A flickering of life..

As much as I have enjoyed writing articles for this blog, updating with new miniatures, writing background and all the rest of it, as I've mentioned now the wind had left my sails when it came to the boys in blue (and white). That much should be apparent from the lack of new articles, the slightly sarcastic nature of those that were posted, and the complete failure to cover anything about the new Forge World: Betrayal book.

Without this becoming overly introspective, and therefore incredibly tedious to anyone but myself to read, this was as much to do with the 40k system itself as anything. Oh, and making Space Marines; thinking back over the years, I must have made several hundred of them in all sorts of various guises, to the point where it had ceased to be enjoyable. See also, marines dismounting from rhinos. Now I don't want to be overly critical and therefore damage anyone else's enjoyment of either 40k or building/painting space marines, something which has given me enjoyment over many years and especially concerning the nature of this blog (which, after all, was intended to act as a point of reference and inspiration to anyone reading it!) but it is the reasoning behind why this blog looked to be approaching its shelf life.

So, with that extremely downbeat start to this article in mind, why the update? Well, it's to announce that there is new material on the way. What you may ask, if you are ruling out 40k and space marines? Surely that doesn't leave a lot? Well, it won't involve the 40k game system, that's true. Also, it won't involve me matching up pairs of arms to hold a bolter, or debating whether I should have a go at true-scale.

So what then? Here is a quick clue, with a classic piece of artwork..

Answers on a postcard please! And hopefully, something more concrete to show over the next couple of days :)

New World Eaters, from Forge World !!

It would be a shame to not keep this blog updated considering all of the forthcoming Horus Heresy books from Forge World, so without further ado the latest official video!

Enjoy :)

A fellblade:

Really I should know what this is! Answers on a post card please (or the comments section below)

Finally, the one that has got me really excited:

No doubt you will need to sell a kidney to own these, but boy are they beautiful looking models! Glad to see that Forge World has really upped its game with these, rather than simply re-treading the ground covered by the likes of Maxmini and Kromlech. 

Wonderful stuff, and roll on the end of this month and the official un-veiling! 

..Just another skull? But I already have so many..

The voice boomed across the room. A palace, resplendent in brass and fire, at the centre of which a horned monstrosity sits upon a skull throne. Legs crossed, his giant bestial head rests upon his clawed hand, and his crimson eyes seem half-mast and disinterested. Another figure enters the room - obviously a warrior, his giant chain-axe betrays him as such, although any casual observer would wonder why he was partly naked, and the slightly comical nature of the ears upon his helm. The giant figure upon the throne spoke.. 

"That is so thoughtful of you, Kharn... Yes, indeed it is a very fine example of a cranium. Perhaps even nicer than the one you brought me on Thursday.  No... no, I don't think there is room on the fireplace. I'm worried those Squat skulls will break with the weight of the others on top of them, especially those Warhammer Fantasy zombie heads. I'm down to my last three... And it's not like you can just pop out and collect some more!.. 
Right yes.. on the huge, mountainous pile over there with all the other Grey Knight and Blood Angel skulls.. Buddha knows how the Emperor keeps churning out those guys!"

Perhaps best not to look at the date of the previous post?

It's been far too long. This blog, like so many others before, and so many more to come, has started to slow to a crawl as my own enthusiasm for the project dwindled.

That's a topic for another time, but generally as much as I love the Warhammer 40,000 universe, too many games against opponents who cared little for the aesthetic aspects of their army has left me completely nonchalant about it as a games system. There is a common saying of 'people make a place', and coming up against the same unpainted Grey Knights, Space Marines comprised of 5-6 different chapters (when presumably the painter has got bored after finishing a couple in one colour) did nothing to inspire me to play the game. I realise what you 'get' from a gaming system is different for each of us, but sadly for me the game mechanics of 40k aren't strong enough to carry the experience on their own. And, I found myself getting annoyed by the level of abstraction involved, with comments such as 'why is X just doing that' and 'how on earth does that happen', to the point where I just wasn't enjoying it. There are only so many times you can laugh sardonically and make joke references as your troops just stand there like genetically-enhanced melons as they get assaulted and aren't able to do anything to prevent it happening. Now a new work schedule has meant that I couldn't play even if I wanted to, and it hasn't been much of a surprise to find that I'm not really regretting it.

So, really this is just a short blog post to let any followers know that I am still alive! The World Eaters have had their fill in their current form, but I hope that there are other avenues to follow and that some more information can be added to the site. I will say that the new releases from Forge World (specifically, their 'Pre-Heresy' armour marks) make it easier than ever, although more expensive, to start a Pre-Heresy force. Those mk2 and mk3 sets in particular would look great in white and blue, and with some chainaxes thrown in for good measure.

And really, what is that people would like to see? Some modelling or painting articles? Perhaps the World Eaters in Epic or BFG? What about more background or review articles? It's very hard to gauge how many people have actually read this blog over the years, beyond mis-directed 'Jimmy Eat World' fans, and so if there is enough interest I'll try and make some new material for it? Otherwise, well.. I'm not sure how I will break the news to that guy on the brass throne! In any case, feedback of all sorts would be greatly appreciated!

Butcher's Nails Artwork

A friend of mine commented a while ago about how much he was enjoying the Dawn of War series, specifically the second game. He had no experience at all of the 40k universe (aside from half heard conversations between myself and other 40k playing friends which left him feeling isolated and afraid) and so the imagery and experience of that game was his sole source of information regarding that game universe.

And his comment about the main character, made as he charged him into combat amongst a horde of orks? "Yeah, he is a hard ass, but why does he look like someone from a Hair Conditioner advert? He's called Gabriel Angelos so I guess he's some kind of future Italian?"

It made me laugh, but also roll me eyes at the folly of Relic's character design regarding a Space Marine. My friend was correct in a way - without any other knowledge of a Space Marine, of their background, their physiology or their lifestyle, I could quite imagine Angelos cracking a cheeky smile and winking, "Because I'm worth it" as he pirouettes into a group of orks and starts imitating Kenneth Williams with a fly-swatter and running like Russell Brand.

I will have to show my friend this picture:

Relic, this is how a Space Marine should look. No neat brush-across, blended into a number 3 across the back and side and chiselled good looks. You take a Rugby forward (or a linebacker for our American friends), you add a hundred pounds of slabbed muscle. You then give him plastic surgery, carried out by Dr. Nick from the Simpsons, and you subject him to a hundred years of physical training and hardship that makes the Iron Man contest look like a Sunday gala event for toddlers. Add a few weapon impacts, and scars, fighting the worst the galaxy can throw at them in the most inhospitable environments, then finally apply the flat of a spade to the face for good measure. After that, you might be approaching something of what a Space Marine looks like.

So thanks to Neil Roberts for this wonderful piece of artwork of Angron. Not only is it frightening in its intensity and aggression but I think it perfectly captures the Primarch of the 12th Legion.

Finally, here is a quote from a friend of mine on Facebook regarding the picture:

‎"Do we do him leading a charge in battle?"
"How about gazing out of a starship window into space?"
"Why not try giving him a new look?"
"F*** ALL THAT. DO HIM NAKED, WITH TWO AXES."

Black Library World Eaters Audio Book

The Black Library have just announced an exciting addition to their Pre-Heresy line up - A new short story, written by none other than Aaron Dembski-Bowden!

The posting is up on the Black Library website, here, and has been confirmed as an Audio book by the writer himself on the B&C forum (backing up the price point of £10). The date is currently set at June next year.

Mr. ADB is regarded by many as the hot-property of the Black Library at the moment, and I'm sure anyone who has read his books will agree that he is one of the best writers with the publishers in terms of bestowing depth and personality to his characters. Certainly, he transformed the Word Bearers from their previous position as comic book-esque evil guys to victims of tragic circumstance in The First Heretic, and I'm sure many fans of the World Eaters will hope he treats the 12th Legion with the same attention to detail!

When Aaron revealed on his blog some time ago that he wanted to write about the World Eaters I sincerely hoped the legion would get their own full length novel. However, beggar's can't be choosers as they say, and hopefully this Audio book will be a prelude to more background information on a traitor Legion that has been largely overlooked in the Heresy series so far.

More information as it comes!

World Eaters Short Story Series Pt. 8

Hi again, this time the final instalment in the short story series. This one features the War Hounds fighting alongside the Blood Angels, in another 'co-op' based story. It's interesting that the World Eaters predecessors, the War Hounds, seem to have quite a lot of interest from the fan community. I wonder if anyone has any ideas in terms of colour scheme or iconography? Or else even has an army that they have been working on? If you do, please leave a comment and I'll write a feature on them in some point in the future. Until then..

Of Hounds and Angels

By Matthew Roy

THE BLOOD ANGEL drank deeply as his fangs tore into the rebel’s throat. He hefted the ruined corpse and flung it down the slope, pressing onward with his warriors. They had holstered their bolters, preferring to advance against the dying enemy with their blades drawn…

HALF A KILOMETRE away at the base of the escarpment, Captain Sorik raced ahead of his World Eaters company brethren. The last of the rebels were dying upon his battle-brothers’ chainblades, and Sorik wanted to make sure that his sword drank deep of their heathen blood before the battle was done.
A clumsy and desperate man charged at him, blade drawn, and Sorik turned the awkward lunge aside with his chainsword. He brought his weapon around, aiming not at his enemy’s weapon, but at his gauntleted hands. His weapon shrieked as it tore through the ornamental hand guard and chewed the rebel’s fingers to shreds. The warrior let out a muffled cry, dropping his weapon. Another slash, and Sorik took the man’s head from his shoulders.
He felt his berserk rage cooling. He could smell rich blood through his helmet’s open respirator grille. He paused; no, it wasn’t through his respirator. He brought his hand to his face, realising that his helmet was missing. He frowned. He couldn’t remember taking it off. He turned around, backtracking through the scene of slaughter behind him as his warriors busied themselves with sawing heads from bodies and tying them to their belts. Sorik found his helmet some fifty metres back, half buried in a tangle of bloody limbs that had once been a man. Apparently he had used the helmet to beat the rebel to death.
He couldn’t remember doing it. He frowned again. He was losing time more and more often during battles.
On the slope above, he watched a company of red-armoured Astartes as they tore through the last of the defenders, dismembering the enemy soldiers at close quarters in a stunning display of violence.
‘Brother-Captain Cretac, of our cousins in the IX Legion,’ said Fanin, the company’s standard-bearer. Sorik turned to his subordinate. Fanin had also removed his helmet, and thick blood covered his face. It took Sorik a moment to realize the warrior had smeared most of it on himself. Fanin nodded back up toward the warriors on the slope. ‘They call his company the “Flesh Tearers”, sir.’
Sorik nodded in grim amusement at what the Blood Angels were capable of when they allowed the facades of culture and civilisation to fall away from them.
The vox-link in his helmet chirped as he put it back on. ‘All company commanders, this is the Eighth Captain. We will bring our fury against the heretic stronghold. The Tenth and Thirty-third companies will have the honour of leading the jump-assault, supported by the Blood Angels.’ This order came from Kharn, the primarch’s equerry. Sorik’s warriors bowed their heads reverently as the Eighth Captain spoke.
Of course they all wanted to be like Kharn.
One of the company’s Rhinos trundled up from the rear lines, and the Techmarines unloaded jump packs from the cargo frames inside. Sorik studied them as they worked. Early in his training with the legion, he had been earmarked to join the ranks of the armourium for his intelligence and aptitude. His leadership and combat prowess had been recognised however, and over time he had risen to command the 33rd Assault Company instead.
He glanced back up the slope. He had been forced to work with the Blood Angels during this mission. Their haughtiness grated on him, and he found their hypocrisy troubling; they fought with just as much savagery as the World Eaters, and yet the Blood Angels were beloved – even romanticized? – by the Imperium, while his own legion were reviled as barbarians.
Iterator Igram Severn had said the rebels on this planet would face the unbridled fury of the IX and XII Legions, and that both were known for their savagery in close combat. Sorik and the other World Eaters liked Severn; while he wasn’t Astartes, he was a veteran of the Imperial Army, his body more augmetic than true-flesh. Few iterators and remembrancers were assigned to the XII Legion’s fleets. They had a bad habit of disappearing, and the legion’s senior leadership had always remained quiet on the matter.
Up ahead, a war party came into view – a Blood Angels honour guard and a pack of World Eaters shadowed two massive figures. Sorik had seen six primarchs in his life, but was still awed by their presence. He had heard it said that each of the primarchs echoed an aspect of their father’s greatness. If that was the case, then Sanguinius and Angron were most likely the opposing aspects of His combat prowess. The former was a gilded poet in warrior’s garb; the latter was a true manifestation of fury, terrible and absolute.
Word was that Angron would be entering the city behind the advance guard. Oh, what grand violence he would doubtlessly unleash upon these rebels.

JUMP PACKS ROARED as his company launched into the air. Las-bolts and solid slugs flew past the warriors and pattered off their armour plate. Sorik crunched down onto the city wall, his sword ending the lives of two of its guardians in a flash.
What makes the Angels better than the Hounds? What makes them so beloved, and us so hated? Exalted in their hypocrisy, their sense of the aesthetic, their role as warrior poets. He dodged a point-blank lasgun blast and smashed a man’s skull with a quick backhand.
Cretac and the Flesh Tearers had landed a hundred meters to Sorik’s right. He watched the Blood Angel assault troopers revel in their slaughter of the wall guardians. Here at least, were men who embraced what they truly were. Instruments of death. Killers of men.
They say this is a godless galaxy. That is the truth our iterators speak to the populations we conquer and assimilate. But what if there are gods watching us, as these heathens believe? Could there even be a god that smiles upon what we do?
Some mythical god of war, perhaps?
Some sort of brazen blood-god?

World Eaters Short Story Series Pt. 7

This will be most likely the last in the short story series, unless a few other people I have written to get back in touch and give me permission to post on this site (for anyone reading this that's a big hint, it's a bit weird why anyone would say no! ^^). A little bit different to the other, predominantly Heresy-era shorts, this story focuses on the Legion in their guise as the 'War Hounds' during the earlier days of the Crusade, fighting alongside the White Scars (giving me an excuse to post this cool piece of bike-related art from the CCG game).

White Hot

By Michael Vincent (aka Vinnie)

THROUGH THE WHIRLING dust cloud that had filled the heavy atmosphere of the city, he watched the assault squad of the War Hounds legion descend on roaring columns of flame. Dropped from a Stormbird, the Astartes reinforcements came not before time. However confident of victory he happened to be, ten snarling chainaxes were always an appealing addition to one’s efforts.
Suddenly, a heavy armoured vehicle bearing the heraldry of the dissenting nation lumbered around the buttressed corner of the city wall. It had the snub nosed muzzle of its formidable looking main turret raised, and the crew clearly intended to eliminate the War Hounds before they made planetfall.
He smiled at the sight of this new target. It had been nearly forty seconds since he had teleported into the warzone and he had not yet engaged, mainly due to the lack of enemy units in the vicinity. He wasn’t sure whether to chastise his teleport operators for dropping him into a dead sector, or congratulate his Astartes warriors for making one.
But now it was time to get his hands dirty. Time to make his presence known.
Jaghatai, Great Khan and Primarch of the Vth Legion, cricked the tendons in his neck, flexed his immense gauntleted hands, and loped into a thundering charge. Even if what passed for auspex technology on the enemy vehicle detected his approach, there was no way any turret could traverse quickly enough to do anything about it.
‘For the Scars, and for the Emperor!’ the Khan bellowed in the flowing, affricative tongue of Chogoris. He drew his glittering qhatan blade, forged from the hardy ores of his homeworld, and threw himself shoulder first into the side of the vehicle.
It was not large by the standards of many battle tanks he had seen in his time at the Emperor’s side: perhaps thirty-five tons. It shifted with the impact. Not far, but far enough.
A blistering stream of tracer fire erupted from the barrel of its main weapon, hissing past the War Hounds squad at a distance of no more than a few inches. Yes, thought Khan, far enough.
A periscopic device appeared almost comically from the top hull of the tank. Jaghatai brought the palm of his hand down hard on top of it, and was rewarded with a muffled scream of agony from within. Grabbing the edges of the periscope cavity, the Primarch hauled himself on top of the vehicle and sprang towards what he knew was the commander’s hatch.
The vehicle began to move, jerking in and out of gear, attempting to dislodge their assailant. A mortal man might have been pitched from the hull, but not the Khan – a lifetime spent hunting game on the uneven peaks of the Khum Karta mountains; and riding first the powerful tahki warhorse and then later the Astartes assault bikes; all had given the Primarch reflexes that defied comprehension. Sometimes, to a mortal, they might even appear prescient.

Riding the juddering vehicle like he would a bolting horse, Jaghatai Khan grasped his blade with both hands and drove it hilt-deep down into the armour of the command hatch. Swinging his massive form, he wrenched the blade sideways into what he hoped would be the driver’s compartment.
Tortured metal screamed as it peeled into ribbons, booming as welds in the superstructure gave way. The vehicle stalled and trundled to a halt.
With a squeal and a clang, a trooper bearing a heavy energy pistol emerged from a hatchway behind Khan. The Primarch turned and was ready to dive from the path of the inevitable shot, but the trooper was cut down by bolter fire before he could level his weapon.
Khan peered around, and saw the War Hounds assault squad sprinting toward the tank, smoke rising from their pistols. He leapt down from the top of the tank.
‘My gratitude to you, War Hounds.’ He spoke in their common High Gothic, ‘I was very nearly injured.’
The squad’s sergeant stepped forward. ‘My Lord, it was our duty and our pleasure.’ Khan regretted that he did not know the warrior’s name.
There was another noise from the disabled tank. A terrified crewman pushed open a side hatch and was scrambling out on his hands and knees. One of the Astartes hopped forwards and slammed his power boot into the hatch, effectively crushing the man’s midsection in the jamb. With a twitch, the crewman vomited bloody tissue onto the ground and died.
Khan punched the locking mechanism of the hatch, the inhuman strength of his blow buckling the metal and effectively sealing the port. Cries and hammering erupted from within as at least two more crewmen panicked and scrabbled for escape.
The War Hounds sergeant cocked his helmeted head, as if listening. He was, but not to the doomed men.
‘My lord,’ he looked to Khan, ‘We have orders to assist in contesting a vital strongpoint to the west.’
‘Indeed,’ replied the Primarch. He nodded to the enemy tank. ‘Torch that before you go, would you?’
‘If you intend to head westwards, we will be honoured to accompany you,’ the sergeant said.
The Khan felt slightly uneasy. He still struggled to comprehend the reverence with which he was treated by Astartes of his brothers’ legions – to his own Scars he was a beloved commander and respected leader, not an object of veneration.
A clanking rumble from behind them drew his attention. It was another enemy tank approaching.
‘No,’ he said with a dark smile, ‘I think I shall be fine here.’
‘Yes, my Lord!’ With a nod of the head, the sergeant unclipped a melta bomb from his belt and clapped it to the side of the vehicle before leading his Astartes into the scorched sky with a roar of turbofans.
Jaghatai Khan stepped back, and with a bright flash the tank crumpled outwards, everything inside immolated. The sound was almost desultory, but the effect was inarguable.
He turned to face the thunder of the oncoming tank, and cricked his neck again.
For the Emperor, he thought, and grinned.