'Our guests are arrived,' the corporal passed the magnoculars back to Phones and returned to where his company stood in array before the cowed landing port under the spire's brooding feet. The ships four all dropped down as one, shaking the earth with their clangorous arrival and making men flinch back in awe-struck fright.
With a long and bitter shriek, the vast gate of the flying basilica ground open on lengths and lengths of rust-caked chain. There was nothing to see within-- nothing, all outside light halted in fear at that dread mouth-- nothing. Then flickers of light, six pairs of red and sea-brown eyes all staring across the gathered force unblinking, murderous.
Then they disembarked. Five of them, all angelic, glorious and painful to look upon at once; cloaked in the defiling grime of the ages walking on smoke and trailing broken, blood-slicked wings of flaming iron. Evil-looking chainblades they carried, bolters too, but they were soiled and as soiled as their heavenly ships. Angels, indeed-- tragic Angels,though hardly of death-- more of torture and misery akin to the very madness they had made planetfall against.
Behind the five stepped another, who arrayed them at the ship's brink and approached the corporal, removing his hissing battle-helm with a white-skinned hand as he went. From the wrist of that hand hung a great, double-barreled bolter-- the other was enourmous and was graced with four fingers more that thundered with a voice like a thousand waters. Despite the weight of his armour he walked unshod on silent, naked feet; each toe dressed with a black nail, glittering steel and beyond sharp-- and he had no jump-pack, but five silent wings streched open as he left the cavernous maw, greasy black, feathered, filled with life support of all kinds. They were without a doubt his own...
'Lord Baldr, captain over the Blotfjord,' though abrupt and over the top of Dari's attempted greeting it was a sonnet that pierced the smog with light and the Astartes himself was indescribably beautiful to look upon, 'and the halvard of the 3rd company of the Sagodjur Fjorlag.'
Dari tried to form an answer to this, but for the first time in a while he had forgotten to whom he spoke for. The beautiful angel smirked and dipped his forehead to one side with a spiteful, 'Oh don't just stand mute, speak!'
This took the corporal quite aback. He had always imagined space marines to be dour and firm of manner, but well-spoken too; this meeting of the third captain, as the angel had called himself, turned suddenly everything he had thought on its head.
'Corporal Dari,' he began, 'Cadian 444th--'
'--The Smoke-rats, I know,' the beautiful angel interrupted a second time, 'Where is your commanding officer? Ah--' before a reply was formed, 'Campaigning in the north, the Hoary Ashes? You would have us there too? But now, it is late-- we have flown some weeks in the void and are weary of travel. Show us our quarters and you shall have my audience this morrow.'
The corporal bit back upon his suddenly growing discomfort and sent a platoon to escort the dour halvard to where a convoy of chimaera awaited them, while Baldr turned and spoke a moment with the thunderhawk pilots.
'I shall be taking the Hringhorni to your palace,' he addressed Dari one last time as the flying basilica rose screaming from the ground, 'I know the way, do not bother yourself with that map, corporal.' and with that he leapt and was swallowed by the rusty darkness.
Dari watched them all go with a sinking heart and closed his back-pocket. What did the angel know of a map? How did he know so much already?
Allies out of necessity-- Throne, but it was going to be miserable.
At last! This is actually my second attempt at this character. The first time I tried, I wasn't in a good mood at all and wasn't happy with it, though the painting I suppose was acceptable. Also, I chose a backpack which did not allow for much depth with the wings and the pose didn't exactly suit Baldr's character.
|and only TWO WINGS oh dear|
ALSO the fact that I made this one before the whole scale thing was a problem in my mind. 2nd attempt is made from the warlord body from the WoC gorebeast chariot and Mk V legs.
I was hoping to get my black templars upgrade kit before now, but never mind.
I cut the backpack a bit so it would fit between his wings, which I found the paint was rubbing off as I worked on the rest of him; so I finished them first and coated them in a slightly iffy sealant that left the feathers looking quite greasy and made the blood melt a little into the rest of the colour, which was nice.
So that's that. Next time you hear of the Blotfjord, I'm pretty sure it'll be the command. I have two veterans, a colour sergeant, a chaplain and a librarian in the works,and that'll be fun.
Bye bye for now.