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I've loved these models for ages, and got round to painting them. I decided to give them a fair bit of grim background, so here goes.

Kriegsmarshal Volke surveyed the darkling scene from the ashen drift of rubble he stood on.For a mile before him, the once great boulevard that he had known was now a hellish shell, devoid of life like a moonscape, yet with the creeping sense of malicious intentions, just beyond the visible spread of gloom which impeded vision after a hundred metres. For what he could see, the road was a pockmarked face of despair. Shells had taken their toll upon the beauty of the adamantium fused concrete that had once built this city up to be the greatest on the planet.

Death. He saw it coming for him, as it had come for the tens of thousands of men in tan greatcoats lying spread eagled and bloodied in the shellholes and upon the drifts of wrecked steel, and warped and crushed buildings. Through his deep blue goggles, the world was bathed in a coloured glow.

Near to his right, a shattered Russ lay on its side, flame and smoke growing out of its side like an evergrowing tree of destruction. The Tank Commander, brazen medals now rusting hanging loose from his chest, slumped from the armoured hatch at the top. His helmet was missing, and his blonde hair fell from his face, caked with blood.He looked away. Death was part of his life more than breathing now. It surrounded him in his conscious and unconscious hours; in victory or despair.

Standing behind him, vigilant still when the battle was lost, stood the four men who had saved his life without thought of themselves a hundred times earlier today. Two brothers, Engle and Xavier, stood somewhat at ease, cradling their lasguns in their arms. The proud glossed black armour that was the pride of the regiment now was rusty, caked with dirt. Next to them, stood Artur, expertly toggling dials on his handheld Vox Operator screen. Static welled from the speaker on his back. He carried on, and Volke semi-imagined the concentration on the face of the man behind the mask. Ever knowing that his work was now futile.

A fluttering of colour in the otherwise still and monochromatic breeze. The last man of the Squad was Luther - the Standard Bearer. He was a proud man, perfect to carry the Colours of the 44th into Battle. The green and white standard had been passed down - like Volke's armour, and sword - through ten generations of soldiers. Volke was a direct line from the man who drew up the regiment, after the Cleansing.

And for the first time since the creation of the Regiment, the Kriegsmarshal was about to die. He slowly slipped off the deep red coat that had been his father's. It fell to his feet, rich but dappled now with soot.

"It is time to go." He said, speaking through the Closed Circuit of the Squad's Helmet Mics. They followed him unquestioningly as he stepped off the drift, landing on a rusted Aquila, half buried in the gravel and destroyed concrete. He could feel them, following in silence.

The eagles on the few intact buildings down the boulevard looked down approvingly as the last remnants of the Kriegian 44th walked through the heaped bodies of their fomer compadres, through the crushed city, through the fog. Ahead of them was a Renegade Firebase.

Volke pulled both grenades from his belt, and the rest of the squad did so too. They threw them together into the emplacement, hearing the panic and shouts. Muffled explosions, screams. They carried on walking.

A flash, and the deep roar of a Heavy Bolter, as they were inevitably spotted. Volke looked up, the flash from the sandbags dark salvation.

"Emperor protects," thought Volke, as the shells ripped his body apart, his soul driven by chaos fused steel, struggling into the darkness of the Warp.

The Kriegian 44th ceased to exist.

Hope you like them

Stay safe,

~sA

[EDIT:] Confunded Technology! The camera I used has decided not to work, so I may have to borrow my brother's camera to get pictures.

nice bit of fluff. Now show me the piccies!

They're coming, I swear! Please don't hurt me.

So is Christmas. (jk)

No, I mean.. OK TOMORROW.