Whenever I look at this pile of looters, I can hear Mark laughing raucously while rolling a small avalanche of Strength 7 dice. Gits.

This orkskorsh, much like the flatbed trukk, offers a solid dakka platform for the lootas, assuming they aren't holed up in some ruins and howling with laughter while they wazz bullets at the enemy.

This unit is pretty much a potted history of gretchin miniatures.

Kustom trukk loosely modeled after a landing craft...

...complete with working ramp. The wood on the ramp is a nice touch.

Note the kustom air intake on the engine block.

I was once reduced to trying to punch this thing into submission with an Inquisitor's power fist. It went about as well as you might imagine.

Old skool killa kans, albeit with the inevitable added conversions. I like how the track unit looks, and the half-submerged horse skeleton on the base is a nice touch.

Note the wrecking ball. Also I'm pretty sure the kustom mega blasta on the leftmost kan is a lascannon off an old-school land raider. Speaking of which...

...looted old-school land raider.

As with all the elements of the army, Mark never stopped adding things. Most recently, he'd been working on a unit of nobs complete with a heavily converted character who I assume to be a dok (judging by the syringe).

I particularly like this nob with artificial lungs.

When I first saw the nob on the right I initially thought "huh, no conversions there... how unusual." Then I noticed the bionic legs and the mek's tools on his back. Also, good lord that's a big crowbar the 2nd nob from the left is holding.

Likewise, these guys have all been kustomised along the theme of itinerant tinkerers.

Right, that's quite enough nobbery for now. Back to looted things!

Is nothing sacred?

Now that right there is a fat air intake.

I absolutely love the trophy rack. The roof on the crew compartment is removable so you can choose whether you want it to be open-topped. Furthermore, the entire crew compartment is removable; I think Mark had a gun turret that was part of the original tank kit this was built on, but it looked too un-orky, so he never used it.

Having demonstrated great aptitude for looting anything made by humies, Mark's orks went one step further and looted something biological...

Lootie Fex!

This model was actually the cause of one of my first interactions with Mark back when he first moved to Oxford. I was working at the Games Workshop at the time, and he asked for a painting lesson since he'd never painted something big and organic before. He hadn't really done much if any layering at that point, and wasn't sure how to tackle the carnifex's flesh. I remember he was really happy with how it came out, and it proceeded to jump up and down on a good number of my toy soldiers over the following decade.

I love that the powered melee weapons get cables running to the power unit on the saddle.

I said we'd finish on what I think is the most Mark unit in his collection, so here it is: a unit of 20 basic ork boys in a battle wagon. Simple enough... except it isn't. The unit has been built as a team of dudes who are equipped to dismantle and loot vehicles, and their ride takes that theme further.


Let's start off with the wagon. It had recently been given some repairs which Mark never got around to painting, so please ignore the occasional bit of white styrene.

It's got a grabby claw. For grabbing.

Note the spare burna on the side for cutting up wrecks.

Note the extra details he's added: a toolbox, tow cable, and an 'uge spanner.

Another view of the grabby krane.

Now for the mob. I won't go through all twenty of them in exhaustive detail, but there's some things worth highlighting.


The profusion of hooks, lump hammers, spanners, and drills speak for themselves. Of particular note is the scratch-built toolbox, and second from bottom left, the ork carrying the task lamp. Now, on to the other ten lads in this unit...


Again, some self-explanatory things like crowbars, blowtorches and so forth, but it's worth calling out the dude with the fuel drum and (one of my favourite touches) a siphoning tube tied around his waist.

Let's take a second to talk about the mob's leader Bunkah and his massive circular saw. Mark loved Bunkah, both for the kustom saw he'd built him, but also for his character. You see, Bunkah was a simple soul who enjoyed two things in life: his saw, and trying to remember his own name. Unarguably the stupidest ork in his own mob, the lads generally left him to his own devices and did most of the actual looting themselves.

Particularly stupid things Bunkah did include stepping through a door and becoming the only ork visible to a baneblade. Mark was giggling a bit when he moved Bunkah out. He'd play to character like that. "Bun... kah?" he said in a low, gravelly voice. When the baneblade's main gun went off and removed Bunkah from the field, Mark started laughing uncontrollably and just kept at it for... I don't remember how long. The fact that he found suicide by baneblade cannon that funny set me off. It's objectively not that amusing, but the whole thing seemed to have pleased Mark no end.

Bunkah became something of a running joke. If one of us didn't understand what the other was saying, we'd answer with "Bunkah?"

If one of us decided to do something even though we knew it was stupid, we'd say "Bunkah." The meaning was all in the tone. It was a very, very localised equivalent of "I am Groot," I suppose.

But there's one ork in the Wrekkin' Krew that's the Markiest of them all: the health and safety ork. He's the one in the picture with the high-vis jacket, the safety goggles, the pencil tucked behind his ear, and a clipboard that says "HSE" on it (that's the Health and Safety Executive, the UK government's agency for workplace health and safety). As an occupational hygienist, this model basically represented Mark on the table. He gave a crap about the well-being of his colleagues even when they didn't (and he worked in a steel plant where they really, really didn't sometimes). The image of an ork helpfully pointing out safety tips to his squadmates is frankly joyous.

That he put so much detail into a unit of basic troops is everything to me. As hobbyists we can get drawn into the idea that the more elite your miniature is, the more love you should give it. Mark took the opposite approach. For him, the magic of an army lay in bringing everyday details into the picture. Every model in your army is an opportunity to bring your force to life, so if you get a cool idea, then pursue that idea all the way down the rabbit hole. You'll end up with something unique. Something that's yours.

Something your friends will remember.

Hopefully one day Mark's kids will follow their dad into the hobby, and if they do, Bunkah, Tekkwotts, Cogz, Tufflukk and all the rest will be waiting for them. So much of Mark's personality is baked into these miniatures that I'm pretty sure they'll come to know him a little better. Hopefully you did too. Furthermore, I hope his army has inspired you in some way, whether it's to have a crack at a conversion you're scared of, or to keep painting, keep rolling dice, and keep enjoying this hobby.

And don't fear, this army isn't going into some forgotten box under the stairs while it waits for his kids. We're under strict instructions to make sure it sees the field, and I'll make damn sure it does. These boots is made for stomping, and stomping's what they'll do. WAAAAGH!

The posing on the primaris captain mini is vintage 40K, in that it's a bald man pointing and shouting with one foot perched on a rock. You can also build him pointing with a power sword instead, but that makes the pose of his gun look awkward. The pointing hand, at least, suggests he was holding his gun normally, and has briefly let go to do some Tactical Pointing.

Pointy baldy man was something I'd painted too many times, and gunny swordy wavy man didn't work for me as a pose. Also the big fat bling swinging between his legs seemed... impractical. It was time to do some conversion. Besides, it's nice to have a unique commander. To the cutting mat!

The first order of business was to remove the blingwang. Whilst I couldn't be arsed to do this on my aggressors, this be my shiny boss man. The solution? Clip and slice the bulk of it off, buff it out with the mould line removal tool, then add in some green stuff.

Green stuff was also my solution to the Posing Rock he was standing on. I clipped off the spike, glued him to the base, then sculpted a green stuff slope around the rock. Once the putty had cured, the scalpel and mould line remover were used to scrape it flush with the base rim.

Originally I was going to use the crested helm that comes in the kit, but in the end I came round to the idea of embracing MAXIMUM ROMAN as suggested by Lasgunpacker in his comment on my first five intercessors. This worked out well, since I also wanted a gladius-style sword to further emphasise the Cobalt Scions' ties to their Ultramarine primogenitors. The Ultramarines Upgrade Pack had both of these things, albeit on the wrong style of helmet. I chopped off the crest and pinned it to a spare intercessor helm.

The Ultramarines sword was attached to the bolt pistol arm from the Imperial Fists upgrade sprue, while the auto bolt rifle was taken from the intercessors kit. The positioning of the gun meant I had to remove the tassles on the crux terminatus, but oh well.

How green stuff is your valley?

It's always good to pose one's minis in a way that conveys something about their personality, and doubly so when you don't have a face to paint. I tried to imply a commander who stands at the back looking performatively majestic (and/or like he might kick off a rousing speech at any minute). That said I still wanted Lucullus to look like he was up for a fight if someone got close, so the sword's been placed in a semi-relaxed low guard rather than a "wave it in the air like you're in charge" kinda fashion.

Hopefully that's how it looks to other people!

Lucullus was painted the same way as the other Cobalt Scions. I covered this in my post on the intercessors, but there have been some subtle amendments since then (to the blue, red & white), so for convenience's sake:

White:

1. Basecoat with Corax White
2. Recess shade with some thinned Dawnstone
3. Line in the deepest recesses with thinned Eshin Grey or Reaper's grey liner.
4. Highlight with White Scar (technically I'm using the Army Painter white, but... it's white. Same difference.)
5. Add chips and dings to the white with White Scar/pure white.
6. Go back over the top half of the chips and dings with Dawnstone.
7. Add Army Painter Gunmetal to the centre of any particularly large chips.

At the end, Typhus Corrosion is applied around the boots and lower shins using the technique described in the post on the Aggressors.

Lucullus' cloak and backpack were painted as separate sub-assemblies. The cloak was primed with Wraithbone, which saved me a bunch of time when it came to getting the Mephiston Red basecoat on the cloak.

I strayed a little from the standard red mix on the cloak, since Evil Sunz Scarlet and Wild Rider Red were just a bit too bright to use as anything other than highlights, and Agrax Earthshade was too imprecise for an area this big and smooth. As such, the vast majority of the red you see is Mephiston, with shading produced with a mix of Mephiston and Vallejo Charred Brown. The lighter reds only appear in the final highlights. The shadows in the photo look more intense than in reality, but that's the price I pay for having the light at an angle that didn't wash out the colour with reflections.

Speaking of red, one of the downsides of my original method for painting the 3rd Company knee pads was that my wife asked why they had M&Ms for knees.

It couldn't be unseen.

In an effort to avoid this hilarity with my warlord, I made the III look even more like Roman numerals, and then went cross-eyed painting a laurel wreath around it. I can't keep that up for the whole army, so the rest will probably switch from III to the squad's number, since the fact that it's red is sufficient to indicate which company they're from.

A final note on composition: since Lucullus is the captain of the Third, I was planning on keeping his crest as red, the company colour. Once I'd actually finished the mini, though, his bright red tabard was overpowering the rest of the mini. I needed to draw the eye back up to his face. To achieve this, I added the iconic white bands to the crest. This meant the tabard was no longer the brightest thing, and the lines on the crest seem to point the eye in the direction of the helmet. At least, that's the effect it has on me. The lesson I took home was this: hold the mini at arm's length, see where your eye is drawn, and ask yourself if the emphasis is right.

...By which I obviously mean that this post is moving on to my favourite bit: fluff! That's fluff, not fluffing. Being an astartes fluffer would be a truly pointless calling.

On a side note, fluff is one of the weirder bits of wargamer slang. The term carries a derisory note implying that it's ancillary to rules, but if it weren't for the fluff, wouldn't we all be playing chess? Unfortunately, 'background' is a whole extra syllable, and humans follow the path of least resistance.

Wait, what was this blog post about? Ah, yes.

Clears throat.

The Cobalt Scions are an all-primaris chapter created from Ultramarines gene stock. Initially they participated in the Indomitus Crusade, after which Guilliman tasked them with shoring up a region of the Segmentum Pacificus that, while relatively peaceful, wouldn't remain that way with so much of the Imperial war machine focussed on the Great Rift.

Founding
Guilliman's major concern about Cawl's artificially indoctrinated primaris marines was their lack of real combat experience, so he decided to form the Scions' senior leadership from veterans of the Ultramarines' 1st Company. A call for volunteers went out.

Encouraged by Calgar's survival of the Rubicon Primaris, Aelius Justarian and his squad stepped up. Their idea was that each of them would be a company captain, forming a group of officers who already knew and respected each other. Guilliman, Calgar and Captain Agemman accepted their proposal, and the ten brothers eagerly submitted themselves to the process, nodding confidently as the risks of the process were explained to them.

In their optimism they hoped they might all survive; the process was becoming less risky with time, but in reality, six brothers died. Sergeant Justarian was among them.

The four survivors had known it was possible some of their brothers might not survive the process. They had lost brothers in the past. Astartes are indoctrinated to process the grief when a brother falls in combat. If anything, it strengthens their resolve. But the survivors learned that losing a brother in combat and losing an uninjured brother to the operating table are two very different things. This new form of grief ate away at them.

The chaplains tried tending to the brothers' spiritual wounds, but old Cassius refused to let them languish in mourning. Success, he told them, is meaningless without adversity. Still despondent at the loss but obedient nonetheless, the four brothers prepared for their voyage across the galaxy to rendezvous with their new chapter in the Sol system. They sought guidance from Calgar, Agemman, and other senior Ultramarines while their new armour was forged. They spoke to political leaders and logisticians, shipmasters and tech-magi, trying to learn what they could, still lamenting the loss of wise Justarian and the others.

When their new Mk.X armour was ready, they entered the Fortress of Hera and donned the unpainted suits for the first time. After so many decades as Ultramarines, it was a strange thing for them to see each other wearing unpainted armour. As they stood there exchanging uncertain glances, they were approached by Sinon, Captain of the Ninth and Master of Relics, who presented them with four master-crafted power swords in honour of their service with the Ultramarines. It was a welcome and tangible connection to their past.

On the journey to Sol, they occupied themselves by debating how they might go about organising their new chapter. Quintus Tarentian and Gaius Fabian favoured adhering strictly to the updated Codex Astartes, while Tiberius Drusus and Martellus Lucullus argued that it didn't map well onto purely primaris chapters.

Unable to agree on how far to stray from the wisdom of the Codex, they turned their attention to what they thought would be the less contentious question of naming the chapter. They soon learned that much rests in a name, and many names are unfit for purpose. Nothing sounded right. At one point, Tarentian confessed that after days of considering monikers for the new chapter, even the honoured name of the Ultramarines sounded foolish. "It is a pun!" he exclaimed, agast. "Or perhaps a declaration that we think ourselves above other chapters." The other three looked at him, appalled by this heresy.

"On the contrary, brother," Drusus replied, "I believe Ultramar to be a word from Ancient Terra describing an empire that stretches across an ocean. In this instance, the void is the ocean, the Five Hundred Worlds the empire. The suffix -ines must simply indicate that we are men of that great empire. Surely, therefore, the word Ultramar preceded the word Ultramarines? You're putting the artillery train before the tractor."

 "Let us pretend I said nothing," Tarentian said, clearly troubled.

It was Lucullus who spoke next. "If we should decide to break with some edicts of the Codex, it would seem all the more important to remember our point of origin. A new chapter has no history, but the Thirteenth Legion and all its successors have ten millennia of it. What if our heraldry echoes that? Our chapter symbol could be a cobalt fist, as if to show one of the Gauntlets of Ultramar."

"That is not a name, Martellus, that is a badge," Fabian said. The others laughed.

Never one to enjoy a joke at his expense, Lucullus doubled down. "It's the idea I'm driving at. Make a point of upholding our identity as scions of Ultramar."

"The Scions of Ultramar is quite the mouthful," Tarentian said.

"The Cobalt Scions," Drusus said. The four of them were silent for a moment. Tarentian, for whom everything now sounded wrong, opened his mouth to speak. Fabian cut him off. "I like it," Fabian said.

"As do I," Lucullus added.

Tarentian frowned, then shrugged. "I am pleased this task is done."

A chapter icon is born.

After much debate the four brothers also agreed on their roles. Someone with a willingness to embrace the unfamiliar would be needed to form a new chapter, and so Tiberius Drusus would serve as chapter master. It helped that he was the most learned among them. To keep Drusus grounded, the traditionally-minded Tarentian would assume command of the 1st company, and Fabian would take the 2nd. Martellus Lucullus, Drusus' fellow advocate for new ways, would helm the 3rd.

To find the other seven captains, they would have to screen Cawl's unnaturally trained creations to see if any among them had the wit for independent thought.

When the four brothers eventually reached the Sol system they found a fleet of unnamed ships waiting for them in Mars' crowded dockyards. Inside, a chapter of new marines slept in stasis. Neither ships nor men bore heraldry. Drusus and his brothers had understood the scale of the task ahead in theory, but found the reality somewhat daunting. They were veterans of combat, not leadership. Who were they to step into the shoes of their betters and start from the very beginning?

The four brothers toured the fleet and its crews. They went to see the stasis chambers, and the marines inside. An army of techpriests, artisans and servitors awaited Drusus' signal to begin.

Drusus wanted the chapter to wake up to some sense of heritage, so the artisans were set to work first, applying heraldry to empty racks of armour. Ships were named. The four brothers met with the fleet's human officers, many of whom were decorated volunteers from the Imperial Navy.

When all was prepared, Drusus gave authorisation to wake the chapter.

They soon learned that the indoctrinated marines had names from their previous lives, but all were uncertain how many of their memories were real, and how many implanted. They all thought they remembered lives in Ultramar, and so the four brothers found some common ground with them. Even so, the marines knew little of the modern Imperium. Some spoke of the secular Imperial Truth promulgated in the days of the Great Crusade. The four brothers realised that bringing these men into the 42nd Millennium would involve significant culture shock. Worse yet, they had been indoctrinated to fulfill a single role, rather than having the flexibility of a marine who had worked their way through the ranks.

In the short term, Drusus and the others would simply have to accept Cawl's inflexible progeny and work with them as best they could. The Cobalt Scions fleet began its maiden voyage out of Sol and towards the nearest prong of the Indomitus Crusade.

The Cobalt Scions in the Indomitus Crusade
Over the next century or so, the Scions slowly morphed in the direction the four brothers intended. While in transit between warzones, squads were trained in other methods of warfare. Hellblaster units learned to use bolt rifles, Intercessors learned how to move in gravis armour, and so on. Like many of the all-primaris chapters, they took higher casualties early on in the Crusade. After a century of constant warfare the chapter had been reduced to half its original strength, despite occasional reinforcements from the Unnumbered Sons and freshly awakened marines from Mars.

While the Crusade continued to spread out through the galaxy, it was decided that the time had come for the Scions to go to the world that had been assigned to them by Guilliman: Thonis.

A new homeworld
When it was designated as the Scions' homeworld, Thonis was far from any active warzones. Situated in the Eridani Sector of the Segmentum Pacificus, it was Guilliman's intent that the Scions would further strengthen a relatively stable part of the Imperium. Some whispered that it was further evidence of Guilliman ensuring the Ultramarines' ascendancy, particularly given the cultural ties the First Four had sought to maintain.

Either way, none could gainsay the Lord Commander of the Imperium, and so the Scions' fleet made for Thonis. Drusus and the others knew relatively little about Thonis beside some centuries-old information about its major exports and government, but it seemed reasonable to assume the locals would be grateful for the protection of an Astartes Chapter.

The Scions fleet returned to Mars first. While ship repairs got underway, Chapter Master Drusus met with Archmagos Felicita Morleio, the fabricator-general Cawl had assigned to the chapter. She had been tasked with designing and overseeing the construction of the Scions' fortress monastery, and then remaining with the chapter for the rest of her life, tending to the fortress' manufactorums and forges. She seemed at peace with the notion that she would get to create this one great structure and then be relegated to its maintenance. Drusus, however, was far less willing than Cawl to waste human resources. He suggested that if she showed aptitude for architectural design and understood siegecraft sufficiently, there was every chance she could embark upon an indefinite number of projects across Thonis and the wider Eridani sector as the Scions established themselves.

In that moment, he won Morleio's undivided loyalty.

Everything that would be needed for the fortress monastery, save the stone and rockrete itself, had already been loaded onto Morleio's kilometers-long fabrication ark. The fleet, now repaired, broke orbit and made for the Eridani Sector.

Arrival in Thonis
The Imperial governor on Thonis had been told decades ago that a chapter called the Cobalt Scions were coming to live on the planet. That was it. No details, no instructions to make particular preparations. Simply that they were coming.

When a fleet of Astartes ships arrived claiming to be the Cobalt Scions, no one had any reason to doubt them.

The fleet moved straight through the Eridani sector and on to the Hasmides system in the neighbouring Achernar sector. There had been some civil unrest; bombings and the like. It was assumed the Scions intended to terrify the populace into compliance.

In reality, the individuals aboard the Astartes fleet had created the uprising. They were not the Cobalt Scions at all. They were the Word Bearers, six hundred of them, acting on the orders of Khairon. If Guilliman's sons were coming, the Word Bearers were keen to preemptively tarnish their good name and make it clear the Scions' very arrival would only bring suffering.

Hasmides offered little challenge to them.

A thousand light years away, the Scions' fleet approached in blissful ignorance.

With Hasmides' government and infrastructure in tatters, the Word Bearers returned to their ships to prepare their next blow. The Scions might not have been there to prevent the atrocity, but the wider Imperium did not leave it unpunished. As the Word Bearers fleet made all speed for the Hasmides system's Mandeville point so as to escape into the warp, they were intercepted by the full might of Battlefleet Achernar.

The ensuing battle cost both fleets dearly, but ultimately the Word Bearers' fleet was so badly damaged that, while most of their Astartes survived, their ability to prosecute a full naval engagement was, for a time at least, nullified.

Side note: Jon and I actually fought this battle as the climax of the latest BFG campaign I ran for him, and while the battle went well for Jon, his flagship got boarded by the Word Bearer's flagship. This in turn spawned a somewhat bracing Inquisitor scenario in which our Inq28 players had to try and capture a ----ing space marine for interrogation during the boarding action. Said players were appropriately traumatised by the experience.

Broadcasting false Cobalt Scions transponder signals, the Word Bearers battle barge Monarchia rams Battlefleet Achernar's flagship Dammerung during the Battle of Hasmides. The Word Bearers strike cruiser Morningstar can also be seen maneuvering to board the stricken battleship on its starboard flank.

Ironically the Navy's victory at Hasmides was politically bad for the Cobalt Scions. Not only had their impending arrival attracted dangerous foes to a peaceful place, it wasn't even the Scions who saw them off. Furthermore Thonis' incumbent planetary governor, Lord Aderbal, was well regarded by his subjects. There was little appetite for change.

When the true Cobalt Scions fleet approached Thonis, they were bombarded with security questions, and requests that they remain at a distance until their identity could be verified. It was hardly the welcome the Scions had hoped for. Eventually, Thonis' modest orbital platforms cancelled their firing solutions and stood down. A lone Overlord-class gunship bore the first delegation of Cobalt Scions down to the verdant surface of their new homeworld.

Chapter Master Drusus expected Aderbal to unquestionably accept the Scions' clear right to rule the system. Drusus informed him that there would be a brief transition phase followed by significant reforms in which Aderbal's official title would change from Planetary Governor to Locutor of the Senate: a position Drusus assured him would be very important in the new regime.

Given the choice between no power and some power, Aderbal was forced to accept Drusus' offer.

In his address during the ceremony in which the Sceptre of Heracleion, symbol of the capital, was to pass from Governor Aderbal to Dictator Drusus, the governor's wording carefully managed to remain obedient while subtly emphasising Drusus' status as a newcomer to an old world with a well-established culture.

The address set the tone for the months to come. The Scions were too terrifying for anyone to risk obvious dissent, but any request made to the government by an Astartes would mysteriously require more paperwork and bureaucracy than the same request made by a native official. If asked for an explanation, people would claim they were taking extra care that they did a good job, or would say they had heard Guilliman's sons encouraged detailed paperwork. The Scions came to be seen as a source of problems by the general populace. With no experience of nuanced public relations, Drusus and his captains were at a loss as to how to win their people over. They went on speaking tours, endeavouring to rouse the public with stilted recollections of their great victories in the Indomitus Crusade, but received only polite applause. They made suggestions to improve the efficiency of institutions, but were told said suggestions would reduce productivity even when it seemed clear this was not the case.

During those first few months, some of the Scions grew restive. They felt the battles they had fought deserved the respect of any Imperial citizen, and talk grew of taking a harsher line with the recalcitrant public. Tarentian in particular advocated for a more direct approach.

Lucullus disagreed. He argued that the harder they pushed, the harder the people would resist. Some would fall into line, of course, but there would also be dissent and perhaps even the fomenting of heresy.

Drusus, politically inexperienced, was indecisive as to whose approach he would implement, and changed his mind regularly. This in turn created a rift between him and Captain Fabian, who proclaimed that he didn't care which side Drusus took, only that he committed to a course of action. Fabian went to far as to suggest that if Drusus couldn't make such decisions, Fabian was happy to take his place. Fabian's insubordination outraged Tarentian, Lucullus, and the other captains. The argument served a purpose, at least. Drusus was at last moved to choose. He took Lucullus' cautious approach.

The construction of the Fortress of Syrnum
While the Scions struggled with the political landscape, Archmagos Morleio worked on her designs for the fortress-monastery. It was to be built in the hills above Heracleion, and would require surprisingly few homes to be demolished. Strangely, the news that five hundred families were to be given the honour of having their homes bulldozed for the fortress monastery wasn't met with the sort of gratitude the Scions expected. Citizens of Ultramar, the Scions reflected bitterly, would have been proud to give their land for such a purpose.

Morleio estimated the project would take three years before it would be usable, and more than that before it would reach its full potential. Work began to prepare the Syrnum hills as Morleio and Drusus spent many long days drawing up plans.

Yep, this was definitely necessary. Image credit: a combination of PlanetMaker and Photoshop.

Expanding the docks
Work also began on enlarging Thonis' modest orbitals. In time, they would need to serve a full fleet of warships in addition to providing efficient trade berths. Where the Scions had failed to gain any political capital thus far, the trade-focussed Thonicians were keen on the idea of increased docking facilities and reduced piracy. Sensing an opportunity, Drusus made a series of speeches promising that within fifty years, Thonis would enjoy the protection and commerce of vast orbital facilities. Finally, the Scions had said something popular.

Naturally this meant the native politicians, still angry at their reduced autonomy, argued for increased influence in the design of the orbitals to ensure the opportunities for trade were maximised.

Political reforms
The nobles' request for greater influence was an overt challenge to Drusus' competence in terms of trade, and public perception was very much that a space marine couldn't possibly have the same expertise as the great trading houses of Thonis.

In a move that shocked the Thonician nobility, Drusus responded to their challenge with his first sign of political deftness.

Drusus declared that if the native politicians wanted a say in the Scions' construction projects, then apparently they had accepted the chapter was here to stay. It followed, therefore, they were ready for the political reforms Drusus had promised.

A senate was formed from the heads of the fifty most influential noble families. The senate's role would be to advise the Scions as to how they should proceed in matters of commerce and governance. One senator would be first among equals, and would present the senate's suggestions to the Dictator. This individual would be known as the Locutor, a position that would initially be taken by Lord Aderbal. Upon his death or dismissal, another senator would be elected by their peers to take his position.

The reforms went further still. Ten commoners would be chosen to represent the labourers. These ten Tribunes were to keep the Dictator and Senate informed of how their legislation was being received by the commoners. More importantly, if all ten Tribunes agreed, they had the power to veto new legislation. The veto could only be overruled by the dictator, or in the absence of the Dictator, by one of the chapter's lieutenants, all of whom held the honorific of Praetor.

Being a Praetor incorporated two main duties beyond an Astartes Lieutenant's combat role. One was to act as a diplomat or ambassador for their captain when on campaign, and the other, as intimated above, was to arbitrate on disagreements between the Senate and the Tribunate when at home. In this way, lieutenants gained extensive political experience in preparation for becoming a captain.

Captains, in turn, held the honorific of Consul. Being a Consul meant having the Dictator's blessing to instigate reforms of a planet's government if it was militarily advantageous to do so, up to and including its annexation. The wording of this rule was vague enough that neighbouring planetary governors began to issue complaints to the Adeptus Terra. Guilliman's sons were laying the illegal foundations of their own empire, the governors said. Months later, Guilliman provided a curt response: "Then do not give my sons cause to annex your planet."

This further stoked speculation that the Lord Commander took issue with the modern Imperium, but as yet no one was willing to risk secession.

While the heavy-handed reforms were obviously taking power from the ruling class and handing it to the Cobalt Scions, the nobles also realised that they were now competing with each other for places in the Senate. This broke their unity and revealed their selfishness for all to see, and the mere existence of the Tribunate empowered the bulk of the population far more than the previous regime, even if this was representation in name only.

Tiberius Drusus finally had the political situation working to his advantage.

Initial engagements on the tabletop included this comedy before and after situation.

Initial Engagements
The Scions soon learned of the Hasmides atrocity, but were reliant on the Inquisition for further intelligence as to where the Word Bearers might strike next.

In the interim, they had two priorities: rebuilding the chapter, and dealing with any lesser threats in their immediate area. Neighbouring systems, particularly those bordering the Scyrian Expanse, were suffering from frequent greenskin raids. The Scions set about crushing these lesser orkish warbands with relative ease, and cleared out several remote human pirate strongholds, all of which was well received by the Eridani Sector's border colonies, but was of little relevance to the people of Thonis.

As for rebuilding the chapter, the Scions embarked on a major recruitment drive in Thonis. They asked for volunteers only, but the financial support they offered volunteers' families meant that a noticeable percentage of the adolescent aspirants clearly had no desire to be there.

Despite these issues, the Scions soon had a good number of scouts in training, and with at least half the chapter stationed at Thonis at any given moment there were always plenty of instructors available. A major difficulty, of course, was that most of the instructors had never been scouts themselves. Many of the initial recruits were pushed too hard, or were simply not trained effectively, and it took some time before the first generation of aspirants - those that survived - started to make good progress.

Chapter organisation
The Cobalt Scions follow the Codex to an extent. They argue that it follows the codex in spirit, just not in detail. The 10th Company is the scout company. When a scout becomes capable enough to fulfill a different battlefield role, they are moved to the appropriate reserve company. They will then move from one reserve company to the other, slowly mastering different roles, until they are competent in all of them, at which point they are ready for promotion to a battle line company. If they can survive for long enough, they will eventually be honoured with a place in the 1st Company.

• 1st Company: the veterans. Squads from this company are often attached to other forces to share their experience and aid with further training for their brothers.
• 2nd-5th Companies: the battle line companies. All members are expected to know how to operate as intercessors, vehicle crew, hellblasters, aggressors, inceptors, or in Phobos armour. The company captain decides on the mixture of 5 and 10 man squads.
• 6th (Reserve) Company: 100 intercessors
• 7th (Reserve) Company: ~50 intercessors and ~50 marines adept with gravis plate (inceptors and aggressors).
• 8th (Reserve) Company: ~50 hellblasters and ~50 marines with the skill to operate a vehicle.
• 9th (Reserve) Company: 100 marines used to operating in Phobos armour in various roles.
• 10th (Scout) Company: scouts. Numbers vary. Usually several hundred.

At last, a viable patrol detachment! And it's only taken four... no, five months. Jeff painted about 3000 points of Genestealer Cultists in that time, and I've done nine marines. Well the joke's on you Jeff, because the slower you paint, the more cost-effective the hobby is. So nurr.

Martellus Lucullus, Captain of the 3rd Company
Martellus was born to the wealthy Luculli family of Nova Thulium in the Macragge system. While his elder siblings could look forward to inheriting various farming estates, assuming they demonstrated the aptitude for it, young Martellus was always getting into fights, and tarnishing his family's name with unruly behaviour. Eventually his parents suggested that if violence was all he wanted, he could perhaps join the Ultramarines and repair the damage he'd done to the family's reputation.

Martellus could tell his parents didn't want him to go, they just wanted him to start behaving himself, so he called their bluff. The very next day, he added his name to the aspirant slate in his scholam. His parents, who had never shown any interest in military affairs, were horrified. In Martellus' young mind this seemed like a victory.

Whilst Martellus would never regret what he became, and took great pride in making it through selection, he did regret the hurt it caused his family. At the same time, it frustrated him that other families in Ultramar boasted for generations if one of their relatives had been accepted into the Adeptus Astartes.

Over the coming decades, Martellus Lucullus would gain (and lose) a great many brothers. He marveled that he should happen to be alive when the primarch was returned to them, and horrified by the damage visited upon Ultramar by the Plague Wars of Mortarion. He moved through the ranks, eventually joining the veterans of Captain Agemman's First Company.

Few ever survive long enough to wear terminator plate, but even that wasn't enough to satisfy Lucullus. In his desire to become a legend of the chapter - something hard to do in a room full of legends - he had dedicated himself to mastering every weapon in the Ultramarines' arsenal. This flexibility and devotion was one of the things that had earned him his place in the First, but eventually he accepted that to be a true legend, being a warrior was not enough. He needed to become an officer. It was Lucullus, therefore, who suggested to his Sergeant, Justarian, that the squad should volunteer to help found the Cobalt Scions. It was, after all, a cunning way of jumping himself ahead of the competition to become a captain, even if that meant swallowing the bitter pill of leaving his Ultramarines livery behind.

Of course when Justarian and the others died, Lucullus' grief was heavily coloured by guilt. But for his ambition, they might have lived on. No matter how much he knew they had accepted the risks, he swore he would never again allow his own ambition to lead others into danger.

After a century of leading marines in battle, Lucullus' demeanour is almost entirely alien to the boy he once was. The mistakes of the past have made him cautious, slow to anger, and patient. In conversation he will always seek to learn everyone else's opinion before revealing his own. He earns the loyalty of his brothers by valuing their counsel. On the rare occasions he has attended the senate, he speaks pragmatically and with no obvious bias, infuriating senators with his intractability. He is known for having a strict moral code and arguing against any wayward behaviour, whilst self-deprecatingly acknowledging that he says this from the position of one whose mistakes have cost him.

His inflexibility lands him in trouble on occasion, as does his lack of initiative. By default he prefers to adopt a defensive strategy then counterattacking as soon as he sees a weakness in the enemy's assault. This is an approach he takes both militarily and socially, and does so with such regularity that he is considered predictable by those who know him.

For all his talk of service and virtue, Lucullus remains obsessed with his legacy and how he will be remembered. This leads some to see him as vain, a perception not helped by his willingness to be sculpted, painted, interviewed, profiled, or written about. It is hoped, therefore, that he will not be tempted to abuse his power as Consul to annex Imperial worlds for the glory of his chapter. His admirers deny this possibility, pointing to his strict moral code, but his detractors observe that with limited room for promotion in a chapter, he would gain plenty of reputation if he were to pay unwelcome homage to the Five Hundred Worlds.

Given how recently the Cobalt Scions entered the Eridani Sector, it is as yet too early to tell whether Lucullus will cleave to either of those extremes.



What the organic fudge just happened? When I started writing this post, I genuinely believed it'd be quick and dirty. Look, I done converted a captain. And painted him. He's a cautious, moralising egotist. Any questions?

Turns out that to give you the incredibly short version, I had to figure out the incredibly long version. It was like tugging at a loose thread on a very big carpet. The carpet, in this case, being the very long list of things I hadn't and arguably didn't needto figure out about the Cobalt Scions. And then I thought... someone might enjoy the long version? Maybe? Honestly if anyone's made it this far reading my hobby nonsense then thanks. Hopefully you enjoyed it.

It turns out the arms retain their full range of motion after assembly, as do the boob guns. It's also worth noting the legs are very amenable to whatever pose you want, as the pistons are separate components and cleverly designed to work in a range of motion rather than one pose (unlike some kits I could mention).

Sadly for me the left shoulder's vertical joint and the elbow joint weren't stiff enough to keep it up (hur hur) so I glued it in place. The shoulder's rotational joint and the wrist joint were fine, though, and can still move fine after painting. Similarly the right shoulder has vertical and rotational movement, as well as elbow movement. This is almost completely pointless, of course, but is charming nonetheless, and much like tank turrets, will inevitably get poked into cinematic positions during games.

Here are some examples:

Given the current rules regarding space marines and bolt weapons, storm bolters are both more effective than the grenade launchers (better range, more shots on average, a reliable number of shots) and half the points, it's hard to make the case for the grenade launchers, but bear with me.

The only context in which this dreadnought will be better off firing party favours out of his nipples is when he's not in the tactical doctrine and the enemy happens to be 13-18" away. In rules terms, at least. My main reason for choosing grenades is because chest guns just don't make that much sense to me, whereas having the ability to pop grenades as an emergency measure when getting swamped makes cinematic sense. If you're a walking tank, you don't have to worry about shrapnel going everywhere.

I'm also of the opinion that you'll get more mileage out of having a gatling cannon attached to the left arm rather than a heavy flamer. Since I primarily intend to use the big gatling cannon, though, it just seems like a repeat. Having a heavy flamer does offer some advantage in overwatch, but my main motivation was that in-fiction it's another tool at the pilot's disposal, since he can use it to flush people out of cover. Do the rules reward this? No, but I don't care. I want my brightly coloured bipedal death robots to make sense, dammit!

Since I posted the bulk of the Cobalt Scions' background in my post on Captain Lucullus I'm not going to try not to repeat myself too much. Feel free to go back and read that massive slab of lore. Go on, I'll wait. No? Okay fine I'll try and keep this post somewhat self-contained.

Gaius Atalus was the first batch-produced primaris marine who truly earned the respect of the four Ultramarines who crossed the Rubicon Primaris to found the chapter.

Being a native of Magna Macragge Civitas helped, but it was his adaptability that got him noticed by Martellus Lucullus of the Third during the Siege of Adrantis VII. Lucullus had Atalus moved from the reserve companies and into the Third, where he took him under his wing. Atalus was a quick study whose good humour only seemed to increase in a crisis. If anything he was a little too sure of himself, but seemed to have the skill to back it up.

He became the first Cobalt Scion to be promoted into the rank of Lieutenant, rather than simply having the position thanks to Cawl's programming. Chapter Master Drusus agreed, at Lucullus' suggestion, that Atalus would be first in line should one of the chapter's captains fall in combat. To ensure Atalus would do well in command, Lucullus regularly had him take control of operations and would watch his pupil, only offering suggestions if he considered that Atalus was making a dangerous mistake.

Sadly it was during one such operation that everything went disastrously wrong.

The Liberation of Pleione Secundus was a long and gruelling fight against ork invaders. Atalus had hastily arranged the defence of Numis City's commercia district, but had missed one possible point of ingress. Lucullus was briefly called away to liaise with other Imperial forces, and whilst he was gone, a large group of orks broke through the gap. Atalus took full responsibility and judged that a full squad of brothers would be lost unless a withdrawal was facilitated. He stormed into the breach and sacrificed himself to cover the withdrawal. Lucullus assumed operational control and led a counterattack to drive the orks back. By the time the Scions recovered Atalus, his second heart was failing.

His loss was mourned, as everyone sensed he had been destined for greatness. He was interred in the chapter's first suit of Dreadnought armour, and given his close relationship with Lucullus, was assigned to the Third. While this does allow Lucullus to maintain his friendship with his old pupil, it also means dealing with Atalus' increasingly... problematic traits.

Having been told he was destined for big things, and then being told he can't have them because apparently you can't just leave dreadnoughts switched on the whole time, has made Atalus increasingly bitter. He doesn't fully understand why he has to be put to sleep so much of the time, and seems slower to learn than he once was. If anything, he seems to be regressing.

Lucullus finds it hard to see his friend slipping away, but he and the chaplains have been unsuccessful in keeping Atalus' spirits up. Some have suggested it would be easier on Lucullus if Atalus was assigned to a different company, but Lucullus thinks himself in the best position to help, even if the process brings him sadness.

Atalus sometimes gets confused or disoriented in firefights, particularly when engaging orks, and has been known to start issuing orders or formulating incomplete plans. The marines of the Third have learned to ignore these edicts, and will joke with Atalus that he's forgotten his place. Atalus will vox back with self-deprecating quips, but Lucullus knows this is a front and tries to employ his friend's suggestions where they're helpful so that Atalus doesn't feel entirely foolish.

Given enough time, it is hoped that Atalus will adapt to his new reality. Perhaps then, something of Lucullus' first and greatest protege will remain.

+++

That's it for today. You'd think I'd have had enough of painting marines after all these months, but as usual, finishing something has left me juiced to maintain the momentum, and besides, there's only five intercessors left in the battleforce box. That right there is a shiny shiny milestone. For now, here's a family photo:

I was recently invited to write something for the gloriously named Goonhammer.com, specifically their How to Paint Everything series. Humbled, I frantically attempted to think of something worth writing while simultaneously mastering the shock enough to avoid pooping an actual live kitten.

The most obvious gap in their archive was freehand technique, so I teamed up with one of Goonhammer's founders, Rob "TheChirurgeon" Jones and set about creating what is essentially a compendium of various Beard Bunker articles I've written over the years. It was oddly satisfying to draw all those disparate tutorials into one place and to end up with a reasonably comprehensive primer on how to paint your own freehand designs. If you're curious, then here you are:

It's a question no-one asked me to answer, but I've answered it in prose form anyway, so nurr. I also appear to have illustrated it, because spaceships.

The Oberon-class battleship Dammerung of Battlefleet Achernar. In the foreground: the sword-class frigate Rebuke.

Brannick was barely twenty standard years old, and three months into her first posting. She remembered the joy she felt after being assigned to the strategium support staff of the newly-recommissioned Dammerung. That joy now curdled into doubt. The senior officers had been tight lipped on the details, but her signals training meant she knew the signature of an astartes capital ship when she saw one, and right now she could see four.

They were coming on in attack formation, and they weren't alone.

The auspex staff down in the command deck started inloading new data to Brannick’s cogitator. She went to work, flagging enemy contacts and identifying ship classes for the strategium’s hololathe.

Drusor, the young ensign sitting next to her, leaned over and whispered, ‘Why would astartes attack us? Do they think us heretics?’

Brannick didn't look up from her screen as she whispered back, ‘Commissar Okafor’s right over, so we'd know if we'd done wrong. Just do your job.’

New scanning data on the enemy flagship came in. It looked like a modern pattern of astartes battle barge: a monstrously large ship the equal of the Dammerung. Its transponder broadcast its name as the Sigilite's Lie. The name, an accusation aimed at one of the Imperium's founding figures, was shocking to her. Signals from the smaller astartes capital ships started to come in: Lapdog, Wilful Blindness, Sanctimonious. It wasn't her place to withhold information from the command crew, so she dutifully added the names to the information populating on the great glowing hololathe in the centre of the strategium. The names blinked into existence next to the holographic ships in the enemy fleet. Admiral Ortano saw the names and pursed his lips, while Captain Anwar cleared his throat.

Peering at the scans of the vessels themselves, Ortano frowned. ‘Strange that the Word Bearers have such modern vessels,’ he said. Brannick was impressed by his composure, although she had no notion of who these Word Bearers were.

‘Stolen, perhaps?’ Anwar suggested.

‘Hm. How comforting,’ Ortano replied. Anwar offered a rueful smile.

‘The Emperor protects, Admiral,’ Anwar said.

‘As do nova cannons, Nasir.’

There was something odd about the transponder codes, Brannick realised. Junk data, perhaps? Some modest digging made her feel deeply foolish. These were mock names, not the real idents buried beneath them. Blushing, Brannick set about uploading the true names: Monarchia for the flagship, Mortis Lux, Violation of Reason, and Morningstar for the strike cruisers.

Captain Anwar looked in her direction, a disapproving eyebrow raised. She wasn't sure if he expected an explanation, but she had no wish to speak out of turn and besides, she could feel that her reddened face was making no secret of her contrition. She knew Anwar was determined to impress the admiral, and that in turn meant she needed to impress Anwar. Not a good start.

Around the enemy capital ships were shoals of escorts in a profusion of patterns, some new, some old. Many showed fluctuating power signatures and other signs of careless maintenance. Some she recognised as known pirate vessels from elsewhere in the Achernar Sector, others were strangers to the Naval databanks. More alarmingly, though, a squadron of three cruisers shored up the enemy's left flank. This was a major invasion. The opposing fleets were of similar size, and every strategic treatise suggested that such engagements guaranteed heavy losses on both sides.

Brannick reminded herself that the admiral was a highly decorated combat veteran. Perhaps, she hoped, that would tip the scales. He would steer them true.

The admiral and the captain discussed the navy's deployment. Orders were relayed to the comms officers and sent out. She watched her screen, checking and double checking that everything had been flagged, even the Trojan, a lone destroyer bearing Inquisitorial idents. It was hanging back so far from the fight as to be irrelevant.

The fleets adjusted their formations as they approached each other. The Dammerung and the Intemperance launched squadrons of interceptors ready to fend off enemy torpedoes and attack craft.

The enemy responded in kind. Where the Imperial Navy launched whole squadrons of interceptors, the astartes launched lone gunships. They were slow, heavily-armoured things by comparison.

The deck plates jolted. Eleven kilometers away in the prow, the Dammerung's nova cannon had fired at extreme range. Brannick watched a blinking rune on the hololathe track as a projectile the size of a small warehouse flew sixty thousand kilometres in under a minute, its fuse counting down. To starboard, the cruiser Pride of Machadon did the same. When the two shells went off, the explosions were visible through the bridge windows: they appeared as two new moons that grew and faded away again. Brannick squinted against the glare.

‘Report,’ Anwar said.

‘They fell short, sir,’ came the reply from the gunnery officer.

Anwar exhaled in frustration. ‘Fire again when ready. Keep targeting that battle barge.’

‘Our macro-cannon batteries won't get through the armour on that thing,’ Admiral Ortano said. ‘Tell Seidel and Makana to bring their squadrons' lances to bear at close quarters.’

‘What about the enemy gunboats?’ Anwar asked. ‘If any of them board the frigates…’

‘Indeed. Have the interceptors move into close support of the frigates, and send the bombers out to the left flank to engage those unprotected escorts.’

The fleets drew closer, and the batteries with the longest ranges started sniping at each other. Ships' void shields flared blue, but the guns gained little purchase at such distances.

Then the lines met.

Brannick's world became a non-stop barrage of information, none of which conveyed the true scale of reality. A battlefield a hundred thousand kilometres across, populated by ships with crews numbering six thousand or more. Macro-cannon batteries operated by toiling gangs of indentured ratings fired shells the size of cargo-8s across the void. Cruisers' plasma drives screamed as they struggled to propel eight kilometers of adamantium at combat speed.

It was the largest naval engagement in the fleet's history, with a thousand personal tragedies and triumphs that Brannick knew were happening all around her, but which couldn't be conveyed by automated messages like +REACTOR OUTPUT OF FRIGATE GARRO NOW LESS THAN ONE PERCENT+

The Garro wasn't the only Imperial ship to be taken out of the fight. Despite the interceptors trying to protect them, frigate after frigate fired their defence turrets in mounting desperation as gunships full of heretic astartes closed with them. The gunships weathered snaking lines of tracer fire, burned through the frigates' hulls, and quietly waited while their transhuman passengers disembarked, slaughtered their way to the reactor, disabled it, and left again. Brannick watched the fleet's complement of armour piercing lance frigates dwindle one by one, and all the while, the enemy's hulking flagship, the Monarchia, flew straight at the Dammerung.

Despite losing over half its escort vessels, the Imperial fleet was acquitting itself well against the enemy. The three renegade cruisers on the right flank had been reduced to shattered hulks, and repeated bombing runs and broadsides had put paid to the shoal of pirate ships. Better yet, two of the Astartes strike cruisers, the Mortis Lux and the Violation of Reason had been disabled, their crews evacuated to the Monarchia and the Morningstar.

Despite these losses, the Monarchia still made straight for the Imperial flagship.

‘It seems they mean to pass us at close range and exchange broadsides,’ Admiral Ortano said.

The Monarchia and the Morningstar fired their planetary bombardment cannons at the Dammerung. Brannick watched in mounting fear as layer after layer of the void shields flared cyan, then collapsed.

Warning klaxons blared as the crew prepared to receive fire.

None came.

‘What are they doing?’ Captain Anwar asked, baffled.

Brannick scrutinised the readouts. The Monarchia was increasing power to its main engines, but not its manoeuvring thrusters. The Morningstar was coming about, firing its retros but not putting any power into its broadside batteries. Frantically Brannick calculated their trajectories, realised what they were doing, and found herself staring slack-jawed at the screen for a moment, then breaking with all protocol by addressing the commanders rather than passing her realisation on to her section leader.

‘My lords, the Monarchia means to ram us; the other is angling for a boarding action,’ she called out. Anwar shot her an angry glance to silence her uninvited input. She transferred her trajectory calculations onto the hololathe for all to see.

Admiral Ortano stared at the projection with obvious dismay. He had crushed the enemy fleet for highly favourable losses, and won a great victory, but now this.

‘Hard a-port,’ he commanded.

‘It won't matter,’ Captain Anwar said, looking out of the windows at the rapidly approaching battle barge, now visible to the naked eye. ‘Their barrage slowed us down, and we haven't the turning circle to get out of the way.’ He activated the intercom. ‘All stations, this is Captain Anwar. Brace for impact, and prepare to repel boarders!’

As if, Brannick thought, one can repel boarders such as this.

To the techmagos senioris, Anwar said, ‘Raise the command deck void shields. We can't have them teleporting onto the bridge. And Mr Vaso,’ he said to the gunnery officer, ‘Tell the turret gunners not to fire on the ship itself, it won't do anything. They should save their shots for boarding craft.’

As Anwar continued to bark orders at his crew, there was little Ortano could do but watch the enemy close with them. To Brannick he seemed like a man who'd shifted from being the conductor of an orchestra to a passenger on a shuttle coming in for a crash landing. The boarding action would be decided one way or another long before the victorious Imperial fleet, scattered across the operational area in between burning hulks and debris fields, could come to the Dammerung’s aid. Rumour had it that Ortano’s original commission, in the Gothic Sector, had been stripped from him after he’d allowed his flagship to be boarded by enemy forces. She wondered if those forces had also been anti-Imperial astartes. Did they have some vendetta against him? Had he doomed them all with his very presence?

She pushed her insubordinate thoughts aside and tried to focus on populating the hololathe with information as it continued to come in from the fleet, but the thundering of boots on the deck made her look up again. Navy stormtroopers, a whole platoon of them, had entered the bridge. Their officer set about deploying her troops to repel any boarders that managed to reach the command deck. Brannick was glad she was sitting down. It helped conceal how much she was shaking. Even in these circumstances--no, particularly in these circumstances--she wanted to make a good account of herself.

‘Admiral?’ Captain Anwar said nervously. The tone of his voice shook Brannick further.

When Ortano replied he was clearly trying to sound calm, but his voice wavered. ‘Indeed, Yasir, I see them,’ he said.

The Monarchia was coming in on the port side at full burn, while the strike cruiser Morningstar moved more cautiously to starboard in preparation for boarding. Brannick gripped her station and braced for the impact.

A jagged blue ellipse formed around the prow of the battle barge as it penetrated the Dammerung's shield envelope, and then it struck. The impact shuddered up the length of the ship. A number of bridge officers were thrown from their chairs despite having been braced. The lights flickered. The Monarchia had impacted just behind the Dammerung’s prow, and its own prow now began to grind down the port flank, crushing cannon housings, mangling the entrance to the launch bays, and finally lodging itself against the lance turret mounts. The two ships became locked together by inter-twisted slabs of belt armour. The distant groans of the hulls sounded like a wounded leviathan.


Ortano, recovering, switched the hololathe over to a view of the ship. Brannick quickly linked in the alarms being triggered by automated systems and by the crew. The port flank of the battleship lit up with depressurisation alerts and system failures. Moments later came the first notification of a point of enemy ingress. A small red dot on the display, just aft of the third macro cannon on the starboard side. An innocuous symbol, blinking steadily. It meant the Morningstar had already launched its boarding party. Seven kilometers away, some nameless crewman had found the nearest terminal and managed to send word in the midst of a firefight between ratings armed with shotguns, and astartes warriors in full battle plate.

The second point of ingress was the starboard flight deck. Brannick called up the vid feed from the hangar. All she could see was smoke, backlit by staccato flashes of automatic weapons fire, and the hazy silhouette of an Astartes gunship that seemed to have landed on, or possibly through, the interceptor that had been parked on the deck.

The Monarchia now launched a horde of troops. A motley collection of skiffs, gunships and assault pods swarmed across the mangled field of metal plates wedged between the two ships. Insertion points began to spread across the hololathe much like the damage alerts that had preceded them. The red dots multiplying across the flickering outline of the Dammerung looked like a fast-spreading rash on a diseased body. There were so many that any notion of centralised command dissolved. From the reports coming in, it became apparent that there were two types of boarder: fanatical humans who threw themselves with suicidal rapture at the navy personnel, and transhuman legionaries who went after ship systems. One by one, they were disabling power lines, manoeuvring thrusters, and weapon systems.
Garbled reports started coming in from several locations of monsters materialising to assist the invaders. Ortano and Anwar exchanged a knowing look.

Watching the situation unfold on the display with fatalistic acceptance, Ortano said, ‘They'll abandon this attack as soon as the rest of the fleet can come about and engage. Ensign, how long will it take for them to reach us?’

Brannick ran the numbers. ‘The light cruisers can be here in twenty minutes. The line ships will take thirty.’

‘Tell them to make haste, and--’

‘Incoming transmission,’ announced the comms officer. ‘It's the Trojan.’ The lone destroyer, far astern. Brannick saw it had engaged its engines for the first time in the battle.

The hololathe shifted to a projection of a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a high collar, around which hung a rosary-pendant bearing the sigil of the Inquisition.

‘Admiral, I see you took my advice to keep the enemy at arm’s reach rather literally,’ the man said.

‘Inquisitor, there was--’

‘Is your aft dock clear?’

Ortano glanced questioningly at Brannick; she checked the pict feed. Aside from the captain's pinnace, the aft dock was empty. Brannick gave Ortano a nod.

‘It's clear,’ Ortano told the Inquisitor.

‘Good. I have dispatched a boarding party led by my interrogator. I expect you to offer her your full support; we may yet turn this situation to our advantage.’

‘We will of course assist as best we can, Inquisitor Drake. What do you propose?’

‘If we can capture one of their officers we might learn where they plan to strike next. It's a tall order, but entire worlds are in play. The chance must be taken.’

It had not occurred to Brannick that an Astartes could be captured, much less beaten in combat. That the Inquisitor thought it possible was both encouraging and frightening, for if it was true, at least one thing she'd learned in school was a lie, and if one thing wasn't true, what about the rest? What if everything she had been told was a lie?

‘Ensign Brannick?’

Captain Anwar's sudden presence at her console startled her.

‘Captain?’

‘You've read the enemy well thus far. Do what you can to analyse the data. Talk to Lieutenant Holt in comms; see if you can pinpoint some of these enemy officers before the Inquisition team arrive, or at least give them leads. I'll do the same.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

Anwar turned and went back to the hololathe. Drusor leaned over to her and whispered, ‘Nicely done.’

Despite the pressure, despite the dire situation, despite the appalling cost of failure, Josselana Brannick smiled.

+++

If you enjoyed this loose fictionalisation of in-game events, you may be pleased to know I'm working on two more short stories that tie into this one. The next story, still in progress, is from the perspective of an Inquisition storm trooper with the unenviable task of helping to capture a live Word Bearers officer. #bracing #ballsofsteel

Story 3 is already written, but it wouldn't make much sense to share that until I've put out Story 2, now, would it?

You see in the intervening years amongst all the changes there had been the introduction of at least one new race, the Tau.  Having just gone to see Iron Man, the obvious connections occurred in my head and an Iron Man themed Tau force was the offspring.  It only took me 12 years to realise... 

The idea rattled around in my head but whenever I tried to think of a way to implement it I fell foul of how on earth do you create a nice metallic red and gold.  It was finally when GW released the Contrast paints that I saw how I could do it given my ... ahem ... painting abilities.

To be honest, this is probably going to be more about Contrast paints with some (hopefully) pretty pictures of the Tau interspersed; as what I think I've learned about the paints has ended up being more interesting to me and I wanted to share.  Everything I'll be talking about here can also be found elsewhere, I'm no Contrast guru, but maybe some of the things I've found might be interesting.

MOST IMPORTANTLY:

However, luckily there is a way to "fix" those paints that don't work, and the same techniques can be used to manipulate any of the other Contrast paints to do what you want.

What this allowed me to do was mix in varying combinations of Matte Medium, and Flow Improver, to change both the transparency and the flow properties of these Contrast paints until they behaved much more like the "good" paints.  What did this mean? Well for a brand new pot of Blood Angels Red I added about 50 drops of Matte Medium, and 90 drops of Flow Improver.  This completely changed the behaviour of the paint and turned it into something I really liked.

Finally, the paintjob on these.  

That's kind of it.  I really do like Contrast paint, but I think you have to treat them as a tool rather than the painting equivalent of 42.  

There's lots of much better guides and tutorials out there on these that I drew from to get these to look this way, so if you are hesitant about Contrast paints then have a look at those, and get yourself some Matte Medium and Flow Improver and just experiment.

Right, time to get out of here before someone enacts a Clean Slate Protocol.