theironclooch

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3 more deathshroud, finally time to start on plague marines, maybe one of the vehicles, I’ll figure it out

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I love how wide the Lord of Virulence is in comparison to the other terminators. Dude is stanced up.

Another thing I didn’t really mention in my last post about DG was how organic Chris Wraight’s word choice is in Lords of Silence. Besides the people and the astartes and Solace itself being obvious exceptions, pretty much everything has some descriptor like it’s a living, breathing thing. Organs and guts and intent. It’s really cool.

Anyway here’s the deathshroud. Also I will force you to read my thoughts on chaos books as I’m reading while posting minis. Sorry, not sorry.

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Whammy forteekay doodles

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I’ve been rereading Lords of Silence by Chris Wraight and MAN the vibes are so goddamn good. Just incredibly immaculate.

Wait no, that’s not right. The vibes are completely tainted. They’ve been buried in a shallow grave where the worms and grubs are allowed to wriggle their way into the open flesh as the vibes rotmax their way into immortality. And that’s to its benefit. It has that hallmarks of a good csm story, with the added benefit of incredible detail and grotesque descriptions fitting a modern 40K Death Guard book. These astartes feel properly ancient as they struggle to read modern fucking gothic. Because they’re from 10,000 years ago and languages change over time.

It’s so goddamn good it encouraged me to make a very impulsive purchase resulting in me kind of restarting my DG collection, since I’m not happy looking at my past paint jobs for them. It’s been very exciting.

ANGRY BEES GRAAAAAAAAAH

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I didn’t know that, that’s pretty neat. That definitely adds to Sanguinius’s motivation, but also kind of adds to my point? Sanguinius was an optimist, so as Herculean of a task that saving meat puppet Horus was going to be, he decided to take a crack at it anyway.

I find it really interesting that both of the prescient primarchs killed themselves tbh.

When Sanguinius and Konrad saw their own deaths they both believed that nothing could change their fates. And while they both had drastically different attitudes about it, they were both wrong, funnily enough.

When it comes to seeing the future in 40K, the end result is always muddled and mutable. In the Traitors Tarot, a short story in both the 9th and 10th csm codexes, the leader of a chaos warband goes to a witch to tell him his fortune; to which she drones on and on about several different futures that are all equally likely and unlikely to happen. The head of Kairos Fateweaver that sees the future continues to madly mumble to itself about events that are yet to come. Hell the Eldar’s entire shtick is combing through several futures to find an ideal outcome. The fracturing of the future even happened to Konrad Curze in his own primarch book.

While the Night Haunter confronted a young rapist two notable futures flashed before him, one where he nurtures the boy into becoming a guiding figure for Nostramo, and one where the boy stabs Konrad and gets away. Neither of these things happen as the Night Haunter eats him anyway and while gnawing on his femur, he notices that the knife the boy would have used to stab him was no where near the position it would need to be to be used.

Now Konrad very easily could’ve killed the assassin that came for him, but that would be proving himself wrong; and we can’t have that, can we? Besides death is nothing compared to vindication.

Sanguinius though is surprisingly simple. He could’ve just…not have gotten on board the Vengeful Spirit. Simple as that. But at the same time he had to, because that’s just the kind of person he is.

And now we Segway into the conclusion that KONRAD CURZE AND SANGUINIUS ARE JUST THOSE GUYS. KONRAD MADE MACRAGGE A LIVING HELL. BY HIMSELF. HE FOUGHT THE LION AND GUILLIMAN AT THE SAME TIME AND WAS HOLDING HIS OWN!!!SANGUINIUS CONTINUED TO THRUST HIMSELF INTO CONTINUOUSLY MORE DANGEROUS SITUATIONS BECAUSE OF “Fuck it we ball” ENERGY. LIKE HE FOUGHT AND KILLED KA’BHANDA AND ANGRON WITH LIKE A 30 SECOND BREAK IN BETWEEN EACH FIGHT. THATS NOT EVEN MENTIONING THE TITANS HE TROUNCED AT ETERNITY GATE. God damn. This pair of absolute madmen very well could’ve died at any point during their shenanigans, and they both only died when they decided to.

Fuck.

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throw it back my scarab

(sound on)

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Took a lot more mangled torsos than I’d like to admit but I got it done. Before settling on a possessed torso I was gonna try and put something different there, but as it turns out the vampire part of the vengorian lord is way bigger than I thought. So I dug up some of the possessed sprues had lying around and started cutting shit. But yeah, I think he came out really well.

Kits used are the vengorian lord, chosen, and possessed

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World Eaters' sports be like :

(I got carried away, but I thanked it be quite funny)

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Holy shit this guy is toll

We’re gonna try some stuff out, hopefully it’ll go well

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Herbfmrf

We’re gonna try some stuff out, hopefully it’ll go well

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Honestly, didn’t expect it to come out this good.

Wings next

We’re gonna try some stuff out, hopefully it’ll go well

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We’re gonna try some stuff out, hopefully it’ll go well

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Totally not me remembering why I made this blog in the first place. Anyway, have a fancy terminator.

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This kind of thinking is why I really like any segments in chaos novels that deal with the normal human element. Especially with the ships. Octavia from the Night Lords trilogy exploring the Covenant of Blood, with its dark corridors to discover people, markets, culture. Not trained staff, just people.

Something that I think Warhammer 40,000 storytellers miss sometimes is the sheer scale of their setting. I mean, don't get me wrong - I love the big, dramatic clashes, the characters you can buy in mini form and their convoluted, interwoven lore, the dramatic combats against unstoppable foes across a thousand ruined worlds. But that's the top of the setting, as it were - the most powerful beings in the universe, all fighting for supremacy. And at ground level, the level of the ordinary person, are so many other stories.

Did you know that a Lunar-class void cruiser has a crew of 95,000? Nearly a hundred thousand people, aboard a spaceship five kilometers long. A city, flying through outer space to wage war. Many of those people are proper trained soldiers, fresh from some academy or veterans of long, grueling campaigns, and many more are pressed into service, begrudgingly laying their lives at their Emperor's feet. But, unless the ship is currently actively involved in a really bloody campaign, most of those people were born aboard that ship. Most of their parents were born aboard it. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. Lineages stretching back centuries, so far that the original soldier who came aboard has been forgotten. A lot of those people probably know, on some level, that they're aboard a ship flying through space - but a lot of them probably don't, and I guarantee you almost none of them understand what that means. This ship is their world. To look out the window means madness so often that they avoid it - not that windows are readily available anyway. Most of them probably barely even understand that they're fighting. All they know is that when the readouts on their analog instruments display like so, when they hurry to obey the blared orders through the klaxon, the Emperor is pleased with them. They were born into that world. When they were children they did smaller tasks the adults couldn't. Their entire existence was winding metal corridors, laid out according to some archaic design, any logic that might dictate their layout long since degraded after millennia of ignorant maintenance, lit only by emergency lights that have long since become the default. They learned how to read an angle readout or how to relay an order perfectly the way another child might learn history or math. When they grew up, their service was flawless, born of pride and ignorance, and when they grew old and died, their legacy was remembered until it was forgotten. Many were killed in battle, but who cares? They gave their lives to the Emperor - a name whose meaning they don't understand, but whose importance they believe in wholeheartedly, all but synonymous with the commanding officers up above.

Sometimes, the klaxons sound a specific command, and every person on board who understands what it means feels a deep, awful dread as they run to their battle stations. They don't know what a warp jump is. They don't understand they're going from one place to another by the fastest way available. All they know is that, for a time, the ship dips into hell. The corridors go wrong. Things and people might not be where or what they were before. Daemons stalk the halls, and must be killed by any who can hold a lasgun. The overcrowded berths, the little nooks that families find for themselves - they are not private anymore. They are not safe. Things drift through the shift that do not care about the laws of physics, but that delight in killing and torturing human beings. Vast energies shake the ship and tear parts of it away - their home, their world, their existence, the biggest thing they can imagine, assaulted by something bigger. Is it the Emperor's punishment for failure? Is this what battle is? What's going on? They don't know, and no one who does can be bothered to tell them. The dread of those who have seen this before is even worse, because they don't know how long it will be. It might be just a few hours. It might be days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades. It might be centuries, as the captain of the ship goes hunting daemons deep in the warp - the officers live that long, after all, and have little care for those who don't. There will be people born in hell, who spend their entire lives fighting from the day they can stand, and who die in hell, as old age and need catch up to them and they curl up in a corner to perish. To them, it isn't even hell. It's just the world. The world is death and pain and cruelty, an infinite metal box through which monsters stalk, and sometimes you must run to a battle station and do as you're ordered to do. And sometimes, as they reach forty or fifty or even a ripe old sixty, the ship drops out of the Warp, and, for the final years of their life, they are granted a life of relatively safe service better than anything they ever hoped to dream of.

Those are the kinds of stories I want to see more of. Super-soldiers fighting each other is cool, yes, but I want to see this universe explored. I want stories from the perspective of those that keep the Imperium going, or the aeldar, or the tyranids, or anyone, really. There's just so much potential in this setting. It deserves it.

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Everyone’s (least) favorite disgusting freak

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Gotta share my Carcharodons here as well! This fella is named Kaivor or just Kai for short. I have a couple more wips and art pieces of him that I'll share soon. Also this is just my little headcanons for what they look like unarmored!

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Old buddies commission for @skxrbrand