Anticipation choked what little air filled the Sanguine Retribution's woefully inadequate sparring quarters. A storage room retro-fitted during their last campaign, it lacked the sense of ritual and mysticism that often struck Seargent Stanislaus when he entered the hallowed grounds in their Fortress Monastary, once graced by their forefather. Still, even with its austere surfaces and ad-hoc shrines it managed to hold a number of his fellow Astartes in audience, and their searching eyes brought a new pressure to the Blood Angels mind.
He had been elevated to his position mere months ago, and while none had contested it, a nagging doubt was left in his mind. Was he truly worthy? Could he lead, as others had, in the heat of battle? When the blood flowed hot, and the spectres of a past never experienced snaked through his mind?
"Blessed is the mind too small for doubt," he muttered, a sour look breaking through his facade of calm.
It was a calm that wouldn't last.
"Are you ready, Brother?"
Stanislaus blinked, brought forth from deeper musings, and turned his head, taking in his opponent and the now packed room. How long had he been lost in thought? Grunting, he quickly clipped his helmet on, the machine spirit activating immediately and lighting the room up further in his vision. None of his squad mates were in the crowd, both a good and bad thing in equal measure.
"Blood and Blades," his opponent, an imposing veteran twenty years his senior, said, raising a power armoured fist in the customary warriors handshake.
" Feathers and faith," Stanislaus responded, grasping the wrist and pulling them both close, a trembling, animal rage building within his breast.
"I feel it too, Brother," the veteran whispered, his helmets beak lending the older Astartes an animalistic flair in Stanislaus mind. "The anger, the thirst. Use it, do not be afraid."
"I fear nothing!" Stanislaus snarled, flecks of spittle adorning his helmets vox pads. At that, the crowds dropped their silence, and the pressure Stanislaus felt increased tenfold.
His opponent, silent, released their shared grasp and stepped back, a firm discipline in his movements now as he drew his chainsword. They were familiar, as every warrior trained in the Blood Angels way of combat would note, but had a foreign edge to them. 'A sword forged on the battlefield' as his old master would say.
"Let us begin then, Brother."
Part of what motivated me in making this force, and the project as a whole, really, was the discovery of some old Battle For Macragge era push-fit marines I had lying about. They're fairly mediocre, as far as sculpts go, but do the job well, and I spent some time wondering what to do with them before the idea of a 3rd Edition 40k project really hit me.
Now, I'll freely admit I rushed to the painting part of the project over the 'cleaning' part. Several of the minis have notable mould lines or sprue marks on them. Never the less, I'm surprisingly proud of them. Possibly due to getting the Decals right for the first time?
The paint scheme is something of a mix, with the Seargent rocking a 2nd ed style while the rank and file use the advice given in the 3rd ed Blood Angels codex. I used a mixture of Army Painter Speed and ordinary paints, as well as a few GW ones.
From a gameplay perspective, The Steel Claws (because every unit needs a name) are a jack of all trades unit, they shoot, fight, and hug objectives. Though they may very well end up as a bodyguard of sorts for my Force Commander, a hefty honour.
The Steel Claws are a small unit of Space Marines, a tactical squad lead by the newly promoted Brother-Seargent Dumas Stanislaus and named after a species of mutant bird utilised by the natives of Baal in their hunting rituals. Like all Tactical Squads, they fill a multitude of niches, and though small in number, they are a force to be reckoned with.
01 January 2009, 08:05:47 PM
