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Shattered Soul wrote:

Mekboy wrote:Perhaps you should read the other users' posts...

Oh but I did. I was just reiterating for Thunder's sake.

Thanks. Believe it or not, I tried it out several different ways before settling on this method. I even tried just taking a normal space marine and placing a female head on it. It didn't work. It looked awkward. Maybe it's because I've been in 40K so long, and GW always make their female models with armored cups, I just expected it as part of the design, so it looked weird when it wasn't there. More importantly, you couldn't tell it was female unless you picked it up and gave it a close inspection. Since the point of 40K heroic scale is for the models to be easily recognizable from several feet away, I decided to go with the current design.

Any chance of machine gun jubblies?!

Seriously though, good work. I agree, without armored cups there really is no distinction that they are female.

I really like the Termies. The work you've done on them gets the 'female' look across perfectly. Much akin to how GW does the SoB. I think your regular power armor is a bit excessive though. I'd say tone it down to the same level as your termies and you'll have a good look.

Okay, I got the final illustration from Goatboy and another fluff story. Now we have everything we need to make our own codex.







Roberte Limeman coughed another lung full of stale dry air as he thumbed through the dim data-slates before him, adding his thumbprint where necessary. He tried as best he could to ignore the vibrations coming up through the floor and into his chair. Distant artillery fire thrummed rhythmically, causing ripples in the cup of caf on his desk. The raids had drawn out farther and farther to the west in the past few days, leaving him far from the fighting, but try as he might he could not force himself to calm down. He wiped the beading sweat off his brow with the cuff of his sleeve as he sent off yet another request for immediate transfer.
Three deliberate clacks rang out on his office door from the guards outside. Roberte coughed again and walked over as fast as his portly body would allow, tapping the rune on the doorframe.
“Mister Limeman, The Union Leaders from the lower hive are here to see you about the water rationing.”
“Union Leaders?” Roberte repeated in confusion. “I moved their appointment to tomorrow.”
Through the door, Roberte heard the crack of gunfire and a terrible scream. His eyes grew wide with fear and he turned around, struggling back towards his desk.
The sounds of scuffle subsided, then there was a sound like thunder and the door to his office blew inward, propelled by a gout of flame that drove it across the room where it embedded itself into the stone shrine of Saint Augusta on the far end.
Roberte rummaged clumsily through his drawer. Everything was eerily silent as he pulled the desk drawer free and emptied its contents onto the floor before him. His hearing shocked by the blast, he heard strange clattering noises as he located his autopistol and chambered a round.
Roberte turned around and saw a young woman entering his office through the ruined doorway. She wore the long rough clothing of the lower hive, but her stance was strong and her eyes burned with lethal vigor and purpose.
No words were wasted as Roberte leveled his pistol and fired as best he could. The woman stepped sideways like lightning, his shot passing harmlessly past her as she leapt forward. Adjusting his aim he fired again. This time she made no effort to dodge, allowing his poorly aimed bullet to tear through the sleeve of her robes as if she knew that was where it would pass.
She rushed towards him, and he lowered his aim for another shot, but she closed the final feet before he could fire. Now inside his defenses, she grabbed a hold of his forearm wither her delicate fingers, and it fell limp at his side, the gun falling from his grasp and clattering to the floor.
Unable to move his arm, he attempted a clumsy punch with his other arm, but she ducked beneath it and grabbed it as well. Her fingers jammed into the pressure points of his muscles, and that arm fell as limp and useless as the first.
Roberte lost his balance and fell backwards. Unable to catch himself, the back of his head slammed against the cold dusty floor. His vision blurred in and out of darkness. Distantly, he could hear the thrum of more gunfire in the hallway outside his office, and the vibration of distant artillery fire.
When his vision cleared, he saw the beautiful face of the young woman looking over him.
“I’m sorry, precious,” she said in low sultry tones, “But I don’t have time for anything else.”
Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him passionately. His eyes rolled back into his head, then disintegrated. His face and body followed, reduced in seconds to a dried black husk lying on the floor.
“Stop wasting time,” Chiaki rebuked as she walked into the room, a guard’s autogun slung over her shoulder. The weaken skull of the husk shattered beneath her foot as she confidently strode over to the blast door behind his desk and pulled the release lever. Akina sighed and wiped a trickle of spittle from her lips. Chiaki had only recently joined them, and her time spent among the Black Legion had muddied her thinking.
The rusted locks creaked in protest, then gave way and the doors slowly slid open. A gust of pure moist air rushed into the room, fanning the leathery dress that Chiaki wore as she looked on in displeasure.
The room beyond was a stark contrast to the one they were in. The walls were thick with wet grey moss that clung to the pipe fittings and weld-lines. Light played off the surface of cool clear water as it permeated through the final bio-filters before being fed into the pumping systems beyond.
A trio of pallid servitors stood motionless, their arms dissolving into a tangle of rusted cables and wires that plugged into the control surfaces before them.
The servitors made no response to their presence. Their environmental awareness having long ago been deemed unnecessary by the template of their bio-programming. Nevertheless, Chiaki shouldered her autogun and emptied the clip into their heads, spraying the area with soft tissue and bone.
“You seem troubled by this mission, even irritable I’d say,” Akina observed as she stepped into the room and stretched in the moist air.
“No, Madam Sergeant,” Chiaki said steadily as she followed. “I do not consider this to be a proper use of military resources.”
“Don’t you mean a proper use of your skills?” Akina asked, leaning over to look at the water tanks below. “You’ve picked up a lust for glory and it’s tainted your thinking.”
“A water treatment plant is at best a low-priority civilian target,” Chiaki asserted.
“Emperor’s teeth, you even talk like the Legionaries,” Akina complained as she removed a vial from her pocket. “This facility has been our primary target for the last three weeks, we just had to displace a few regiments and a couple of titans before we could get to it.”
Akina snapped the vial in half and poured the silver contents into the water below.
“Killing the civilian population will have no impact on the planetary garrisons,” Chiaki commented. “They have their own recycling systems.”
“This is no poison,” Akina corrected, licking her fingers. “This is Bhanemold.”
Chiak’s eyes widened.
“By the end of the week,” Akina explained, placing a vox caster on her ear, “The planetary defense militia will have The Black Legion in front of them, and seven billion starving cannibals behind them.”
Chiaki stepped back, considering the implications.
“Com-Sat recall order, prep dust-off one hour,” Akina ordered into the vox.
“Madam Sergeant, we’re leaving planetside?” Chiaki asked.
“This planet is already dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

For my Dreadnought, I made the pilot visible by using the female penitent engine driver (which was a LOT more work then I thought it would be), and next I'll replace the legs with robot-spider legs. Here's what I got so far:






Next up is to start working on the spider legs. I'll post more pice when I have them.



Since this will have a radically altered look to it, I have come up with these following house rules to field it:

Black Widows Dreadnought : 100 points
Black Widows Dreadnought WS-4 BS-4 S-6 Armour: F 11 S 11 R 10 I-4 A-3 LD-10
Unit Type: Vehicle (Walker)
Wargear: Smoke Launchers, Searchlight, Dreadnought Close Combat Weapon incorporating a Heavy Flamer.
Special Rules: Scouts, Move Through Cover, Fleet.
Transport: May select a Drop Pod at +30 points.
Options: The other arm must be armed with one of the following: Twin-linked Lascannon for 35 points, Twin-linked Heavy Bolter for 15 points, Assault Cannon for 30 points, Multi-melta for 10 points. May have extra armor for 15 points.

OCTUPLE CHAINSAWS!


Quite the bash, look forward to some legs on it. I tried putting defiler legs on a dread about a year ago and had no luck, they were just too big and I couldn't get them to mash into the dread pelvis without a serious rebuild.

- Salvage

Regards the "spider" undercarriage for the dread...

I'm not sure if it'd be an acceptable source (given the hate levelled at pre-painted minis I've seen around) but there are a couple of the Therian walkers from AT-43 that may be suitable.

I think one is called the "Golgoth" or something similar.
They are 4 legged walkers, and there is something insectile about the locomotive gear while looking wholly mechanical and artificial.

Alternatively, perhaps the larger MC scything talons from a tyranid carnifex?

Admittedly, I did pick up the starter set for a bargain ($50 aus, instead of the usual $90-100), if I'd paid full retail I might not have even considered it.

Okay, I got some close up pics of one of the Drop Pods and the first pics of the Femarines in Power Armor. As before, click on a thumbnail to see a larger pic.

Enjoy.

Hazard Stripes Everywhere +1
Chaos Heads with Ponytails +1

Racking up those points with me, Doc

- Salvage

The ilustations are great but I am not too hot on the terminator with cute anime girl.
Shes a term shes suposed to be experienced and battle worn. No dirty jokes!

Sorry if for some reasson its mentioned in the fluff why that one is so cute looking. I admit i havnt read it :O

Something about bewbs on a SM model makes my eyes burn. But great modelling, painting and fluff. Obviously a lot of work has gone into this, keep it up!

Boss_Salvage wrote:Hazard Stripes Everywhere +1
Chaos Heads with Ponytails +1

Racking up those points with me, Doc

- Salvage

Thanks, Bro.

Boss_Salvage wrote:Hazard Stripes Everywhere +1
Chaos Heads with Ponytails +1

Racking up those points with me, Doc

- Salvage

You said "RACK"...

Actualy, I know someone who made female sace marines by carfully removing SoB heads, and putting them on regular space marine bodies, and scouts were converted cadiulus assassians, with camo-cloaks.


Also, all vehicles should have "Sheila's Wheels" insurance markers.

Okay, the Dreadnought is all done and ready to be painted.






Let me know what you think.

Unfortunately for all, Thunder was unavailable to comment himself.


Ghidorah

"Black Widows lack Phase 3 and 18 Implants. Phase 3, Biscopea, stimulates muscle tissue growth, which is why Black Widows are no physically stronger then normal human females. They are therefore, perhaps intentionally, externally indistinguishable from normal human females. Phase 18, Progenoids, are the implants by which geneseed zygotes are normally harvested. Black Widows are able to pass on, through an unidentified process, their modifications to their female offspring."

First of all, normal-sized human women don't really fit into power armor, which is why they invented the more lightly-armored sisters of battle. Even in the case that you put a normal-sized woman in power armor, there's lots of empty space. Normal sized women would not NEED epic torpedo tit armor, just like women in the military don't wear special bullet-proof breasts. It would have been one thing if you gave them big, beefy looking heads like the rest of the space marines, but instead you gave them petite, feminine faces that would be easier to sexualize.

Your fluff is self-contradictory, and the only constructive criticism I can offer is that if you're going to spend your time, effort, and money on a hobby that can alienate you from regular people, you should try not to creep out the people who DO share your hobby so much.

You should not be so deeply concerned about the reproductive systems of your fictional girl marines. The models themselves show talent and effort, but the fluff reads like hentai.

I've had a lot of requests for more fluff, even some requests for a mini-novel, and that sounded like a fun idea, so here we go. Here is the first chapter for you guys to read.

Chapter One: Lure

To an average person, the long spacious tunnels of the cities pneumatic transit system were nothing more then a roar of rushing air and scraping metal as the ancient passenger lines followed the routes set down thousands of years before. To Nui, however, that was only the first layer of a symphony of sounds and smells. The drip-drop of running water over rotting stone, the scratching of rodents gnawing on the cera-casing of the brass power lines, and the tart scent of fear and adrenaline emanating from the cadets around her could all be filtered and enhanced at will.
As the halo lights of an unused checkpoint flickered rapidly through the car, Nui focused her olfactory senses on the young man seated next to her as a way to pass the time. Although his face and body showed the bony signs of malnutrition, his hair still gave off the unmistakable flakiness of a regular diet of barley. This marked him as a definite off-worlder, probably one of the earliest reserves called up from the core systems when this hive world first came under attack ten years before.
What was the name of this world? It struck Nui as odd that she could not instantly recall it. Normally her memory was flawless when it came to mission details, but try as she might, the information just wasn’t there.
Nui sighed audibly, although no one but her could hear it over the roar of the air that motivated the cylindrical transport cars. Hive worlds all felt the same after a while. Endless ferracrete corridors, pavilions, and towers all following the same ceremonial building constructs. It occurred to her that the only way to really distinguish them from one another was the preferential treatment of one or more local saints in the santuarials.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a new scent. Drill Sergeant Kuppmine slid a hand along the overhead handle bar as he walked down the center isle, inspecting each of the young cadets with his stone cold eyes. When he reached Nui’s squad he paused and looked them over. His leathery face was a mask of distant disapproval, but his scent told her another story. His body gave off the tart scent of desire as her looked her over.
Nui resisted the urge to spit. Her body had been designed to be flawlessly attractive to the men of this world, and while it occasionally served a purpose it was more often then not a liability. Nui considered the option of intentionally scarring her own face to avoid future complications as she raised her gaze and met his eyes with a stare as cold and dark as his was.
“Arrival time, two minutes,” Sergeant Kuppmine yelled out, and the formerly passive passenger car became a flurry of activity.


There were 9 men in the transport with Mikial Breech. Jacoby and Smithson had pulled an ammunition crate to the center of the transport area, directly under the top hatch, and were poking their heads out of the top, keeping watch on their rear quarter. The enemy forces had been completely pushed out of this district by a combined attack from the 455th, 230th, and 243rd. Rumor had it that an entire Demi-Legion of Adeptus Titanicus had managed to support the battle as well. Confident as they were, they were still watchful as they moved though the ruined and deserted streets. The civilian population had not yet rturned to rebuild, and there were persistent rumors of cadet patrols disappearing over the last few days.

Breech had been promoted to squad sergeant because, unlike most Questani, he had been stationed off-planet for a brief time during his service to the Emperor. It was supposed that this gave him a greater breadth of experience, which marked him out for leadership. Breech didn’t really consider guarding the shrine of the Martyr of Casadrin, and memorizing the legends of her life to have given him much in the way of useful combat experience, but he would serve wherever he was called, regardless of the post. From his viewing slit, he could see the decaying bodies of hundreds of humans, dressed in ragged and bizarre robes, adorned with symbols that burned his eyes to look at them. In his youth, Breech had been quite the promising student of Imperial history. He had never come across any mention of such humans anywhere in the annals of any librarium he had visited, and it often made him wonder how the most complete compilations of knowledge could have such obvious and gaping holes in them.
The smell of decaying flesh was unlike anything else a person could smell. The foul bodies Breech saw lay undisturbed where they had fallen, stripped of nothing. It was customary among other regiments to take weapons, ammunition, and trophies when moving through a site such as this, but Questani were far too wary for that, for they knew that only by refusing any contact with the impure could one truly be protected from their influence. When time permitted, areas such as this would be purified with thermal charges, reducing them to ash. It was the surest way, the Questani way.
As the last three tanks moved past the center point of a trench network, no one noticed as a small metallic cylinder roll out from amongst the twisted wreckage. The cylinder disappeared underneath the tank tracks of the Chimera as it rolled over the device. For a moment nothing happened, then there was a small thud, and arcs of blue fire shot up the side of the transport and washed over it, like water rolling over rocks in a stream. It would actually have been quite lovely, were it not for the havock it wrought on the vehicle. Headlights and signal runes flashed red-hot and then burnt out, the vehicle’s vox array fizzled white-hot and melted down to a little black stump, Jackoby and Smithson dropped back down into the tank, clutching their charred faces with ruined and burnt hands, their screams muffled by the screeching protests of the tank as it ground to a halt.
Mikial grabbed ensign Byron by the collar.
“Rev-up your vox, tell them that we need to get a medic out here right now. We’ve got two men down.” Breech raised up his fist, and his squad opened the rear hatch and deployed around the rear quarter of the motionless tank. Their weapons trained and scanning for any signs of an attacking force. Quick and fearless they were, professional servants of the Emperor.
Byron nodded unconsciously to the responses coming in through his vox and then raised up his head. “The Colonel is on the line, sir.”
“Put it on speaker,” ordered Breech.
The gruff voice of the Colonel came through. Even through the static reduction of his voice through the vox system, Breech could tell he was irritated.
“Breech, what the warp happened back there?”
“Not sure yet. Could have been a mine, but it looked like sorcery to me. The tank stopped cold,” Breech reported. Another voice could be heard talking to the colonel in rasping metallic tones.
“You have angered the war-spirits, and they refuse to work under your command, Crandall. As I told you before, the rituals cannot be, as you put it, ‘rushed’.”
Colonel Crandall could be heard retorting to the adept, “Let me ask you a question, are you able to speak to me without any loss of efficiency as you consult them augers for enemy forces?”
There was a pause.
“No, I am not,” responded the metallic voice.
“Then why do you seek to fail in the duty which you were given while at the same time attempting to perform a duty which you have not been given?”
Breech was delighted that he could listen in on this particular conversation, and his admiration for the colonel increased a bit more.
“I received word from the 230th, they have pushed back the enemy forces here all the back back to Sendicus Hive, if they can receive enough reinforcements within the next 24 terran hours, they can route the enemy there before they can be reinforced themselves,” the colonel explained. “You know what I’m asking.”
Breech felt a tinge of fear, for they would be quite on their own for some time. The value of the confrontation far outweighed their personal lives, and the detachment couldn’t wait for their tank to be repaired.
“We will do our duty,” Breech stated. “Go on without us.”
“That is all The Emperor asks, my boy.” There was a pause before Crandall added, “But, don’t worry, you won’t be alone.”


Engineseer Voeck stared at the colum of tanks disappearing into the distance with a sort to detachment, as if he was watching a dream. That was a ridiculous notion, of course, since his cybernetic augmentations made it impossible for him to dream. Dreams were physical manifestations of the weakness inherent in all creations of the flesh. Creations of the Machine God were far stronger, closer to the perfection of the Machine God itself. To be left behind to attend to this damaged transport was an inexcusable waste of time and resources. A second circle, third tier adept of the Omnisiah would be far more useful during the coming battle, where he could aid the spirits of dozens of the fighting vehicles, not tending a single sick war-spirit.
This will be reported as quickly as possible and Colonel Crandall shall be stripped of his command Voeck thought, his cybernetic face mandibles clicking in irritation. He turned around to look at the squad of Questani efficiently building defensive barricades from the wreckage of nearby tanks and buildings. ‘Efficient’ by their understanding perhaps. Using the remains of dead machine-creatures without properly appeasing their former war-spirits was akin to grave robbing, and would certainly bring bad fortune to them all. The cybernetic voicebox in Voeck’s throat created a faint high-pitched rumble, which only another adept of the Machine God would recognize as a sigh. 8 flesh creatures and two machine creatures. At least he would have the tank to keep him company.


The sun had already set when Sergeant Breech took his turn on the watch. Voeck had not said a word to anyone else for the last five hours, grumbling after the manner of his kind as he worked on the damaged tank, and that suited them both just fine. Their position was known to central command, although that offered little comfort to them as the wind howled, bayed, and sometimes spoke whispers of death as it played over the surfaces of the dead bodies nearby. Such were the ways of this strange new enemy of dark humans, and Breech his men were unimpressed. Four times over the last decade they had fought off these strange attackers, and each time they had been driven back, nearly to their drop sites. This time would be no different.
They risked no fire, but rather activated a heat-plate, which gave off the heat of a regular campfire, but no visible light. This gave them the benefit of not loosing their night-vision, for tonight was going to be especially dark. Michaels and Jet also stood watch, Helfter was using the latrine, and the rest of his squad stood around the heat-plate, consuming their rations and quietly chanting the litany of peace to themselves. Breech was no poet, but even he could recognize the meaningful image of a few faithful men chanting their faith to The Emperor in the middle of this warped garbage heap.
Far above, Breech could make out the shadowy outlines of the bony superstructure of the hive, it’s monitor lights twinkling faintly as if they were starlight. Out of the corner of his eye, Breech recognized the silhouette of Helfter returning from the latrine. Breech took another bite out of his ration bar, and noticed that Helfter was walking a little oddly. Breech chuckled to himself. He had told Helfter that those caff tablets were past the expiration date. Now he probably had Walton’s Revenge.
Breech stopped chewing as the silhouette of Helfter got within a few meters of him and he realized that the silhouette and gait were all wrong to be Helfter. It was a female in cadet battle fatigues.
Breech dropped his ration bar to the ground and raised his autogun, but the figure was already on top of him. He fired a shot uselessly and tried to scream, but the woman had already plunged a piece of metal into his throat. A horrible gurgle left his body as she removed the blade, and quick as lightning, fired a drawn pistol with a horrible crack into his chest.
The impact of the shot sent Breech flying, his body landing on top of the heat-plate with a dead thud. The men around him scattered to take cover and begin laying down covering fire as they had been trained. The shadow of the figure that had shot Breech ducked behind a piece of ferro-crete. True to their training, four men kept up a stead rate of fire as Jet and Michaels moved around to flank the now pinned assailant. A small black object shot up into the air and burst into a blinding flash of light. Men screamed and covered their eyes. Above the screams, two loud shots rang out, and when their vision clearer two men lay dead on the ground. The men trained their weapons carefully, their eyes straining to readjust to the darkness.
Michaels and Jet took cover behind a large boulder. They could hear the horrible sizzle from the heat-plate where Breech’s flesh was now cooking. A shot rang out and Jet took it in the chest, his body thrown back into a rations crate. Michaels instinctively ducked down, hiding behind the boulder.
Startled by the commotion, Voeck scuttled out from the back of the transport, his artificial limbs twitching this way and that as he stumbled across the loose ground. The young woman landed behind him and swept his legs out from under him. She dug a dagger into the ground beneath him, then moved on without stopping to watch as Voeck’s face came down on the blade, passing through the organic parts of his brain before breaking out the other end.
Michaels tracked her as she moved, letting off a few wild shots into the dark, before feeling a tight jerk backwards as a bullet tore through his knee. He could hear screaming as he fell backwards, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him. Two more shots rang out, each one tearing through his elbows.

Nui placed a final shot in the man’s other knee and kicked his weapon free for good measure before allowing herself to relax. Already a black pool of blood was forming underneath him as he gasped for breath, his eyes wild with fear. She dug the heel of her boot into his injured knee, and he screamed even louder, his head arching back in agony.
Slowly, Nui crouched down and took the man’s cheeks in her hands.
“Show it to me,” she demanded cruelly. “I want to see that moment in your eyes, when you look into the abyss, and realize that no one awaits you there.”
“The Emperor is my light,” the man gurgled, blood spilling down his chin. His eyes began to close, but she forced them back open with her thumbs.
“No!” Nui shouted. “Don’t lie to me. Tell me what you see! Show me that there is no warmth in the void!”
“The Emperor is my life,” he whispered as his eyes grew dark.
Nui cursed and threw him aside. She couldn’t stand the look believers had on their face when they died. That look of quiet contentment and relief made her blood boil. She knew the truth, and that these fools would perpetrate their lies even at the moment of death was infuriating.
Nui took a few moments to pile all of the bodies onto the heat plate, like some sort of sickly barbecue. It was little touches like this that made her work more enjoyable and took her mind off other things. Pulling out the entrails of one of the men, she ornamentally hung them off of stiff fingers and protruding limbs. This certainly wasn’t worthy of the craftsmanship of the Night Lords, but it was a start. She grabbed a large piece of sheet metal and laid it out in front of the pile of bodies. Using a chuck of metal, she scratched in the words, “We are the children of Nal’Tret reborn, none shall escape our wrath.”
She found the phrase a bit pedantic, but then again cultists always did have an overdramatic streak in them. Taking out a data slate, Nui double-checked the positions of the thirteen other pyres she had created over the past few days, perfectly arrayed along the cardinal points of a summoning circle nearly a kilometer in diameter
The sound of a heartbeat caught Nui attention and she crouched down, reholstering her slate and drawing her sidearm as silently as she could. Had she missed one of the squad members? She cursed herself at the possibility of it. Her mission parameters demanded that there be zero witnesses.
Drawing closer to the source of the noise, Nui replayed her actions over the last weeks in her mind, earmarking the unacceptable number of mistakes and mentally chastising herself. She was definitely losing her edge, and if she didn’t get it back the whole mission could be in jepordy.
Nui kicked a crate aside and trained her pistol on the small crouching figure. It was a child, filthy and ragged, picking through the spilled contents of the rations crate. It looked up at her with the startled eyes of a wild animal. The child’s muscles were taught, ready to flee, but she kept shoving the ration bars, wrapper and all, into her mouth as quickly as she could.
Nui’s muscles relaxed as she rebuked herself. She should have easily been able to distinguish a child’s heartbeat from an adult’s. Nui raised the pistol and pointed it at the child’s head.
The child gave no reaction, and gulped down the half-chewed contents of her mouth as if the only thing she truly feared was to have them torn away from her mouth before she had a chance to swallow.
Nui commanded her hand to pull the trigger, but no shot rang out. Nui attempted to fire again, but nothing happened. Sensing it’s chance, the child grabbed two handfuls of rations and fled.
For several moments Nui stood motionless, compelling her body to move as the child scuttled away, but her body was frozen in place.
What is wrong with me?
It was the chime of her vox-comm that broke her from her trance. She bought a hand up to her ear and clicked twice to signal reception.
“Mission stat-rep, Corporal?” came the earnest voice of Sergeant Tae over the communicator.
“Mission complete, ready to receive evac-coordinates,” Nui responded, forcing her voice to remain steady.
“Did you create the sacrificial pyres as you were instructed?” Tae asked.
“Aye, Madam Sergeant,” Nui responded steadily. “There were no witnesses.”
“Excellent work, Corporal,” Tae praised. “When the local Commissaratt investigates the scene, they will be convinced that Nal’Tret cultists have begun another reign of blood on this world.”
“And that will lead Inquisitor Zukovich here,” Nui added.
“The bait is set.”

Nice dread Doc, those legs really worked out. What are they from? Cause they look the business for sure.

- Salvage

Why do people get freaked out about girl marinez when the originals were chemically castrated anyway? And are torpedo breasts any more OTT than helmetless screaming leaders, naked space elves (or space elves with viagra helmets), spikey bitz likely to impale the wearer, etc.?

Good job on the models and I am sure the fluff isn't any worse than what passes for background for GW.

jmurph wrote:
Good job on the models

Thanks.

Nice dread Doc, those legs really worked out. What are they from?

They're from the Robogear spider tank.

I'm lovin' the DCCW - I may have to swipe that. Seems pretty simple.

Okay, here are the test models for the female scouts. When I transition over to using Black Templar Rules, these will be the Neophytes in my squads.

I had many attempts but no success modifying the male scout models, mainly because scout armor does not hide body shape as well as power armor and terminator armor does, so I realized that I needed to start with a model that already had female proportions.

So, I started with the female imperial guard models my club made a while back, and gave them scout arms and wood elf heads and IG backpacks. (This fits in well with the Widows background, which describes them using stolen guard equipment when power armor is not available, and occasionally masquerading as loyalist units behind enemy lines, a trick they picked up from the Alpha Legion) I have had some suggestions at trying out sisters of battle helmets, so I used those as the helmet type and I think it worked well. If I get a chance to aquire more, I'd like to try them out on power armor bodies as well.

Anyway, check out the pics and enjoy. As always, click on a thumbnail to see a larger pic.

I like the scouts quite well, though I might avoid using the SOB helmets on them. They strike me as being too recognizable as being rare. In other words, they are not scavenged SM or IG gear, but very specifically SoB gear, which I don't think you have in your fluff, and I suspect that if you could get SoB armor for girlie marines, one would do so, since it is already fitted to the proportions, and does not require the black carapace etc.

In other news, who the hell doesn't spend time thinking of the reproductive properties of female space marines?! If I could get my wife to stand still long enough for me to start making leather patterns, she would have a full set of SoB power armor.

Nice work on that Dread! Where'd ya get legs like that. In general, the breasts look way too big on your standard girls but at the same time kinda gives off that big-bosomed opera singer vibe. mmm, "Flight of the Valkryies"...

Awesome mate! This looks like it took a lot of time skill and patience! I particularly like the model with orc hair pig tails and the dreadnaught. I tried to do something like that with one of my chaor dreads but ended up making it nurgle instead. I'll have to give it a shot some time.

vikings vs mafia wrote:but the fluff reads like hentai.

You, my friend have NOT read enough hentai, if this is what you consider worthy of the label.

Also I don't think I've ever seen this much uproar about fan conceived fluff in my 40k career. Pan Fo doesn't count. So he made his marines with bewbs... they're HIS marines. He even made fluff that explains them, in a consistent and plausible manner, that conforms with the 'official' storyline. I don't get why you are all having a such a hard time with this.

Lordhat wrote:

vikings vs mafia wrote:but the fluff reads like hentai.

You, my friend have NOT read enough hentai, if this is what you consider worthy of the label.

Also I don't think I've ever seen this much uproar about fan conceived fluff in my 40k career. Pan Fo doesn't count. So he made his marines with bewbs... they're HIS marines. He even made fluff that explains them, in a consistent and plausible manner, that conforms with the 'official' storyline. I don't get why you are all having a such a hard time with this.

If someone posted something, and someone else didn't throw a fit over it, would it still be the internet?

And yeah, no tentacles, so it can't be hentai.

Cool stuff. The chest plates are very very well done on the latest batch of power armor marines.

Some criticism to think about. Try mounting the main dread body lower on the legs. It looks awkward sitting so high up with that half inch gap there. Also, the pig tails are just silly looking in my opinion. For starters, why on earth would they have pig tails? They seem pretty bad ass and pig tails != bad ass. Regular pony tails would do just fine, or use helmetless female heads.

To be functional, power armour must also have a thick layer of padding to help disperse the impact of the shots absorbed by the outer hard armour. I'm thinking foam cells that would be form fitting, but not press inward on the wearer, so that breathing is normal. Since the thickness would need to be uniform, theoretically, power armour made for women would need to have space for the breasts. The general shape of the breast would probably be visible from the outside of the armour.

That being said, the breasts on the power armour girl are gigantic. However, I do know how hard it is to sculpt 28mm females that don't either look like girlie men or porn stars. I have yet to master the "normal looking female" look.