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Duece

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His men advanced in standard fire teams, moving almost silently through the rubble and debris, clearing the city streets one ruined building at a time. These men were the best, the toughest and most fearless, his ‘disposables’.

“Sector 13 clear General Duce,” a voice crackled over the comm  “shall we move on to the next one sir?” It was Sargent Jabe. Duce felt a cold tingle in his spine… he had been in  enough battles in enough forsaken places to know not to ignore his instincts.

“Negative, hold your position until we arrive, I don’t want you to become cut off,” He replied “We’ve not seen the enemy yet, but they are close, I can feel them, smell them in the air”

Without warning, almost as if his words were a cue the dark grey smog that surrounded the soldiers blazed with pin pricks of light. “Take cover, las fire” shouted Duce.

His men scrambled for shelter, the walls and ground around them exploded in puffs if dust as the laser rounds impacted. Some men weren’t quick or lucky enough and the lethal fire burned through armour, flesh and bone cutting them down.

Duce knelt behind a thick block of damaged wall, he pulled out his plasma pistol and sent a barrage of super heated rounds in the direction of the enemy fire. His men and their unseen foes exchanged blasts for an extended few moments and then for a brief second all fell silent. “Brace for an assault” yelled Duce, flicking the switch on his chain sword, the lethal weapon roared to life. The chainsword, not a weapon of finesse or subtlety, but the perfect instrument for a street brawl.

Menacing twisted half xenos mutants emerged from the dense fog, covering the ground between them and the disposables with surprising speed. Duce didn’t wait for them to attack, he knew enough about the power of motion and ferocity combined to be sure that simply waiting on the defensive was not going to be enough here. He lept over the wall swinging his weapon in a vicious arc. ”On me!” He roared the command to his troops.

His chainsword hit home cutting a swathe through cloth, armour and bone. The startled foes were unable to react quickly enough to the ferocity of Duce and his troopers counter attack, a dozen or more were slain before they rallied and fought back. By that point the momentum of their attack was broken. Still they determined to fight on. The largest of the xenos, clearly a leader, a hideous hooded hunchbacked mass of claws and poisonous weaponry lunged towards Duce, swinging is blade towards his head. Trooper McKinnon propelled himself from the ground, placing his body between the blade and Duce. The blow tore into him and his body fell lifelessly in a heap, he died as he had lived, in service of his beloved commander. His sacrifice gave Duce the few seconds he needed, spinning on one heel he brought the whirling chainsword round to meet the beasts next blow. Chainsword met blade in a clash of strength and will. The monsters blade sparked and strained before shattering sending splints of white hot metal into the air. Duce’s weapon carried on, the full momentum of his blow behind it. It was a well aimed blow, the creature’s head flew from it’s body, which tottered for a brief moment before crashing backwards to the earth.

Seeing their champion fall the remaining beasts silently began withdraw and dispersed back into the fog the had emerged from. Leaving Duce and his surviving men in the now eerie silence of the battlefield.

 

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Screechers

img_47862Captain Lorgan pulled the battered field viewer from his belt and held it up to his eyes, he flicked the on switch and the display sprang to life. He threaded the dial and the focus adjusted, homing in on the ruined buildings on the horizon. Slowly moved his gaze up to the ashen amber sky, scanning for any sign of movement. Flecks of dust and floating debris drifted across his vision.

Then he saw them, a series of specs moving across the screen. His thumb rolled across the dial zooming the display in on the fast moving objects, the blurred image came into focus.

“Get down lads, we’ve got in coming” He shouted, “Screechers”

His men scrambled for cover. His elite killteam were some of the best in the whole army but even these men were rightly wary of these flying terrors. They were upon them in seconds, locust like these flying machines swooped and fired, the skeletal half mechanical riders made no sound and showed no expression of emotion as they set about their deadly work. Laser rounds and missiles from the screechers tore into the ground and buildings around Killteam Lorgan.

“Return fire” snarled the Captain, rolling out from behind a wall and releasing a flurry of bolter round. The nearest screecher took the brunt of the blasts, its lower right arm was blown clean off, but this didn’t deter it. Turning it swooped down, killing blade in its remaining hand and landed a searing blow on the captain. The blade cut deep, up his back and through his shoulder. The Captain felt dizzy with the pain but fought through it and raised his gun again to fire. The screecher had again rounded and was heading straight for the wounded leader. The captain steadied his hand, but the waves of pain blinded his mind, pull the trigger his brain screamed, but his finger wouldn’t move.

The screacher, perhaps sensing blood, rushed down to slay it’s wounded prey. Its head exploded, almost silently, into a thousand tiny fragments. It’s now out of control flying machine span of and exploded into the dirt feet from the captain.

Lorgan looked over and nodded his thanks to trooper Hebbert, the finest sniper he’d ever known.

So called screechers are the piloted flying element of the Darkening Mind’s assault forces, heavily armed for both ranged and close combat, deadly and very fast these are formidable opponents for even the best troops.

These were kitbashed from various kits including the Adeptus Mechnicus Ruststalkers and the Adeptus Custodes jet bikes.

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Lost Legion… prelude

Lost legion

The ancient monitor crackled and spluttered a pale green glow. A gloved hand scraped decades of dust from it in an attempt to see the readout clearly. There it was, unmistakable, a pin point dot of light flashing in the centre of the screen. Something was out there, something moving. 

The grim faced veteran knew he had to alert the others, it could be nothing, just a stray mute-hound or another larger beast. He  couldn’t take that risk.

It was the early hours of the morning, not that it mattered, in this place day and night were barely distinguishable. The harsh warp storms that tore the sky apart would throw up clouds of dirt and dust blotting the pale orange sun even at its zenith. He knew many of the others would be awake, they needed little or no sleep, and few would want to face the dreams this world brought.

He made his way through the dug out, the twisted corridors of corrugated iron, scavenged from long abandoned shipwrecks. He came to a wide opening where a few of his brothers sat huddled in groups talking in hushed tones. “I need to see the captain, is he awake?” He asked, knowing the answer, despite the early hour he was sure the captain wouldn’t be sleeping.

“Always”, replied a trooper, “but go easy, he’s in a foul one”

He entered the captains chamber. The Captain Tyberian was seated at his desk, his worn and damaged face telling some of the story of the many battles he had seen. “What is it DeVarr?” He questioned.  

“Sorry to trouble you sir, there is something on the sensor, probably nothing but I thought you better know. Could be a stray or just a muto, but for some reason I have a bad feeling about  it” 

“Hurm, I need to stretch my legs anyway, come on, lets take a look” The captain knew DeVarr of old, they had fought side by side in more battles then he could count. He had learned to trust the old soldier’s instincts, if DeVarr felt something was wrong, it probably was.

He tucking his battered helmet under his arm he strode down the corridors to the watch station. The sky overhead whirled and cracked with static, another storm was brewing and the atmosphere was covered with an oppressive orange glow. 

The moment they saw the monitor the Captain and DeVarr knew that this was no muto or stray dog.

The single green pin dot had become a mass of pulsing dots moving slowly across the monitor in their direction. The alarm was sounded and an army of troopers readied themselves on the battle line.  

Tyberian clutched his chainsword and plasma gun, preparing himself for whatever unspeakable foe was about to emerge from the half darkness. He looked down the line as his men readied themselves. 

Slowly a crooked grin cracked across his battered face… these are his men, his battle brothers, stranded together on this forsaken world, bound by blood. 

Unspeakable foes, overwhelming odds… just another day in the lost legion.

Captain Tyberian, Lost Legion commander:

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The Retinue (1)

IMG_8823The first two members of the Inquisitor Warband

On the right is Brother Moragain. Formerly of the Blood Angels chapter, then he became a member Deathwatch. He was renown as a merciless and fearless warrior, noted for his strength and iron will. It was as a member of Deasthwatch that he first crossed paths with Inquisitor Blight. During a vicious Ork incursion on Pelio IV Moragain was severely mauled by an enraged warboss, losing his arm and leg in the battle. His life was saved by the Inquisitor who brought the righteous wrath of the Emperor down on the warboss, via his expertly wielded chain sword. After recovering from his injuries Moragain was given special dispensation to join the Inquisitor as his bodyguard. Despite his damaged body he is still a formidable fighter and is noted for the Ad Mech phosphor blaster he took from the battlefield and used to replace his damaged arm.

In the left is Quen Y’rah. Although some members of the inquisition would call it heresy Inquisitor Blight is happy to rely on the powers of foresight afforded by Quen’s psyched gifts. Quen is one of Blights oldest associates, they have known each other since their long forgotten youth. Unpredictable and mysterious little is know of Quen, he seldom speaks to others, and never about himself or small talk. Quen is a powerful Psycher and a vicious hand to hand combatant.

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The Inquisitor

597A9B52-5CD7-4EB9-9220-B8A7E39B3880 Inquisitor Morecroft Blight of the Ordo Xenos 

I have begun to assemble an inquisitor and his retinue for a narrative Necromunda/inq28/spacehulk style mash-up. 

Morecroft Blight is a dreaded hunter of aliens, heretics and any other abominations that cross his path. 

He will have a 10 person Retinue of faithful followers, fellow zealots and paid bounty hunters. 

I will introduce his Retinue in future posts.

Clad in white power armour to symbolise his purity Inquisitor Blight is a truly righteous defender of the imperium. He has fought in many brutal conflicts, overthrown sinister incursions by infected cultists. He will not suffer fools or betrayal. He is almost as faithful to his friends and companions as he is to his beloved imperium, and in turn he inspires fierce personal loyalty in those that follow him.

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Hive Scum Bounty Hunters

I recently kit bashed a few Necromunda bounty hunters. I haven’t worked out any back story for these yet. Eventually I want to have enough to field a while gang of hive scum, at that point I’ll create them some fluff and character statistics.

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Squad:March… infestation

IMG_8358A break from the Lost Legionnaires…

After last months great painting challenges I decided I had to step up with Azazel’s March Challenge Squad:March! To Finnish a squad. I decided to have a bash at these Genestealer Cultists, who have infested an IG command squad. I built these back in November then my hobby attention deficit (as my friend describes it) kicked in and I forgot about them. This months White Dwarf Genestealer Cult rules for Necromunda insider me to slap some paint on them. Here they are painted up.

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