Well it's a stupidly hot afternoon here so you'll have to excuse any errors in this post. You'll also have to excuse the lack of pictures because I can't get hold of them at them moment. Damn technology!
The legion wars have continued apace with as many as twenty (gasp!!) models gracing the field over the weekend. Sadly my Night Lords ran riot in both games slaughtering the Salamanders left and right. So much so that both Berserkerbro and myself got a bit pissed off and started painting Dreadnoughts. Oh dear, the threat of mutually assured destruction looms! Once I finally finish the Contemptor (next week I promise) it will be photographed in all its glory. Shortly thereafter I fully expect to have its last hull point removed by its own plasma cannon........
Anyway, in lieu of photos, here's another short piece of Legion Wars fiction.
Bathinko was laughing again; laughing like a maniac and
revving the engine of his ridiculous chain-glaive. Kromellus could hear him
over the squad vox as he exchanged sporadic bolter fire with the Salamanders
scouts crouching in the ruins to the North. Kromellus loosed a three round
burst and dropped behind a stone parapet as he reloaded. As he crunched another
magazine into his bolter; Kromellus couldn’t help but reflect on his situation.
It was one thing to have dropped through the warp onto this forsaken world; it
was entirely another to have to follow a raging lunatic into battle time and
time again; at least he wasn’t screaming for a change.
As he stood and took aim at the
green armoured figures, Kromellus saw a midnight blue blur in the corner of his
retinal display. Bathinko had broken cover and was sprinting headlong towards
the Salamanders position. “Get back here you moron!” Kromellus yelled uselessly
into the vox. The only response was another wave of mirthless laughter.
Instantly the targeting vectors of his enemies changed to bracket the new
threat with a storm of bolter fire; Kromellus could make out two scouts
emptying their weapons in desperation to bring down the charging giant. He
watched Bathinko pause in his headlong sprint to prime a Krak grenade and hurl
it fully into the torso of one of the scouts. The anti-tank warhead detonated
with a dull thump, utterly destroying the scout in a pointless and gory display
of overwhelming firepower. As Bathinko gloried in the carnage his grenade had
created the remaining scout took careful aim and hammered three rounds into his
bat-crested helm. Bathinko dropped like a rag doll, still burbling incoherent
laughter into the vox.
As Kromellus watched his Sergeant
fall into the dirt he realised he’d expended his last magazine. Opening a squad
vox channel he called for his brothers “Sons of our father, with me! Murder
them all!” With that he vaulted out of the rubble and ran towards the scout; he
had just enough time to notice two of his brothers charging with him before all
of them were engulfed in the searing torrent of a flame weapon. Immediately
Kromellus dropped into the dirt, rolling in an attempt to extinguish the
clinging chemical fire. His brothers did not react as quickly and were caught
in a second burst of flame. From his prone position, Kromellus saw a figure
clad in green ceramite emerging from the ruins wielding a chainsword and an
ornate combi-flamer. He vaguely heard his brothers’ screams over the vox as the
flames ate through their armour joints and they died in agony.
Kromellus desperately regained
his footing as the Salamanders Sergeant bore down upon him. The Sergeant hacked
at Kromellus’ neck joint with his chainsword, the serrated teeth spewing sparks
as they glanced off the layered ceramite. Kromellus drew his gladius and
punched it into the Sergeant’s abdomen. He felt the point snag as it was
deflected by torso plating, but the blow was enough to unbalance his opponent;
instantly, Kromellus moved inside the Sergeant’s guard hammering his gladius
downwards in a backhanded grip. The legion steel smashed into the Sergeant’s
respirator grille, mangling the intake vanes and drawing blood. Just as
Kromellus drew back his hand for another strike he heard a cry from behind “Kal’Dhanis!”,
as he tried to twist to engage this new threat he felt a sickening impact
against his right knee joint. Kromellus’ leg buckled and he lurched sideways as
he turned, seeing the scout firing bolt pistol rounds point-blank at his
exposed armour joints. With a snarl he drove his body forwards using his good
leg and stabbed his gladius upwards through the jaw and soft palate of the
scout and into his brain. Kromellus had no time to watch as the scout’s eyes
glazed over; Sergeant Kal’Dhanis had recovered and was swinging his chainsword
in a decapitating blow. Kromellus abandoned his blade and threw his forearm
into the path of the descending blade. The teeth chewed through his armoured
gauntlet, severing muscle and tendons and showering him in a spray of his own
blood. Kromellus made a grab for the blade sawing through his arm and wrenched
it away; hurling it to the ground nearby. In the same motion he smashed his head
forwards, driving into Kal’Dhanis shattered faceplate with a horribly organic
crunch. Kal’Dhanis reeled and Kromellus wrapped his fingers around his throat;
using his armoured bulk to drive Kal’Dhanis onto the ground. For what seemed
like an eternity he choked the life from the Salamanders Sergeant; green
armoured gauntlets battering and scratching at his faceplate as the son of
Vulkan fought desperately for life.
After the body finally went limp in his hands,
Kromellus pushed himself back to his feet. His left arm was nearly severed
below the elbow and his right knee would bear no weight. He had a nasty feeling
that an augmetic replacement would be required for him to continue serving the
legion. His retinal display registered a catalogue of damage to his armour; not
the least of which was that he was still smouldering from the flamer wash. As
he half-heartedly patted at the clinging flames; Kromellus heard a burbling
chuckle over the vox. Bathinko was still laughing.
