#284th battalion

[staryflowers]

I'm late to art fight but I've got a card and an account so we stay silly!

[staryflowers]

Only if I can draw one of yours!

Anyways this is Talon, a poor lil guy stuck in 5th wheel hell wingmanning two dubiously allowed relationships.

(I've got like 20 Star Wars ocs more if you don't want to draw Talon btw)

star wars oc art event for two more days… who’s got ocs i can draw? 👀

[enteroctopusdarkysilis]

✨ Custom AT-TEs ! ✨

(Not entirely custom, actually, but more like a custom paint job / some tweaks)

These two pieces are part of a larger custom clone battalion, the 284th, that I’ll explain in detail in another post. In the mean time, these are already in use on a larger mix that doesn’t exactly fit in my small studio right now (I’m talking BIG moc)

Individual views :

The stickered plate, stolen from a Ninjago set, was awfully convenient, you may understand why here (not posted yet)

[tank-person]

US Army M1A2 SEP V2s from 2nd Battalion, 5th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 1st Cavalry Division and Romanian Army TR-85M1s from the 284th Tank Battalion, 282nd Mechanized Brigade regroup after a training event during exercise Combined Resolve II at the Hohenfels Training Area, Germany, May 29, 2014. Both the M1s and TR-85s are fitted with the Multiple Integrated Laser Engagement System (MILES), and the M1s have Blank Firing Adapters on their commanders’ M2 machine guns. The TR-85 on the right has the early type thermal imager. Photo by Specialist Tyler Kingsbury.

[measure-for-measure]

Archaic Adulation

The hellish trenches of the Great War were dug rapidly and with very little regard of what came before. So, when the bones of the old gods buried deep were exposed to mankind once again they rose from their slumber. At first the gods were confused, angry. Then… they picked sides.

June 27th, 1917

Dear diary,

The ground shook. Bullets whizzed above-head. The medics yelled for supplies.

The tunnellers were at work. The infantrymen were at work. The medics were at work.

A low rumble erupted all around us. It sounded halfway between an earthquake and air hissing out a pedal bike tire. We looked at each other in confusion. The rumble didn't end.

The earth shook.

The shooting slowly ceased.

The tunnel-mining slowly ceased.

The rumble got louder.

A man dropped to the ground.

Another followed him.

Then another.

And another.

Shouting fought rumbling as men saw their brethren drop, like flies in winter.

Distant yells carried well across the barren wasteland ‘tween us and the Jerries.

Some dozen wisps flew up out the cracks in the blooded muds below our boots. They swirled skywards and came together to form a man of cloud.

“Who doth dare perturb thine God from his rest?”

His voice came not from his mouth in the sky but still from the ground.

“A thousand years I have slept, forgotten but no less here. And now! Thou weak-bodied mortals doth wakest me from my slumber! How dare thee!”

Those still standing, them who had not collapsed initially nor passed out from shock, we all fell to our knees. The god must've spoken to the Jerries in their vilest of tongues, as, when we fell to our knees and begged forgiveness, similar cries of beggary rose too from across the mile.

“Hah! Thou thinkest thee may beg and be forgiven! No! That is not the way! Thou minutest of wills hath forgotten the ways of thine forebearers!”

Arms materialised beside the bust of the god. He pointed at man after man. They dropped too.

“Mine name be Baltazo! I bid thy not let slip this from thine minds. I watch thee from above henceforward. Be as thee be.”

The man disapparated.

The generals called for their lower ranks and them lower ranks called for theirs. Fighting ceased for the day as men of war scrambled to grasp the events of the day firm with both hands and understand.

July 2nd, 1917.

Dear diary,

Telegrams sent and telegrams received, orders were ordered. The rumble had been felt far as in England.

Field directive 147: The Race of Utmost Urgency to the Past Ones.

Execute directive 147.1: Locate further deities of past eons.

Execute directive 147.2: Wake the undead.

Execute directive 147.3: Persuade them to our cause.

Already word has been sent to incognitoes in Italy to march to Athens, sacrifice some common cow on the altar, and we will have the Hellenics with us.

I myself, I have been sent back Home, O’ dear diary! My battalion has been tasked with recovery of King Arthur and the Irish bastard. I will to Home!

July 17th, 1917.

DD,

Blew up some dozen hills. Nothing yet.

July 25th, 1917.

DD,

Blew up some more hills. Still nothing yet.

July 27th, 1917.

DD,

Out of hills in Kent and East Sussex. West Sussex next, and Surrey after. Some dozen other bands are combing the countryside elsewhere in Britain.

August 4th, 1917.

DD,

The 284th Batt. found Arthur! Joy!

Kent and East Sussex and West Sussex and Surrey had nothing, we go to Ireland next.

Dear diary, I pray the Irish do not kill me before the Jerries do.

August 28th, 1917.

DD,

We found the Irish bastard today! Fin Mac Cool, his name was. The Irish probably spell it stupid.

September 11th, 1917.

DD,

Back in Belgium. The Commander tells us we have some number of gods and heroes on our side. God knows who the Jerries have.

September 21st, 1917.

DD,

Our gods and heroes are treated like generals. St. John (head medic assigned to our Batt.) is present at meetings because he is in some ways an officer. He says we asked Bormana (minor Frankish goddess of fresh-water healing springs) to bring rains of poison down upon the Jerries.

Seems a little unfair to me, but what do I know?

September 30th, 1917.

DD,

Rain came in floods and floods. It has not ceased in days. I stand up to my waist in mud, but if I climb out of the trench I will lose the top of my hea

WHAT

Raining blood now. Be back later.

October 14th, 1917.

DD,

I do not wish the rains to return, however, it has been baking hot for days. Even when my Father’s watch informs me it is night, the day dims not, and dawn comes when you think it is.

St. John tells me Serapis tells him the Turks have taken Ra hostage, and he may not do some duty to bring the night, thus the Sun lingers above. Why Apollo or Helios or some other god cannot bring night I know not.

When will they tire of their tricks and desire the Nyx again?

October 20th, 1917.

DD,

Night came last night.

I still have not been shot.

October 31st, 1917.

DD,

I still shake.

I was set to trenching this Monday gone.

We dug straight East-ward. We found a stone slab. Too cornered to be of Nature. Excitedly, we dug around and below it and uncovered a sarcophagal structure. We prised the top off. Took us… perhaps most the afternoon.

Finally, we lifted it off.

Inside was… the top half of a young woman, maybe a girl. The bottom half… a tangle of bones.

The bones rose.

A man fainted.

Meat and tendon and sinew and skin grew outward from the bones.

Thick maroon blood…

Oozed from the open sheen of meat covering the bones.

Another man fainted.

Thick maroon blood…

Soaked the bottom of the stone box.

A third man fainted.

Then a fourth.

Of us nine who had dug the Thing from the Earth, only five still stood.

Red meat crept up the vulgar chest of the woman; red meat crept up the dreadful neck of the woman; red meat crept up the heinous face of the woman.

She had the face of Medusa.

Ugly as they come, she was so completely and utterly coarse and crude to look at.

“Who dares wake Melusina?”

Her voice was just as oafish and uncouth as her common, brutish guise. She was simply loutish.

I looked her up and down.

She wore the most wonderful of the womanly assets upon her chest, yet, on her, they were as offensive to the senses as French cheese is to the proper English Tom, Dick, or Harry.

We told her we were fighting the vilest of Evils. The Jerries must be defeated!

Well!

She turned her snobbish nose up on us! How dare she! We woke her to the noblest of causes, and! She turns her nose up on us!

“I shall find the truth of truths, then I will decide who is truly “vile”, as you Men-Folk say.”

And thus it were, she slithered off, as if she knew her way in this labyrinth of trenchary.

As if she knew!

December 2nd, 1917.

DD,

Oh, how cold it has been! Colder than previous years, even only in December!

The hellish trenches of the Great War were dug rapidly and with very little regard of what came before. So, when the bones of the old gods buried deep were exposed to mankind once again they rose from their slumber. At first the gods were confused, angry. Then… they picked sides.