I just won Chaos in the Old World!

It was a limerick contest, and my winning entry was:

There once was a man of the Reik,
Who oft found a girl to his like,
He fondled their tresses,
Said ten "Hail Slaaneshes!"
And was gutted by Witchhunter Mike!

And so I am getting the game shipped to me! WOOT!

Wow, I've been busy

Or something like that.

Since I last blogged, I played in a tourney, and had my ass handed to me. 2-1 in fact, and I played at the kiddie tables for the last two games. Sad, but true. I got a lot of things painted for the tourney, most of which you saw in the last few posts, but I also finished my Manticore, which was shown as a WIP in my first few posts.

Of course I don't have pictures of it! I want to get pictures of my whole guard army, but I want it done outside. And of course, the whole of the outside world is still covered in snow, so...

In the mean time, I've gotten bored of painting Warhammer miniatures, so I thought I'd give myself a little break and paint up a Reaper mini I got in a paint set I bought for 50% off. He's a neat little fig, and he's acutally on of the few "realistic" mini's that Reaper puts out. I think he'd look good for a level 1 fighter.









He's been primed black, painted with GW foundation paints, and his armor was washed with Devlan Mud. Devlan Mud should be sold by the gallon. The symbol is a transfer from the IG sheet, and the base was a resin cast base that I did.

Additional recruits

I haven't been writing as much because I was preparing for a tournament. FYI, apparently, my scatter die mojo has gone south for the winter, as I went 1-2 and got pummeled the entire time. Apparently, strategy isn't my thing. :)

I'm a big fan of the alternate heads available out there for your cadian/catachan bodies. Things like the Seperate Head System from West Wind, or the ones from Pig Iron Productions. Pig Iron produced Winter Heads, and I snatched those up. I'm also a fan of the Rebel Kolony line. Both of those are available from the Warstore.

I think he has some Captain in him:




I don't know what to call this regiment, as I don't see them as Valhallans. I started making them during the whole Mordant 13th thing, so I might go with that. Or I might come up with some new regiment altogether.

And full disclosure, I receive no free stuff from anybody on this or any other product. I know there's a whole new law passed about that. I don't know the particulars, but I thought I'd cover myself, just in case. :)

New recruits for the Valhallan 42nd!

The newly minted leader of the 42nd, Captain Sorin:


The new Company Banner of the 42nd Mountaineers, Faith Company:



A Fleet Officer attached to the 42nd:






A Flamer for Lt. Reznik's squad:



And a grenade launcher for 1st Platoon (him, I'm not so proud of, paint-job wise):

Oh, the humanity!

So, there ist is again, you rock up to your friendly local gaming store (FLGS) and you're looking for a 40k game. You brought your freshly painted 5th Company of the Face-Punchers of the Emperor's Fury Chapter, and you're itching to put some xenos scum in their place. You open the door, and what do you see? Tom with his 135th Ultra-Cadians, Dick with his Order of the Holy Name of He Who Sits Around All Day, and Harry with his 4TH Company of the Face-Punchers of the Emperor's Fury Chapter. You care about theme; you hate fighting against the "same side". So, now what?

So, why the hell would two Imperial Forces fight each other? Well luckily, the last time I checked, the 40k Universe is full of paranoia, back-stabbing and other unpleasant motivations. Not all is rosy in the Imperium of Man.

Before we begin, it helps to have an established story for your force. Are they an expeditionary force? Are they defending their homeworld? Are they on campaign? If you have a foundation, it's far easier to build a solid house on top of it.

Here are some ideas:

1. It's a wargame. Real armies do these all the time. To prepare for war, one plays at war. This is probably easiest to rationalize, though it's kinda weaksauce for the creative types.

2. Rivals come to blows. There's a Forbidden Item of Great Power on the planet below, and both side are arguing about how to dispose of it. There is no compromise, there is no backing down, and it must be settled by blood.

3. A Radical (Heretical?) Inquisitor has manipulated one or both of the forces. Which would be a neat backstory for a branching campaign, if one your other friends has a large Daemon Hunter force, you can have the two forces join against the manipulating bastard at the end to put him down.

4. Your Chapter is skirting the razor's edge of heresy, loyal until that last straw breaks the camel's back, then the descent into howling madness begins!

Here we have a pre-battle story illustrating #2

"It seems the Sisters have not forgotten Armageddon, Brother-Sergeant. They hound us at every step."

"They seem to know our objective, Brother Chaplain. Their agents must be very well informed. Not that their information will help them. If they but knew our true cause, they would likely join us." Brother Sergeant Lucius's auto-senses tracked the heat-bloom coming off of the sister's lead Immolater. The rest of the Sisters milled about in the pre-dawn gloom, taking positions covering the impact crater.

It had been several years since Chaplain Odio found the tome that led them on the quest to recover the mortal artifacts of Angaron. If the Liber di Furia Inumana could be believed, then the gathered items they found could banish Angaron into the Immaterium forever.

"I doubt that highly, Lucius. The Ecclesiarchs are a prickly lot. If they are even aware of our quest, I doubt it would matter. They see us as tainted, no matter what." He sighed as he watched the Sisters take the high ground far in the distance. "It is time we teach them a lesson. Release the Annointed Ones from their chains. They could do with a hunt."

Odio tightend his grip on his Crozius, it's spiked head arcing with energy in response to the sudden rage that gripped him. Odio turned to the Fourth Company, his Brothers in Arms.

"Once more, we are opposed by those that would keep us from our quest. Once more, we must fight and spill blood for what we know to be true. The skull of the last victim of Angaron as a mortal man awaits us in that crater. The Skull Last Taken will be ours, Brothers! We attack at dawn! None shall stand against us! BLOOD IN HIS NAME!"

"BLOOD IN HIS NAME!"

As one, the Flesh Tearers advanced....

Team Tournament Backstory

So, back about two years ago, my friend Simon and I went and played in the Adepticus Orlandicus Team Tourney held (oddly enough) in Orlando, FL. We, as Team Bloody and Broody (Flesh Tearers/Dark Angels) took third overall, and won for the Head Hunter's Prize (prize for killing the most HQ's/Keeping the most HQ's alive). Go us. Fluff was taken into account for the team's scoring, so no Dark Angel/Dark Eldar pairings. In mind of that, I wrote a little short story explaining how our two forces met, and how we began to cooperate.

But first some back story on my back story. My Flesh Tearers are charged with finding the Eight Artifacts of Angaron (a non-canon idea, but inspired by the Blood Quest comics), and bringing them back to Creticia so that they may be destroyed, killing or weakening Angaron. Simon's Dark Angels are doing what they do best, hunting for a Fallen.

Sgt. Thracius watched his bolter round enter the renegade’s eye. With grim satisfaction, he watched the World Eater’s head explode like a rotten gourd. The gore-soaked giant collapsed, crushing some of the rebel factory workers underneath his bulk.

Sgt. Thracius turned to face his next foe, as the battle raged around him. Blood stained the robes that marked him as member of the Inner Circle. His Dark Angel Brethren had traveled to this factory to hunt down one of the Fallen Angels, and had instead fallen into his trap. The approach to the factory showed the glorious icons of Imperial industry had been torn down or smashed asunder, and had been replaced with runes which burned the eye to look at them. The skull rune of the Blood God had been carved into the head of the Immortal Emperor, incensing the patrol as their rhinos approached the twisted ruins of the factory. Thracius urged caution, and spoke of signs of the enemy in the rubble. The cultists they saw were twisted, stunted parodies of men, clothed in the skin of those who had remained loyal to the Emperor. Bearing an assortment of autoguns, las pistols and crude hand to hand weapons, they were easy prey for the even this small patrol of Astartes. But even this small coven could lead to information regarding this renegade leader, known only as “The Angel of Slaughter”. They could not risk this possible Fallen to escape.

All had gone as planned. Small arms fire pinged off the Rhino’s hide on the approach, representing very little threat. A cultist bearing a grenade launcher, seemingly the heaviest weapon amongst their force, was picked off at range by the more accurate fire of the second squad. The Rhinos gained entry to the compound virtually unopposed. Sgt. Thracius and his battle brothers poured forth from the Rhinos, bolters spitting death. The cultists charged unheeding into the massed fire power, but gained no ground. All seemed to be going their way until Sgt. Thracius heard the throaty roar of chain weapons starting. From concealed positions, eight crimson armored forms rose to join battle. Cleaving through their own followers to better get at the Dark Angels, the World Eaters made their way to join the combat.

All was bedlam for several minutes. The swirl and rush of combat overtook them. Sgt. Thracius’s close encounter made him realize that their positions were untenable. The World Eaters were pressing too hard, and the cultists were cutting off any chance of escape. The Unending Duty, high in orbit, could not be reached, and neither could their Ravenwing patrol. All would be lost if they did not fall back soon.

It was then that Thracius heard the clap of thunder. “Three drop pods on an approach vector, Brother-Sgt.” That brief message confirmed the worst of Thracius’s suspicions. More of the Enemy were coming. He made the only order which made sense.

“Return to the Rhinos, Brothers! We must fall back! Grab your fallen Brothers! No one is left behind!”

At that moment the drop pods slammed home, sending a shock wave through the battle. All was silent for a split second. Then the explosive bolts holding the drop pod doors fired. Red-armored marines poured forth from the pods, armed for close combat, and all seemed lost.

That was until the newcomers fired into the cultists. A scream of “Blood! Blood in His Name!” carried over the din of battle as the newcomers launched themselves into the cultists. Ten of them were armored in white, covered in saltaires of crimson. Those armored so seemed unstoppable, taking fire that would level a grox. As a force, they moved through the foe like a scythe.

“I don’t know who they are, Brothers, but kill the rebels!” The Dark Angels redoubled their fire, slaughtering the cultists. They watched in mute horror as the newcomers rent and tore the foe with chain-axe, combat knives, and even bare hands. Soon, even the Berserkers fell to the warriors in white. What few cultists remained fled to the hills when they saw their benefactors fall. The white armored marines turned to follow them, breaking spines, crushing skulls and rending limbs in a display of unmatched savagery.

The Dark Angels stood, bolters at the ready, and watched the newcomers. A black armored form marched forward, a skull mask marking him as a chaplain. Is this some trick of the Fallen?, thought Sgt Thracius. His Crozius is more of a cudgel than a symbol of devotion. The chaplain raised his hands in salute, and reached up to break the air-seals of his helm.

“Well met, Brothers of the Dark Angels! I am sorry for the lack of warning, but you did not seem to be on the standard frequencies. And there is the matter of the jamming that seems to be taking place.” He seemed normal, a bit pale and gaunt perhaps, but free of taint. “I am Brother-Chaplain Lucius, of the 4th Company of the Fleshtearers. I would speak to your commander, if possible. We may have common cause.”

Why now? These blasted interlopers will ruin the hunt! But Sgt. Thracius could not refuse without drawing suspicion. “I am Brother-Sgt. Thracius, 4th company, 2nd squad, leader of this patrol. Brother-Epistolatory Praxilus is not here. I will vox him to let him know of your desire to meet. But we have little time for conferances. These covens demand to be purged. If a meeting can be done, he will let me know.”

“That is all I can ask.”

______________________________

The Sgt. watched as Brother Librarian Praxilus strode away from the meeting with the Fleshtearer command. Suspicious eyes watched as the battle-scarred craft closed its ramps and began to lift skyward.

The robes of his fellow Inner Circle members moved in the winds created from the other chapter’s Thunderhawk lifting into the sky. “Brothers, I need not tell you that this is a critical moment” began Praxilus. “I have spoken with this Chaplain Lucius. And he targets the same renegade that we do, for reasons unrelated to our quest. Indeed, he is of the mind that this “Angel of Slaughter” is a renegade from his own Chapter, or of his parent Chapter. He does not know anything of the Fallen, and that should remain so if we remain vigilant. Indeed, the Emperor’s Tarot predicted a great challenge ahead of us; forces gather the likes of which we have never seen. Ordinarily, I would not do this, but our casualties have been great. The Enemy was prepared, and though we could find the Fallen, we would not be able to guarantee our success. With them, we can prevail. Without them... who can say?”

With this, Sgt. Thracius grinned. “Better to have hounds to flush our prey. Should they learn too much, who will doubt us when we say they went mad, and had to be put down? Their reputation is our leash, and our weapon.”

______________________________

“Brother Lucius! We have left the atmosphere. Docking with the Righteous Fury in 30.”

“Well done as always, Brother Gregor. Keep scanning for anything unusual.”

“Ave, Brother…” A pause. And then the question, “Brother, these Dark Angels, what do you make of them? Do you trust them?”

“I do not trust them, Gregor. But I trust I know what they will do. They seek our fallen Brother for some reason, I dare not ask what. As long as this ‘Angel’ has the axe we seek; I care not. Just be on guard. I don’t wish to be lost in an ‘accident’ if we step on our Brother’s robes once too often. The Sons of el’Johnson were ever peevish regarding their secrets. In fact, we should probably sensor sweep this Thunderhawk as soon as we return. Still, we need them as much as they need us…”

X-Mas Project

So, the 40KRadio listeners' group, the Freebootas, are doing a gift exchange. It's your typical Secret Santa thing, but 40k related. You know, something small, but nice.

The guy I got mentioned he liked Eldar and Orks, so I whipped this together:





It's a tad bit hard to see, but it's a resin cast dreadnought sized base with added detail. It's got a guardian casualty on it, with his leg being pinned by the tip of a broken Eldar Warpgate. I'm going to wait until the greenstuff sets, and then add a bit more detail. I'm almost tempted to make a cast of it, but that seems like cheapening the gift a bit. Not like I can sell them, anyway, since it has GW parts...

I'm a sucker for a Space Game

I love BFG.

Let me state that again, I love Battle Fleet Gothic. I put little hearts over the "i" when I write Gothic I love it so much. And Fire Storm Armada looks to be pushing my Gothic Button (take that as you will).



A few gents from the D6 Generation put up a battle report on Spartan's forums.

It looks good, and there's been positive buzz for sometime about it.

The stories of the 42nd

Katya’s hull rang with the impact of energy bolts that clawed at the outer hull, desperate to pierce it. Sorin’s face was lit a garish green in the light of the tactical display. He could feel the sightless eyes of Walker boring into him, and it was disturbing him. He didn’t even know Walker’s first name yet, as the Astropath had been assigned to them just this morning. He was another of Commissar Price’s “suggested” innovations, and as disturbing as Walker was, he was already proving his worth.

“Are the penal legions in position?”

“Yes, Captain. They have advanced past the broken lines of Angel Company. It seems either that they have not been spotted, or that they have been dismissed as a minor threat by the Eldar in comparison.”

“More likely the second. Still, have them proceed with their mission. Forgiveness is theirs to be had, even if it’s found while wearing a martyr’s collar.” More impacts hit the hull, one of them causing the hull to glow an intriguing cherry red to the captain’s right. “And see if we can have the 57th do something about this insistent knocking.”

“Ave, Captain.”

Seconds later, a roar that was felt as much as heard filled the cabin with insistent drum beats. The artillery pieces had been concealed in the hills behind the battle-lines of the 42nd Valhallans. The patter of the Eldar’s energy weapons stopped. “Finally! I can get some Mark 1’s on this situation! Pop the top.”

Katya’s top hatches were thrown back. Grabbing his field glasses, Captain Sorin cautiously raised his helmeted head into the grey light of Quentin III. The sight of a war-torn charnel house was his reward. High command had triangulated this area as the center of the Eldar raids, and had postulated that this heavily wooded area was either their base camp or an area of interest to them. Resistance had been heavy in their push to take the woods. Sorin saw the smooth hulls of multiple Eldar tanks burning in the killing fields between the rocky hills they were trapped in and the woods the enemy held. Sorin saw his men, the men of Faith Company, were huddled behind the rocky outcroppings approaching their objective. Borisova’s Angel Company had been mauled on the left, but at least Katzev’s Chain Company was pressing on the right. No matter how well Katzev's boys are doing now, they will falter without support. Faith Company had to press or else the assault would stall and fail. He could hear Commissar Price’s voice exhorting the men to advance, but if the men advanced now, they'd be cut down. It was reaching a point of no return.

“Vox a message to the 57th. Let them fire danger close on those wooded positions ahead of us. Dead of our own shells or dead of xenos weaponry… It makes no difference if we can’t advance. Vox the sergeants leading the assault as well. Tell them they better be 30 seconds behind the shells, or Price will be the least of their worries. And bring those ipaccing Demolishers forward. We need their hulls to cover the assault!”

Captain Sorin, paused, weighing the odds. It was now or never.

"And we need to button up. Order Lt. Revnik to bring his Chimera up to support the Demolishers. We need his flamers to burn the those bastard Eldar out. We're going, too."

That last bit of news made the vox operator look stricken. Sorin resisted the urge to slap him. Corporal Nikitin was new to the 42nd, brought to the front to replace his his old vox-op who had taken a sniper round in the shoulder. His hands were more used to grinding coffee than digging fox-holes, and the fear showed in his eyes. "Pull yourself together, Miska! Did you think you'd see war from a comfy seat here in Katya's hull? You're a son of Valhalla, boy! Time to earn that greatcoat!" Nitkin didn't seem so sure, but prepped his lasgun anyway.

Katya rumbled forward, progressing slowly over the rocks ahead of them. The roar of the 57th's guns firing was eclipsed by the sound of their shells hitting home 100 yards ahead of them. The demolisher's cannons added their shells to the roar, and their heavy bolters spat death into the half-seen Eldar holding in the woods. Sorin checked the workings of his chainsword, pushing down the fear he felt with practiced ease. The eyes of the company would be on him, and he had to keep their fighting spirits high.

Suddenly, Katya lurched to a halt. The cabin's heat rose perceptibly. Sorin sensed danger, yelling "Hit the deck!" not a moment too soon. A beam of pure light cut through the transport compartment at gut height. Petrachkov grabbed the company standard and threw it to the deck, and was caught by the beam. It cut into him, the heat from the beam caused him to explode. Nitkin wretched, but had the common courtesy not to soil the company banner any further than Petrachkov had. "It looks like we need a new banner bearer, Nitkin, and it looks like you've just volunteered. Get that banner unfurled! Hold it high, for the Company's sake! Walker, stay here and hide. Katya's down, but she will protect you from stray shots. Men of the 42nd, we go the rest of the way on foot!" With that, Sorin kicked the broken ramp down. He drew his chainsword and strode forth, touching Katya's aquilla icon for luck. He hoped to the Emperor his men were following him.

To be continued...