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So I've been in the bobby for a while, playing and painting from 2004, though off and on through life changes. A friend of mine was getting out of the hobby and gave me a whole lot of chaos stuff to sell on his behalf. I sold what I could (to get him into Warmachine). I still had a lot of models left over that no one wanted. Looking for a project while my Khador is on hold, I decided to put together a force to have fun with in the meantime.
I have never done a project log, so I decided to give it a try. I am going for a nurgle themed CSM force, mostly foot, though that might change depending on what I can get on the cheap. I really wanted to experiment with rust and corrosion, converting, and am taking pictures with the camera off of my Droid Razr. These are all models I have just off the sprue, stripped or just based.
I really like the fiction, and making a narrative while still trying to keep an eye out for strategic importance and actual game effectiveness. As such, I have some fiction to give you a better idea about what I was going for.
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Brother Dasinius struggled to look up. His failing power armor barely gave him the strength to prop his arm and shoulder on the packed dry earth. The screaming xenos horde had moved on, many of his brothers nearby clearly deceased. He took a moment through the pain to check to see if he could move. Too much internal damage.
Primary organ failure throughout his body, broken chest cavity, the autosanguine faulty as blood leaked from tears and craters in his hissing power armor.
Things were not looking good.
The clotted stump of his other hand twitched to move and remove his shattered helmet, looking around for aid. It would be night soon. Spawning pools were nearby, bubbling and hissing as strange xenos throw the bodies of his battle brothers in. Their eyes seem to gloss over him, or were waiting. Several twitching marines lay in crevaces or on rocks. Soon the drop pods from the fleet would descend, and though he die, the Apothecaries would take his gene seed back to the chapter.
He looked up at the sky, waiting for the entry trails of the drop pods to bring his brothers to him. And they came, streaking faster than expected through the atmosphere. “Those aren’t drop pods.” A deep voice said behind him. Ignoring the voice, he squinted to look at the sky. Shrieks from the xenos spread as bolter fire begins to erupt behind him. The first streak hit the ground, erupting in small clouds of fire and devastation.
Macrocannon shells.
Waves of heat were shimmering towards him as barrage after barrage hit the planet’s surface. His skin blistered and burst, tearing painfully as blasts and radiation washed over him. His stumped hand grasped for his helmet. Fingers finally found it as he slammed it on his head, hissing and fusing as the irradiated ceramite touched skull and scalp.
Fingers.
He looked at his new hand, awash in pus and blood, shimmering in the dull red light of the exploding atmosphere, mesmerized by its existance. He flipped over, a new vigor and enmity burning in his ruptured stomach. An Astartes was standing behind him, how long, he could not say. Several of his squad mates were expanding out, bolters eliminating the xenos as they spread out towards the fallen. Some of his nearly dead brothers stood with their aid, dragged by others. Their white and grey cracked armor showed plenty of rust and corrosion, a wonder it even held onto their frames at all. Dasinius looked up as the figure held an outstretched gauntlet. He was dressed differently, a deep red robe hung over the rusted ruin of ancient armor.
“They are not coming for you. You are forgotten.” Dasinius struggled, and grasped the other Astartes’ gauntlet, hauling himself up to his feet.
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I should be able to get pictures up later tonight or tomorrow of the first steps of the project.
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