create evocative poses. There are obvious drawbacks (for multiples, matching existing basing schemes), but where they work, there's no substitute for how integrated bases help with the posing of figures. +

+ A disdainful upright posture for this marine. I wanted to convey a confident, dutiful impression for this marine, so kept him largely clean. The resting chainaxe implies he's not at all on edge about executing his duty – the angle of his pistol suggesting finishing someone off, rather than honourable combat.+ 

+ As a rule, Iron Warriors are bitter and resentful types, restrained and efficient, and I wanted to get that across. As we know, 40k doesn't have any goodies – and it's sometimes good to reinforce that with a slightly swaggering, bullying posture for villains like the Fourth Legion. You don't have to be screaming to be evil. +

+ A plainer, battered and more traditional look for this last Iron Warrior, up-armoured in (appropriately enough) a battered Mark III Armourum Ferrum breastplate. With most Space Marines colour schemes, I think it's easy to fall into a trap of doing too much of their accent colours – Ultramarines with more gold decoration than blue, for example – and this is particularly the case with black or metal schemes, where any addition will draw the eye. The hazard striping so common to the Iron Warriors scheme has been restricted to the chainsword, where it adds Iron Warriors flavour without being too eye-catching. The combination of yellow and black is retained in a simpler, cleaner form on the pauldrones. +

+ Modern-looking Tactical markings and trophy-hunting makes for a stark juxtaposition. You can suggest a lot about an army with little details like this. +

+++

+ To finish, here's a little group shot. Onwards to victory! Iron Within! Iron Without! +

+ inload: Iron Warriors commission +

+ Getting back to the Officio +

+ I was commissioned through this blog to build a trio of Iron Warriors line officers, along the lines of my own Officio Monstrosa project [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+]. Happily, the chap who's retained me is happy with how they're looking, so thought I'd share them here to talk through a few notes, in case they're of interest to anyone. +

+ After a bit of discussion back and forth, the brief was pleasingly open – three Iron Warriors that could conceivably be loyal to the Emperor or Horus (so no obvious Chaos symbols or motations), each armed with chainsword and bolt pistol, and with the cool helm with the additional Legion symbol mask from the  Forge World Iron Warrior upgrade pack. The figures would be used as sergeants or similar, so needed to be fairly restrained in pose – bothing too dynamic. Beyond that, and urban rubble basing, I was given free reign. +

+ I don't do a lot of commission pieces, but the principle I always apply to them is 'would I want this in my personal army?' To that end, I spent some time roughing out some ideas, then got stuck in. Coming back to older techniques or processes – in this case Terminator-based Trusecale (you can find the process yourself through here [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+]) – is always interesting, as you find ways to refine or go further as new options open up, or you simply refine your skills. +

+ This marine, who I mentally named Ostrod while working, uses one of the Terminators from Space Marine Heroes series 2 for the legs. These figures have much more interesting poses than most Terminators, and come with rather nice integrated bases. As with the others, you'll note he's missing his backpack – they hadn't yet arrived, so will be added after the rest of the model is painted in each case.+

+ I've tried to keep the pose fairly neutral, so that he looks good during games. Whether pictured in combat, mid-strike, or simply advancing warily, he should provide a nice focal point for a squad  without standing out too much. The addition of a bit spiky pauldron – as usual, from Master-Crafted Miniatures – gives him a suitably brutal feel without being too obviously Chaotic. +

+ Iron Armour and Iron Warriors go together like particularly violent ice-cream and jelly, so a warrior in Mark III – Konstantz – in mid-strike seemed fitting. The torso's a cast of a converted torso I used for my own army, which married the bottom of plastic torso with a sculpted upper. The legs here are from the Grey Knight Terminator set, with the thighs considerably bulked-up. I've added to the heavy, solid feeling with plenty of pouches and an arm from the Gorgon Terminator kit.+

+ The final marine is levelling his bolt pistol, as though to execute a downed enemy. This sort of pose looks good in isolation or as part of a dedicated vignette, but can look odd in-game. To avoid any visual awkwardness, I placed him on a slightly modified Stormcast base. This raised him up a little further than the others, which makes the pistol gesture make sense outside of the very specific places he might otherwise need to be in. +

+ As noted elsewhere in the blog, I tend to prime figures before considering them completely finalised, as it helps to stop your eye being thrown off by all the different colours or plastic, resin and putty. While I remained happy with the other two, this figure (Ubricz) was the only one of the three that I altered after priming. The original, with a chainsword, is shown above, the final version below. +

+ Why the change to chainaxe? Mostly, it was to better convey the almost casual disdain with which this marine is treating his downed foe. For me, the slung chainaxe resting on the shoulder better encapsulates the arrogance and cruelty of the Iron Warriors. Secondly, the more relaxed pose fit better with the posture of his legs. I thought he looked too alert and wary before, with his chainsword down, which didn't 'read right' with the ponderous confidence suggested by his legs. +

+ Secondly, I thought the chainaxe was both a bit different – while part of the Iron Warriors 'thing' is a mass of faceless soldiers, complete uniformity of armament is a bit boring. It's easy enough to 'count-as' a chainsword, but adds a flavourful Horus Heresy-era touch. Together with a small skull trophy slung on his shoulder pad, it also hints as background influences on the Legion, with Khorne berserkers a part of the Iron Warriors. Is this warrior a future axe-happy lunatic, lost in slaughter? Will his discipline survive? Little things like this add much to the story of a piece. +

+++

+ Painting next; as per request I'll be using the same approach as for my own army – so keep an eye out for another inload soon. +

+ inload: Fighting, Titans and War of the False Primarch +

+ inload: Miscellany +

+Pride of place in the blog entry goes +] Flesh Eater Kill Team for War of the False Primarch. Sporting his signature LED look, it's easy to overlook the conversion work he's done to make the models look more like the Imperial Space Marines of very early Rogue Trader. Unflared legs (taken from the new Phobos armour type) along with helms cast from the limited edition Imperial Space Marine. All fit very nicely in the War of the False Primarch setting – and the autocockles are always warmed when one of my gaming group makes something for the project. +

+ I particularly like the flag borne by the squad – banners and flags rarely get the 'airtime' they deserve in this Gothic space fantasy setting. +

+ Opposing the Flesh Eaters for a very fun Kill Team game – which you can read about on Some Things Are Best Left Forgotten [+noosphericexloadlink embedded+] – was a squad of my Silver Stars. Since they've largely been built in lockdown, it was nice to get some gaming in. +

+++

+ Work-in-progress +

+ A couple of work-in-progress pieces. I'll be sorting out another six-week challenge/event for the War of the False Primarch, which will revolve around characters. To that end, I thought I'd put together an officer for the Silver Stars. This chap is not quite there yet, but he's based on the new Black Templar models. Took quite a lot of trimming to remove or adapt all the sculpted on detail. +

+ Captain Riverhead +

+ I've also been retained on commission for a trio of Iron Warriors following my process for my Officio Monstrosa project [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+]. Still working out the shapes and structure, but I've got the torso and legs on the blocks – as you can see in the example below. The head and shoulder pads are just tacked in place to check proportions. +

+ Pleased with how they're coming on; it's nice to return to older processes and refine them further. I'm using one of the Space Marine Heroes models here, which allows for slightly more dynamic poses out of the box than the Terminators I usually use. +

+++

+ And finally +

+ I popped up to Warhammer World on a secret mission recently, and while there had the pleasure of meeting two of the Baraqu gang for a game, along with some War of the False Primarch chaps – all lovely! Alas, it was a bit of a flying visit, though I did get the chance to take some pictures of the Warbringer Titan crew; the last figures I need to lay my greedy autoclaws on for my 40k-scale Titan Crew collection. They were an absolute [SCRAPSHUNTERRORABORT+] to photograph! +

 

+ 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.

+++

+ inloads: Iron Warriors 'Officio Monstrosa ' army shot +

+ Iron Warriors 242nd 'Footsore' Great Company and the Officio Monstrosa +

+ Is there any greater satisfaction – hobbywise, at least – than seeing an army you've painted laid out, and completed to the best of your ability? +

+ MIssing the tanks, but otherwise complete +

+ I found myself in the (unusual, for me!) position of having finished everything I need for an event with some time to spare, so I decided to double-check everything was complete. I ended up surprising myself with how much I'd done for the force. Because they've developed rather more organically – i.e. with less pre-planning than other armies I've done – I'd quite forgotten some of the models. It was nice to dig 'em out and get some details – I hope you enjoy the show. +

+ Tactical legionaries are at the heart of every space marine force I've ever done. I've ended up with nearly forty, all told. +

+ Perturabo hasn't seen table-time yet. Now the army's 'done' (though is any army ever really finished?), I'll have to twist the arm of Stuntwedge to face me with his Imperial Fists in a suitably large game. Perhaps that cowardly wretch Rogal Dorn will make an appearance? +

+ Zaricus Cjarn has led the force so far. A relatively lowly Centurion, I think he'll end up being superceded by a higher-level officer soon. I won't forget this axe-wielding loon, though. One of my favourite models full-stop.+

+ You see the benefit of 'boring' poses when you set out your models like this. Having more restrained marines helps the more dynamic poses stand out, and makes for a better overall look. +

+ Talking of dynamic poses, I think this chap is my favourite in the force overall. +

+ The stripped-back aesthetic of the Iron Warriors still leaves a little space for details that add a bit of narrative. Here a little wolf token – a gift from the XVIth Legion? A trophy from the VIth? – is there for viewers to pick out. Note also the hazard striping. I've deliberately kept that minimal. It's such an eye-catching device that it can really draw attention away from the metallics. +

+ Freehand banners. A lot of fun, and a good opportunity to practise your brushwork. +

+ New Destroyers. The damaged pauldrons come from Master-Crafted miniatures. The metallics here are ever-so-slightly darker than the rest of the army; to reflect the rad-soaked background. +

+ Multi-meltas – a perfect example of a unit made just for looks. They attract a lot of positive comments, which goes to show a change is as good as a rest, sometimes. One of my favourite bits of the army, they make heavy use of the Blood Angel helmet that I adopted for its sinister eye slits.  +

+ The new apothecary – see yesterday's inload [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+] – was designed to fit alongside the vignette of two injured Marines [+noosphericinloadlink embedded+] I made. +

+ Again, a bit of freehand detail really sings out against what is, at root, a super-easy metallic scheme. The little targetting panels were painted with the same blue accent I've used sparingly across the army. +

+ Rapiers are fun – small enough that I enjoyed painting them (unlike most vehicles), large enough to stand out. +

+ GIANT ROBOTS +

+ MORE GIANT ROBOTS +

+ ...and back to regular ol' troops to close. Converting every model is time-consuming and sometimes frustrating, but it really helps to make the army feel like yours; adding a very personal artistic touch. It also helps to remind you that even the 'basic' Space Marine is a distinctive hero (or villain), with the potential for own narrative development. This all adds to the enjoyment of every aspect of the hobby; from generating ideas for painting honorifics to suggesting storylines and plots for gaming. +

+ Iron Warriors Apothecary +

+ inload: Corpsemaker +

Respiration laboured. Palliative oxy-haemotics: thirty – no, thirty-five units. Commence auto-leeching to balance the humou- [SMALL ARMS FIRE]  Hmph. [SMALL ARMS FIRE INCREASES] [STATIC] To expedite withdrawal, Palatarch, I can give you three choices – you can detail two of your men to drag him back across the minefield; or I can extract and take back the gene-sperm. [ORDNANCE DETONATION] The third choice? Well, if we stay here much longer, I can take him and the rest of you back in a bucket.

+ A very enjoyable figure to work on; just familiar enough to be relaxing, and just enough extra detail for fun. The variety of lenses and panels here was ripe for experimenting, so I decided to paint the lamp using greys and freehand lines to suggest something like a deactivated car headlamp. +

+ The freehand apothecary symbol on the pauldron is just about visible here, along with the bloody handprint on his shin. +

+ Beyond the standard 'true-scaling', it was a simple conversion. I trimmed the hand from a Grey Knight Terminator apothecary arm (I think), replacing it with an auspex. The cool backpack details are from the Primaris apothecary; while the loincloth and helm are from the Mark IV plastic box. + 

+ I had a bit of fun experimenting with object source lighting from the auspex, too. Fairly subtle, but very easy to do on metallics, as you can simply glaze the colour on once the underlying metals are highlighted properly. +

+ The scheme is deliberately stripped-back. I decided against using an alternative white scheme for this apothecary. The impact of the whole force relies on the anonymity of the figures – no-one's allowed to stand out in Perturabo's army! +