40K · fan based · fan made · fiction · figures · fine detail · fun · hobby · miniatures. · painting · sci fi · science fiction · space marines · warhammer · Warhammer 40000 · Warhammer 40k · Wh40K

Team Mental

I’m not entirely sure what I am going to do with these guys. A lot of what I am painting has been bought second hand so I have had no real control over what they look like. I have no idea what his intentions were with these Marines I am currently painting. They see, to be a mishmash of different parts.

I think I will end up using them as veterans but I keep referring to them as Team Mental. No one wants to be on Team Mental, they’re all crazy…

They are fun to paint however and I will continue to keep at them, they’re not looking too shabby in my humble opinion.

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The legend of Leonaci Conucifer and the raging Azhut – Part 2

 Read this first …
Leaping out of the shadows, skittering across the floor in rapid movements, large creatures descended on the squad. There was no real time for thought, only firing. The speed in which they attacked matched the response. Silence was shattered by the sound of bolter-fire; shouts of surprise filled the air. Conucifer aimed his bolter at the nearest one, blasting through a front limb. These aliens had six legs, the front ones raised and armed with vicious claws.
The limb exploded in a shower of green viscera. It did not stop the creature, now squealing from its beaked mouth. Clicks filled the air as the creature lunged forward, the remaining claw raised. Aiming the bolter again, he shot at the head, blowing it off. Instead of falling to the ground as expected, it kept coming. He blinked, dropping the bolter. Thumbing the activation on the chainsword, the machine whirred to life. He cut through the carapace, a shower of entrails spilling from the wound. Finally, the creature fell still.
A scream snapped his head up. Helpless, he watched as a headless thing skewered both claws through the chest of Lurvus, “Through the chests!” he yelled, needing the others to know how to kill the xeno scum. Not waiting, Conucifer brought his bolter to bear and destroyed the thing that had harmed his brother. Carnok, the apothecary was at Lurvus’s side in moments, making sure he was alright. He turned away and looked for the next target.
The sound of bolter fire echoed over the ridge, the clicks of the alien a subtle undertone. A quick scan of the ridge said his shout had been registered and orders followed, the mounting bodies of dead aliens evidence of that. The ground shuddered, something large was moving about in the cave. Looking up, Conucifer saw something that turned his stomach. Skin glistened; slick wet leather covered a bony body twice the size of him. Claws as long as his arms reached out but the worst thing was the stench. Death followed this creature; the smell of putrid flesh followed as it exited the cave, making his gorge rise. He knew what he had to do!
“MORTIFERUS!” he yelled, the answering cries of his battle-brothers spurring him forwards. He charged into the mass of it; the large claws rose in greeting as his chain-sword swung down, cutting into one of the thick limbs. Green blood spurted from the wound but the fight was far from over. Dodging left, he blocked a blow with a ceramite vambrace, cutting low. The blow found purchase, the chain cutting into flesh. Squeals erupted from the hideous mouth of the monster, It pushed forward. Not one to neglect a challenge, Conuficer refused to be moved. He ducked, repeating the blow to the other limb; this time the creature did not miss him. 
A huge claw punctured his left shoulder, the blow sending him reeling. Vivid red flooded down his blue armour; the raw pain flooded through him before the power armour could inject the stims into his blood, damping it. Seconds later, he was being pressed back, the alien not giving him a moment to register the wound.
The sound of parried blows echoed as the beast drove him further back into the cave. The light dimmed, the stench intensified. Pressing the advantage, a flurry of blows sent his bolter flying, his chainsword span out of his grip. A low blow from the claw toppled Conicifer, sending him sprawling onto his back. 
Vile stench surrounded him, the creature loomed over, it’s fiendish maw dripping with green ooze. Hearts thudding in his ears, he did not wait for death. If he was going to be claimed by this evil hissing thing, he was going to make sure it came with him! Two claws descended; he caught them in gloved hands, refusing to give in. The sharp blades of the alien’s primary weapon cut through his armoured hands.
Watching the claws come closer, despite his grip he knew the end was close. There was so much he had left to do, so many tasks yet to complete in the name of the Emperor. Feeling the claw slip through his grasp, he refused to believe this was how it ended. His grip tightened on the sharp appendages, blood flowed from his lacerated hands. He twisted his wrists around instead. At an agonising pace, the rigid claws were twisted with them.
First there was a creaking, rapidly followed by a snapping and a spray of green covered his helmet. Screaming once more filled the air; the creature recoiled. A glance to his left, then his right. There! As the beast snapped back, he reached out a hand. Still on his back, he gripped the chainsword and rammed it home, burying the whirring blade into its soft underside. Chunks of meat and bone fell onto the dusty ground. Raising a boot, he kicked the dying creature away. The next moment he was on his feet, dismissed it and looked for the rest of his companions.
What he saw was a brutal display of their killing power. Fragments of alien lay strewn over the battlefield, discarded and useless as rotten flesh. The only movement came from his warriors. Even Lurvus was on his feet, his armour now more green than red. “Think it’s safe to say this is a hostile world,” Thelis muttered as he walked over.
“There is only one course of action here,” Coniferus nodded, flicking gunk from his chainsword and sheathing it once again. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew his friend was smiling inside his helmet as he nodded. Coniferus was smiling himself; the war here was going to be short and bloody; just how they liked it.
40K · blue · Chapter Master · fan based · fan made · fiction · fine detail · hobby · miniatures. · painting · psycho · sci fi · science fiction · space marines · taking stock · warhammer · Warhammer 40000 · Warhammer 40k

Gravus Nurion – Chapter Master

 When the other half brought home a load of models the other day, I have to confess I was a little bit on the exited side. Alright so this is a little bit sad too but I can live with that.

We laid out all the Space Marines and took stock of what was there. There were enough there to complete several squads, which is great, There were also several terminators, some veterans and this guy pictures on the left.

The figures were already undercoated blue so it did not take all that long to touch them up and make them look as though they had always been with the others. We decided that this model would make a good Chapter Master and so here he is in all his bright blue glory.

The part I am most pleased with is the line of blue on the cloak. It’s not painted free hand, I am not steady enough for that I don’t think but is raised up. The psycho was employed and I managed to highlight it too – something I have never really thought of doing before.

I have also managed to free hand paint the Chapter symbol on the left shoulder-pad and write his name under it. Again, something I was unsure about doing but seems to have worked out rather well.

Now, because Gravus Nurion is a little bit on the important side, I spent a bit of time asking questions. I’ve shared one of the answers below:

How did you become Chapter Master?

·         When the former Chapter Master was killed, it was decreed that I should take his place. I’m not going to start this off with an ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ if that is what you are expecting. Alvar was well known for his cavalier attitude when it came to a fight and it was this that finally caught up with him.
Hand print and name!
“I remember them bringing back what was left of him, not much more than pulp, certainly nothing recognisable. After they recovered his gene-seed, which was a miracle in itself, he was laid out. His work for the Emperor had ended, leaving us behind to pick up the pieces and move forward. The atmosphere within the Chapter was solemn for a long while, his were large boots to fill and he had been Chapter Master for a long time and was well liked.
“It was about two hundred and fifty years ago that Alvar was killed. I had been First captain for about fifty or so. I was voted in by the other captains unanimously, a point of which I am most proud.”

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The legend of Leonaci Conucifer and the raging Azhut – Part 1

The series of clicks that echoed on the bridge of the Valiant sounded like nothing they had ever heard before. That is was language was clear, there was structure in the sounds, however what was making the noise was not. A few furtive looks were passed around the bridge. The source of the noise appeared to be a small planet in the little known Andemi system, just a short way off their course. 
Skepphon Alvar, Chapter Master of the Black Hands, turned to his First Captain and frowned, “What do you think?” he asked. 
Leonaci Conucifer knew that Alvar would have his thoughts on the matter already; he would want to know what his were and whether they differed. “Could be anything sir,” he replied.
“Worth investigating do you think?”
“What do we know about where it’s coming from?” He was handed a data-slate which had the sparse details on and a small frown puckered his craggy brow. Looking back to the Chapter Master he nodded, “A colony was established there once but no contact has been had since the Great Crusade, might as well take a look,” he said. 
“It might be nothing,” Alvar said.
“But it might be something and we would be remiss in our duty if we ignored it,” Conucifer countered. The Chapter Master clapped him on the shoulder plate and nodded.
“My thoughts exactly,” he said.
Twenty hours later, the Valiant was anchored in orbit around Omman, the fourth planet in the Andemic system. The vibrant green ball below them hung suspended in the depths of space almost like a promise. Conucifer stood with his team, five reliable Astartes from the second company, knowing that they were walking into a complete mystery. Inside the Razorback that was to be their back up, they waited in silence.
It did not take long for the Thunderhawk to deposit them on the surface of the planet, leaving them there to perform their duty; discover what was happening on the surface of Omman and where the noises had come from. The moment they were out the Thunderhawk, they scanned the location for any signs of life. The location was near where the long range sensors of the Battle Barge had picked something up. It seemed the most likely place for sentient beings to exist. There was no evidence of life other than the plants around them.
Most of the planet surface was swamp, which gave off a foul smelling gas, it gave the planet the green appearance they had seen from space. This particular part of the planet however was mostly free from water and most vegetation, instead the dull grey rock showed through providing a stable surface for the Razorback to drive over. 
“That ridge there,” indicated Conucifer, “If anything is going to be living here it would be on that patch of ground.”
Scitek Thelis, the chaplain of the squad, gave a nod. “It would make the most sense,” he agreed. The ground turned rockier after that and it soon became clear that the tank would not be able to follow them up the craggy part of the ridge; they would have to do that on foot.  
The squad left the tank behind and climbed up the ridge, the lingering stink of swamp filtering through the breathers as they went. Everything here was tainted with the smell of rotten eggs. The only sound that could be heard was the crunch of stone under boots as they travelled up the steep slope. 
“Sir!” Torfis, one of the squad, said. He gestured to a piece of rock jutting from the ground that appeared to have deep claw marks imbedded into it. Conucifer walked over for a closer look and nodded, the chaplain followed close behind.
“I don’t know about this,” Conucifer said with a shake of his head. “Looks like scratches.”
“From an animal perhaps?” Torfis asked.
“No, they’re too precise,” Thelis said “If you look, they’re marked just so. The distance between them is indicative of intelligence,” he said, pointing out the marks. It was subtle but it was there.
“Alright, keep moving, we’re bound to find something sooner or later,” Conucifer said, “And it’s likely to have claws!” he added. There was a half-hearted chuckle from the others and they began to move forward once again. 
Cresting the ridge, the wind picked up, tugging at the five of them as they slowly made their way over the rugged terrain. At one end of the ridge was what appeared to be a cave mouth; the shadows were thick, the wind blowing towards the looming maw. Conucifer indicated that was the way they were going; there was nothing else on the ridge of note, except more rocks.
The approach to the mouth of the cave was silent, the wind dying the closer they got. The gloom deepened. A disturbing smell emanated from the cave, permeating the air. Conucifer’s grip tightened on his bolter. His finger rested on the small bar that would send shots into the darkness. Taking a deep breath, he forced the anticipation down; he needed to think rationally. The rest of the team would be thinking the same; it was always so just before stepping into the unknown.
Just to be sure, Conucifer made sure his chain sword was ready too. The weapon was a favourite of his, ever trusty; there were things a chain sword could do that a bolter couldn’t. The squad moved forward, approaching the dark mouth of the cave. A drip of water, amplified by the silence like a metronome, ticked away. Rocks crumbled. His head snapped around. Nothing. 
Then it happened…
40K · Army Painter · blue · fan made · fine detail · fun · hobby · miniatures. · painting · sci fi · science fiction · space marines · Warhammer 40000 · Warhammer 40k

Seven Model Army…

I realise I have not posted anything new for a while so thought it was about time I did something. I have a story in the works which I shall be publishing on here in two parts over the next week but I wanted to show off the seven finished guys I have done while the weather was nice.

Photographing miniatures is perhaps  the worst part of the hobby. You can never seem to get decent images. I am limited to an iPad for a camera and natural lighting so when the sun came out today I decided it was time to do the best I could with what I have available. Here are the results:

Why do I have this?

I think the fella with the plasma gun looks  unsure as to why he has it in the first place. Perhaps that’s because he is leaning forward a little – whomever put these together (not me) did not take time to think about what they would look like finished and so some of them look a bit off.

I am pleased with how they look so far – they all need their company markings put on them and that will be done as soon as we manage to figure out who is going where. As they are, they’re not bad for a first attempt at painting a batch of Marines.

fan based · fan made · fun · sci fi · science fiction · space marines · Warhammer 40000 · Warhammer 40k

The Worst Day

The sun hung low in the sky, colouring the dusty ground in a red light. The thin air, coupled with the dust, would have bothered human lungs, made it impossible for them to breathe. Such was not the case for the Astartes of the Black Hand, their genhanced physiology more than capable of dealing with the low oxygen levels. The thin air was the least of the company’s worries.
Bolter in hand, Taran brought up the rear. Following his team in this manner was his usual place in such fights. It was not because he was less competent than they, far from it. His training was more specialist than that. If one of his brothers were to fall, he would be the first to see that they rose again. Never had he lost one of his companions in battle. Never had he let one of them die on his watch; it had become a point of honour among them that he had never lost anyone. Sure, he had dealt with some horrific wounds but no one had ever died. Something he was more than a little proud of too.
He knew what they were fighting against would show about as much mercy as they would. A quiver trickled down his spine, tightness clenched at the pit of his stomach and a grin crept onto his face. Apothecary he may be but he was no less a killer than his battle brothers in front of him. They had been through many wars together and this one was no different, the same anticipation cut through him as did them. Forcing his breathing to calm, he followed on through the deserted street.
The houses they walked between were more ruins than anything else, signs of the orbital bombardment this planet had been subjected to before their arrival. The smoke from the blasts rose into the air in lazy plumes and the odd fire smouldered on. There was no sign of the Heretics that had been reported here. The planet was utterly silent; the only noise was that which they had brought with them; the crunch of dust under heavy boots and the muffled clatter of metal. The sound of his breathing echoed above it all. Artikus scanned the ruins for movement, catching nothing.
Then it happened.
One moment they were walking, the next bolters were being fired. Snapping his head around, the heavily armoured heretics came into view. The red light, hitting off their skin gave them a daemonic look, their faces twisted into screams of rage, aimed at his squad. “Mortiferus!” was the screamed response. 
Grimclaw was their finest. None rivalled him in bravery or battle. A master in combat, he led the company forward, their loud battle cries combining to create a compelling sound. Thoss, the chaplain, was right by his side and Artikus could hear his words from where he was, even over the firing of the bolters. How he had the ability to speak so eloquently while fighting was an inspiration in itself. He turned his bolter to the foe and fired, losing himself in the thickness of the fight.
He had no idea how it happened, except from hearing a deafening explosion. One moment he was punching some heretic in the face, the next he was being called over to deal with the fallen. The battle raged on around him, his brothers dealing with the forces of evil while he pounded over to the body. Thoss was standing over the fallen, blasting anything that moved too close. The ruin he was in had been turned into a quagmire of meat, blood and sand; the ground had been churned up, blasted out of place.
“It’s bad,” he said. One glance at the spluttering, broken form told him exactly what Thoss had said, “Save him!” The chaplain took another glance down before his attention turned to the rest of the squad, backing them up with both his bolter and his words.
The diagnoster in his helmet began showing him exactly what had happened here. The blast from the explosion had happened right at Grimclaw’s feet. The high powered detonation had sent huge fragments of shrapnel in each direction. Now he knew that, a quick glance around told him the vast majority had missed, though there were more than a few bits sticking into the Power Armour of the captain. What it had allowed the enemy to do was get a couple of shots off while Grimclaw was momentarily distracted. It was the shots that had done the damage.
Most of them had bounced off the power armour; one had caught him in the neck however and the stem of blood that was pouring from him needed to be stopped. The Narthecium contained enough skin patches to see to it and he set about the grim work without hesitation. Grimclaw moved his head to the side, letting have the access he needed without having to cut away through the armour. “How bad is it?” he managed to ask. His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.
“You’ll be on your feet in no time,” Artikus replied as he applied the patch to the wound, amazed as always when it bonded immediately. That dealt with the blee-
His thoughts were cut off when a huge blast sounded above them. Horrified, Artikus looked up in time to see the building in which they were sheltering begin to collapse. There was little time, he covered his head with his hands and braced for the impact of the stone as it fell. Pain ruptured through his arm, flashing through him before the stimulants count dampen them, injected via the power armour. Artikus sat up, aware that there was still a battle going on around him. Pushing rubble from him, he looked across at Grimclaw. His heart sank. Where his face had been was now bloody pulp, a boulder the size of his head lay to the right of his mangled head.
Grimclaw coughed. How the hell was he still alive? Arikus scrabbled over to him, wondering if there was anything he could do to aid the beloved captain, “Sir?” he said, touching his shoulder. The only noise that escaped him was a hiss, it might have been speech, it might be the sound of air escaping the cracked rebreather Grimclaw had worn. Artikus dared to glance at the rest of his body. His limbs and torso lay under a giant slab, crushed beyond recognition. Artikus knew what he had to do.
Heavy limbed, he moved so he was behind the Astartes he had called friend for as long as he could remember.  A broken hand lifted from the rubble to grip his forearm and he caught his friend’s eye. There seemed to be some sort of understanding there and he nodded, “I’m going to send you to the Emperor, your fight is over,” he said. He placed the Carnifex, the part of the Narthecium which was a spring loaded screw, to at the right side temple, knowing the Emperor’s Peace would surround his friend soon enough, “I have nothing profound to say, you’ll live on in our name, that I can promise.” Artikus watched his friend close his eyes right before pressing the button that would unleash the spring, sending it into the brain and ending the warrior’s life. Grimclaw’s body went limp and Artikus let out a deep sigh, knowing that the next part was going to be as difficult, if not more so. He had seen it done before, had practiced it too but never in a combat situation like this. Forcing nerves away as though they were mere motes to be brushed under the carpet, he steadied his hand and began. The Chapter had to take its due after all, lest they die out.
He had finished collecting the gene-seed when he heard the first shouts of ‘Mortiferus’ once again. Artikus realised the shots had stopped and Thoss’ voice came over the vox. With a heavy voice, he answered his name in the correct sequence, glad the fighting was over. He knew the cheering would subside when they discovered what had happened and any celebrations would be subdued by these events.
blue · fan based · fan made · fun · hobby · miniatures. · painting · sci fi · space marines · warhammer · Warhammer 40000 · Warhammer 40k

Tools of the Trade

This is a snapshot of my paint table – a place I have spent a deal of time. I do love my little desk in the corner with all my bits for painting on. I stepped back and looked at the range of bits and can smile about it.

Today I had to make a trip to Stronghold Games, our local and very awesome hobby shop. It does a range of everything but I generally go there for the paint, brushes and banter. While deciding on which colours to get; blue for the Space Marines of the Chapter, I realised that I was really spoiled for choice. There are so many different makes out there now, and so many colours, that really, there is no need for mixing.

I then debated with my parter about the thinness of some paint. I like the paint to be relatively thick, I find it covers the model easier and does not look as streaky as when it’s rather thin (I am looking at you Yellow). He prefers the opposite. I tend to buy Citadel paint for this reason, whereas he prefers Vallejo paint.

I also tend to use a much thinner brush than he does. The ones I cleave to at the moment are Army Painter – The Psycho and The Insane level are incredible small but perfect for the fine detail work I adore doing. He prefers a larger brush.

He did convert me to the use of a wet palette – seen here in the shape of a takeaway tub stuffed with a sponge and covered in baking paper. It’s way cheaper than buying one and it works just as well. It keeps the mixed paint wet for far longer and means you can get a more consistent colour.

Do any of you have preferences for makes of kit? Any that you go to over others or do you just like to use what is available?

fan based · fan made · fiction · sci fi · science fiction · space marines · Warhammer 40000 · Warhammer 40k


The city burned, fire lit up the night sky. First Captain Corvinus Adas looked upon the handiwork of his brothers with pride. Of course, the fires had been started by the very creatures that had inhabited this city before they’d arrived. The dumb animals had been in the middle of some sort of fight when they had landed via the drop pods. It had just made their job that much easier. The dead greenskins were another matter entirely.
The moment the foul orks had been made aware of their arrival, the infighting had stopped and the battle had commenced. Instead of fighting each other, they had turned to them. The firing had been intense after that. The charge down the ramps had been clean and the shooting simple enough. The weapons of their foes had been simple balistics, destructive but prone to self-destruction too. It had taken little under an hour to defeat them all.
What remained now was to find the rest of the squad and get them back together again, return to the Valiantand report to Nurion. Flicking the excess gore from his chainsword, he disregarded the broken corpse of the ork leader at his feet and tried to raise his companions via the Vox Channel, “Roll call,” he barked, needing to know who was still there. These were simple foes; there should have been no casualties.
Surprisingly, the vox was silent. He blinked and looked over his shoulder, the landscape behind him showed more burning buildings. Thick smoke curled into the atmosphere and the stench of death filled the air. Adas could not see any of his brothers and the radio was utterly silent. He tapped the side of his helmet and rolled his eyes. He would kick the ass of the servitor who had caused this malfunction, if that was indeed what it was. Static filled his ear and he spoke again, “Black Hands, Roll Call.”
“Adas, that you?” The voice of Thoss. The voice of the chaplain was welcome, not that he would let him know that.
“Third time, Roll Call!” he snapped. 
That was that dealt with, the eight from his pod had made it through. The rest of the captains would be in touch shortly. All he had to do now was make it back to his squad, wherever that was. “Where are you?” he quipped.
“There is a burning spire to our right,” Thoss said. Adas looked up and saw a burning building slightly taller than the rest of the city, that must be it. How had he managed to come so far without his brothers? 
“On my way,” he replied. No more time was wasted and he began heading to where his brothers were. He made his way through the dead street, the heavy footfalls of his power armour echoing ahead of him. The dead littered the gutter, if it could be called that, the evidence of his wrath clear by the scars of his chainsword on the bodies of his victims. The only sound he could hear was the pop and crackle of fire.
The noise of a building crumbling did not quite mask a heavier noise and Adas brought his sword to bear once more. The lumbering green form of an ork hurled straight towards him, bursting from the depths of the building, sending sparks and wood up into the dense atmosphere. The rolling, mad red eyes were set into a hideous face; leathery skin covered its skull and grotesque tusks jutted from its lower jaw. The thing towered over him as it charged forward. The thing was screaming a deep throated, “Waaagh,” as it ran forward, a brutal looking axe clutched in its green hands..
“No Mercy! Mortiferus!” Adas shouted back. His sword blocked the sweep of the axe with a loud clang. He brought a powered boot up and kicked the charging thing back from him. The ork staggered, though not so much as he wanted it to. Growling, he followed the stinking creature. Now it was his turn to go on the offensive. Without giving the ork chance to right it, he crashed his clenched fist down onto the top of its head, sending it sprawling into the blood stained ground. 
The next sound was the rev of the chain on his sword and the wet splatter of flesh being sundered. A single scream turned into a wet cry, ending in a hiss which was more blood spewing out of the wound than anything else. Adas once again flicked gore from his blade and looked up. The rest of the company were now at the end of the street and he nodded, “There are always more orks,” he said over the vox. He could see the white helmet of the apothecary, Taran, nod at the sentiment and he straightened up.
Leaving the corpse in a broken heap, he returned to the rest of the unit arriving in mere seconds. “Don’t stand there looking pretty, back to the pod for pick up.”
With his words, the spell that had held the squad transfixed was broken and they followed his orders. Pick up would be via Thunderhawk Transport, which would take care of both them and the pod, returning them to the battle barge Valiant. Once there, Adas could inform Chapter Master Nurion of their success, and perhaps arrange for some sort of celebration too. They had scored a victory against the Xeno threat in the name of the Emperor after all, and that was something worth celebrating.
Mounting the ramp to the pod, he looked over his shoulder at the destruction they were leaving behind. The mess would be dealt with by the ‘lesser mortals’, their work here was done. His chest swelled with pride once more, pride in their handiwork, pride in the deeds of his brothers and pride in knowing they had served the Emperor well this day.
blue · figures · miniatures. · painting · sci fi · science fiction · space marines · Warhammer 40000 · Warhammer 40k


Rough colour scheme

So, with the new project beginning to take shape, I knew I  would need to set up the characters within the Chapter with a sense of identity. They need to know who they are as much as I do after all!

After enthusing at my long suffering partner, he agreed to let me paint the army he is yet to assemble as the guys from The Black Hand, which honestly made my day. Sad as that is, I was very excited to have a ‘partner in crime’ for at least a little of this project.

Next question was, what were they going to look like. I used the game Space Marine while at my sister’s place to get a rough idea and took the screenshot you see opposite.

Legion of the Damned Space Marine

I tried so hard to stay away from blue, honestly I did. Problem is, I love the colour and it fits with the faction. I’ll write a post about their history later on explaining that. Blue is also a wonderful colour to paint. I have done a lot with blue in the past and so feel that I have enough experience to do a good job of it.

As soon as I have finished with the Legion of the Damned I am currently working on, I will be sticking and painting the first of the Chapter. It might be a little on the sad side, but I am very much looking forward to that.

Chapter Master · fan based · fan made · fiction · sci fi · science fiction · space marines · Warhammer 40000 · Warhammer 40k

Segine Hammercleaver

Segine Hammercleaver was a beautiful man; there was that to be said about him. Even with most of him encased in a large suit of red and white power armour, his face was still fairer than any Gravus Nurion had ever seen. Gravus looked across at the other Chapter Master and ran an oversized hand over his short dark hair. This meeting was informal, a discussion about a Chaos incursion that was happening on the nearby planet of Accatran. Although it was of little strategic value due to its close location to the Maelstrom, it did manufacture weaponry used by the Imperial Army, making it rather useful.
Gravus looked up at Hammercleaver, wondering why he had been called in to this meeting. His Chapter were currently engaged with the Orks, though that particular war was coming to its conclusion in a most satisfactory manner. Despite this, he would rather be with them than sitting here; it was a waste of his time. Corvinus would be taking care of the war while he was here speaking about Accatran, “What is to be done?” he asked, giving his attention back to the other Chapter Master. Why this message couldn’t have been sent through an astropath was another thought that struck him and he pressed his lips together in thought.
“You know how this goes,” Hammercleaver said.
He knew alright but that didn’t mean he was just going to accept it, “Tell me anyway,” Gravus said.
Hammercleaver rolled his eyes before speaking; unable to hide his thoughts as well as he thought he could. “The astropath message was intended for you, it was intercepted by us instead. You were close by so instead of sending another missive through the warp I delivered it myself,” he said. There was no mistaking the snort at the end of his speech but Gravus kept his contempt in check. He was about to say something when one of The Brotherhood’s serfs stumbled in.
Both Chapter Master’s turned to look at the interruption, the colour drained from the unfortunate servant’s face. By the look of his clothing, robes rather than the rags, this was Hammercleaver’s Ordinator. The Ordinator backed out of the room, shutting the large door behind him. Gravus turned away from the mistaken intrusion but did not miss the slight tug of annoyance between the other’s perfect brow or the clenching of his encased fist either. He did not doubt that there would be some repercussion later on.
The door shut and the attention was turned back to the important matter: war. “So, you’ll take The Black Hands to Accatran. Surely the simple task of beating a few heretics is no match for your warriors…” Gravus bristled. Looking over Hammercleaver’s perfect features, from the blonde hair to the green of his eyes, he realised he would like nothing more than to punch some flaws into him.
“Of course not,” he spat, “We’ll do the job easily enough.” He refrained from adding anything about the Brethren being unable to do so; it would merely be turned around by sugary words and only serve to make him angrier. He rose then, wanting to be as far away from this warrior as he could. Beautiful he might be but there was something rotten inside that core of his and Gravon did not want to hang around. His manners were not forgotten however, he gave his peer a polite nod of his head before returning to his escort, a small guard of his warriors.
“Good luck,” Segine called after him.
“We don’t need luck,” he retorted before exiting the room.