The Coming of the Iron Hide

Today the Canis Aureus faced Ron and his Vostroyan Guard. The first game he drew no useful objectives and rolled pretty badly and the second did not fall to his favour either. The jackals held their territory and Cleaver the Choppa managed to fell a Russ in both games.

The Coming of the Iron Hide

A spinning vortex of a sickly yellow haze clouded the sky at least two-hundred kilometres in diameter. It held its position unerringly above the battle front. It's power and force so great it had held the Aureus forces on the T'au planet and subjected them to a foul barrage of their own creation. The jackal's forces were held on the ground, a large percentage had taken casualties from the plague storms. Those that had not been swept away or mired, began to pull back to their lines, making the headway they could in the dreadful conditions. many units, most of them astartes and light infantry, were cut off by the plague hordes generated by the widespread miasma of the Plague Lord.

No one, not even Cutter the Choppa could make progress through the maelstrom. While the rest of the Aureus forces were claiming land in the name of the Wolf Mother, the forces of fury and blood were stuck and unable to further the cause. It wasn't until they saw the first of the Vostroyan regiments appeared passing through the thick storm clouds, that the demented Chaos Lord was happy he had been trapped.  

Filled with titanic fury, almost pure and undiluted with thought or other emotions, he mounted his nearby rhino and became locked in combat. After chopping down two of his own renegades in blind rage he punctured the Leman Russ's hide as it came through the dense miasma.  Fuel tanks exploding it threw off the renegades, tearing the pack of Jackals to shreds. Witnessing the Vostroyan's fall back he gritted his teeth and bellowed insults into the wind, before calling on more renegades to enter the fray.

* * * * *

With bitter resentment, Quadir pulled the Endless Cacophany back from the edges of the ruin and into the nearby rhino.  he could tell from this position they would be outgunned on the Vostoyan's return. A quick vox exchange led them to the East flank where they deployed as their transport was hit by the advancing Vostroyan gun line.  

Fell picked up on the faint sound of the Commissar's shouting amongst the bombardment. Honing in on it he directed the rest of his squad to open fire. The howls that erupted tore through the structure and through the mortals behind it. Flesh was parted from bone and their screams suppressed by the audial bombardment. As the Commissar advanced to the edge of the building the Cacophony hit him with a vicious blast as two of the astartes fell to the Vostran's deadly aim. Steadying himself on his feet the Commissar fount his footing as Quadir impacted with the officer, tearing his head from his shoulders with one solid punch.

Explosions crackled through the plague infested ruins in the direction of the plaguebearers advance. The Noise Jackal watched in disgust as they shambled into the scout walkers, preventing them from being a threat.  Just behind the fray he could also make out the form of Cleaver holding a leg into the air and whooping with glee as the Vostroyan's retreated. They had held the territory against the forces of the Imperium, but to what end? There was no merit in them holing this fetid landscape, all was dead, all was lost, their job had been done. 

Quadir longed to be under the command of Salazar once more instead of the brutish oaf that was Cleaver.  Turning the amp up on his weapon he faced the advancing, mindless plague horde. 

"Where the hell are the Deathguard? Isn't it their job to control this mindless scum?" He yelled blasting the flesh from the amassing assailants before him.

A Mighty Victory

A few weekends ago Jamie, Mia and Me went to the Dice Saloon in Brighton. It is one of our favourite venues despite being quite a trek away from where we all live. While we were there we played one large game, followed by a smaller game. It was the first time seeing a Tiger Shark on the field and the potential of that beast is certainly scary.

Once the games were done we relaxed with some food, drinks and a handful of board games. Below is the fluff from the games.

With trepidation the greater daemon had launched his assault on the heart of the Pax’nera’s home world. The avian ancient knew that this was the path he must take despite the inevitable defeat. Not one but two of the tiger sharks were above them. The first fell to the blast of the macro-ectoplasmic cannon and then the second, but not before the Mother’s Cannon had been crippled. Leaking phosphorus neon liquid it sizzled and spat, until it internally ruptured and split under the fire of the enemy. The twisted beast had taken many months to build and it’s loss would not be taken lightly among the renegade Astartes. På Veg craned around to see the loathing emitting from Vlees. His sockets brimming with internal fluids as he swung his axe in the air, gesticulating for his deredeos to take down the opposing forces. The twin-headed daemon Lord hoped this grinding stalemate would be enough to draw the t’au’s attention from the Charadon sector. He could not foretell their fate, but he knew in time the forces here would be defeated and only Vlees and the horrors under his command would escape.

* * *

Crashing into the landscape below, Cleaver the Choppa was full of confidence. Despite the overwhelming odds that he knew that his forces were about to face, he showed no hesitation. Beneath his helmet his face was twisted with glee. The Lord knew at this very moment a heavy bombardment and assault was taking place on the Pax’nera’s home world. A force not large enough to take the planet but strong enough to be a distraction. No hero’s faced them today. Only a force of nameless officers and a solitary commander greeted them. He recognised the landing craft of the Bay’be Sept’s Ethereal. She had pursued them at a distance and had clearly warned of the incoming threat. Cleaver cared not. He welcomed the challenge. Diving out of his rhino as it caught fire, the crazed Lord cleaved his way into the transport craft before him. Rushing forward his entourage shot and hacked into the breacher team. As the blue bodies fell, the Pax’nera firing line took aim. The six berserkers and their champion all fell to the gunfire and the explosion of the nearby transport tore their corpses apart. Cleaver in his fury had failed to spot the concealed payload of explosives. As his axe impacted into its core, armour, flesh and bone were torn from his frame. Out of the machine span a whirlpool of flame and fire that tore at everything around it. T’au and heretic burnt alike in the supernova that was born from the wreck. Rising from the ash, parts of his skull and rib cage exposed, Choppa pressed on. The defiler given to him by the Deathguard, ate, burnt and shot its way through the main body of the t’au, while the bloat drone tore across the landscape, burning everything in it’s wake. Hooking up to the central air filtration system the drone emptied its fetid fluids and life force into the air filters and pump system. Plaguebearers shambled and threw themselves off of the railings and into the water tanks below. Alarms sounded. Within days this section of the planet would be covered in plague and disease. He hoped it would be enough to claim at least a quarter of the planets population. Perhaps then the Plague Lord would release the arch-daemon from his eternal prison, so that the Aureus could get the answers that they needed. Drinking from the soiled water, Cleaver felt the disease and corruption eat into his injuries. Rage and knowledge were his, he hoped this would bring him the protection that the Plague Father has promised him. Protection that had allowed his rival Gurth to survive such crippling defeats.

Lord of Khorne: Cutter the Choppa'

After my victory with a proxy Chaos Lord (As I forgot my actual Lord) I decided to make a Lord of Khorne.

I took a primaris body and two ork arms as well as a few chaos bits and made Cutter the Choppa into an actual model. Suitably huge when compared to a standard old marine.

But what is a Khorne Lord without skulls? I hear you say. Well I thought similar, so I decided to give him twenty skulls on his person and seven on his base. The base is a 40mm base which is too big but I think he justifies it.

The same day I painted him and then he was ready for battle.

Last week the might of Cutter the Choppa, clashed with Jamie's Pax'nera T'au Sept.  It was a brutal and brief game. I claimed first turn. Charged from the rhino and ate into the t'au gun line. The retaliation was bloody but it didn't stop my Lord cleaving through the blue-skinned bodies until he claimed victory.

A Servant's Wrath

Removing his helmet their Lord revealed his scarred and pitted visage. Twisted leathery flesh, fused with bone and metal. Like his other warriors, he bore the fresh wounds of self mutilation. Blood poured from his large gnarled hands and wrists into the numerous orifices in his face. His dark eyes stared with glee out into the battlefield before them. Beyond the haze of gore he could see the Pax’nera landing in the ruins opposite starting their advance. Cutter the Choppa clambered into his rhino and called his berserkers forward. Klash began to shiver and chatter as Mauler howled with anticipation. All at once they began the berserkgang. First waves of cold hit them, their joints seizing as they uncontrollably shivered. Moans and roars erupted as their flesh bulged in deep reds and purples. Fever soon bled into rage, chainswords revved into action as the rhino’s hatch was released. Crashing into the t’au battle line the renegade berserkers took the first volley of fire. Bodies riddled with mortal injury they continued to fight on. Amongst his dying warriors Cleaver entered the fray. His huge axe in hand he cut three t’au in half with one blow narrowly missing a fourth. He cared not for his brothers. As six fell down dead the remaining two turned to run. In one swift motion the Chaos Lord cleaved down his own as they attempted to flee, the mighty choppa severing armour, flesh and bone. He was not surprised their fate had been foretold. A precognition had been implanted into his head by På Veg prior to their landing. The mighty greater daemons eyes penetrating his corrupted soul and had foretold his success. Med Leen’s visions had been more grave. They had prophesied his warriors foul fate and the blind rage as he cleaved them down. He knew he would turn from this battle, let the enemy flee, wipe out the tiny horrors in anger at their masters predictions. Recalling the malevolent jeering made his rage boil over. Turning from the enemy he directed his rage towards the warp spawn. Cleaver the Choppa was no ones puppet!

The horror propelled itself onward sullen, chortling and whining. Tears of rage filled its diminutive contorted face. Surrounding him were the six remaining little daemons, laughing and cackling as they simmered and popped. They all knew that they would soon return to their master. Two of the horrors would flee, hide and burn up to nothing, while their blue leader and four other critters would be decimated by the mighty ork weapon. Clambering around the last remaining drones they managed to secure themselves on one and pull it to the ground. Weeping and stamping in a volatile rage, the radiant blue leader slammed his ever-changing form into the dirty below. Unable to focus on their victory he was sealed by the misery of his fate. Turning around he saw the large bulky figure approaching them. “Tell your Lord to get outa my ‘ed!” Yelled Cleaver as he brought down the Choppa, dissipating the horrors into nothing but fire and crackling energy. The Pax’nera had fallen back, the great ones claimed what they wanted and now more of the planet was theirs. Before he had a chance to rejoice, the crackling static and flames seized the Chaos Lord. Sparking and convulsing, his muscles expanded and were filled with a new vigour, a new vigour that would allow him to claim and defend the eldar moon.

Firefights over the Charadon Sector- Fiction

This weekend we had a campaign day down the hut. Nine of us gathered together and formed up to fight plenty of battles. My forces fought alongside the Deathguard against the Nai'Tzeleth Eldar forces and also faced off against the 1st Larissa Watch.  The battles were all at 500pts short but intense.

Firefights over the Charadon Sector

They were late to rendezvous with the allied forces. The warp was playing tricks with them as always, seeking to continually challenge and test their limits. Their anger made them stronger, it made more of them turn from the pull of defeat. They had been bound to fight the Mechanicus and instead ended up with their decaying brothers, fighting the forces of the Eldar. The Deathguard and their Lord were already there, already fighting, already claiming souls in the name of the Plague Lord. The sight of the battle filled their fetid bodies with excitement and anticipation. All at once they took in their surroundings and made their advance towards the xenos forces.

Crazed and tainted by the Jackals' entry, the Fire Dragons belched forth fire in all directions, screaming out in tongues setting fire to friend and foe alike. Quick to silence the tainted the Nai'Tzeleth forces tore down their own in a volley of gunfire, as the Deathguard trudged through the vibrant landscape. The ancient and keen eyed Eldar had no trouble following the path of decay that erupted beneath the Deathguard's tread, the green landscape withering at their feet. 

A stream of razor-sharp projectiles hit the advancing corrupted astartes. Spumes of filth bursting from the marine's ancient and bloated torsos. For a moment they were silent and still, the only sensation a slight vibration as one of the Jackals slumped to the ground. The Pestsjaler let their conscious thoughts drip from their minds, like a tallow of wax from ten-thousand candles in the Wolf Mother's Shrine. They could feel the beating of their bloated and festering primary hearts and the hum of insects from within. Outside the Pestsjaler's enhanced hearing detected the xenos threat readying themselves behind the rocks in the centre of the battlefield.  Without trepidation the plague marines broke their meditative state and bounded around the outcrop of rocks. The eldar within their sight, they opened fire. Well worn weaponry, encrusted in filth and dirt spat hellfire upon the fragile enemy, limbs exploded and torsos were burst asunder. Overhead the plagueburst crawler's fire detonated into the other xenos units forcing them to fall back.  Too slow to give chase, the Deathguard called to halt the advanced. 

Quick to claim their prize the Pestsjaler continued their advance collecting the spirit stones of the fallen for the Wolf Mother's plan. 


Across the Charadon Sector Cleaver sought to make a name for himself in the eyes of the Aureus renegades. He had been outcast even by his own kin, subject to the cure of the Wolves of Russ. It was an imbalance, some speculated a lack of willpower and strength to resist the makings of a true Astartes. With the Deathwatch in sight, Cleaver had led the renegades up through the Deathwatch's main line. Veteran marines guarding a supply drop of great worth.  Their commander stood outside of the cover to meet him and the Deathguard head on. 

"You are nothing but a monster in the skin of a warrior!" Goaded Gregarious Captain of the 1st Larissa watch.

The Aureus Champion lunged and cut only air, as a bolter round punctured his side. The detonation sent shrapnel and meat flying out of him in all directions. The air around him undulated and the realisation that the ground itself had begun to bleed pierced the pain that filled his mind. It ran in thick, crimson rivulets, streaking the chrome plasteel and pooling underfoot. Reality itself began to blink in and out, the faces of snarling slender faced monsters greeting him from a realm not his own. The sight of these xenos females awoke something primal within the wounded wulfen.  He shuddered as he landed two solid blows at the enemy Captain who effortlessly parried his hefty assault. Agony spiked through his body, blades in his skull, daggers in the back of his eyes. There was a crunch as he felt his biceps expand and the muscles and bone twist and crack. Blood poured into his mouth, choking his throat. Sweat broke out across his body as his secondary heart kicked in. 

With a deep, guttural snarl the feral warrior swung axe and claw at his target. Gregarious moved at a speed that his armour belied, dodging and deflecting every attack. Allowing the superior combatant to disengage, Cleaver raised his combi-bolter and spat at the Captain.

"Honour be damned," he roared as he pulled the trigger.

The shots tore through the Deathwatch veterans chest and leg. Falling to the ground he was wracked with rage that his opponent would fall to such underhanded tactics. 

"I should have expected such underhanded tactics from such Chaos scum, wolf. If we can have our supply drop then no one can."

Falling back to his razorback the Captain pulled out, setting off the demolition charges within the building. 

Unable to move Cleaver began to convulse and his skin and armour split, spraying everything with an oily mist of blood. The flesh beneath was discoloured, the pale flesh that came forth was coated in deep scarring that glittered with an oily sheen of blood and sweat. His skeleton snapped as it reformed, the bones in his arms elongating far beyond that of a normal man. Biceps and shoulders burst out from within his original skin, lumps of old muscle and flesh falling off onto the ground in wet, slick motions. From out of the gore and remains emerged a far taller beast than before. The Deathguard had left him some time ago and now he could see the advancing ork forces making their approach. 

"Oi oi gits, look at all dis loot!" said one eagerly as he approached.

"Datz mine zog off. Gork knowz datz mine," spoke another as he belted the first over the head with a large chain.

"I aint letting you 'av anyfink," interrupted another.

"Oi, look dat one still lives!" perked up a fourth

"He's big and naked. We can take him boyz!" Jostled in one eagerly from the back of the pack, waving his big choppa in the air.

Clenching his newly formed fists, Cleaver was keen to find a new and more appropriate weapon to test his new form. Once the greenskin tide had reached him, Cleaver savaged their flesh left and right, his new skin covered in the stink of ork musk and ichor. Dragging the big choppa from the eager ork he slammed the makeshift axe around into the sea of bodies in a blinding arc. The orks burst apart in a fountain of gore. From out of the shower came a face absent of any sane thought and filled with rage. With one swift blow the Chosen was knocked backwards, the choppa falling from his grasp. 

Before Cleaver could right himself a large hand pulled him upright. 

"You did good there. We 'av bigger fings to sort. More loot to grab," said the ork nob pointing to a vague location in the distance.

"I don't want your pity greenskin. Fight me!" Yelled the hulking chaos warrior.

"Keep da choppa he don't need it," said the greenskin gesticulating to the decapitated ork on the floor. "You are git now, wiv big hand and big choppa."

"I'm Cleaver and let you remember that name,"

"Cleaver the Choppa," the Nob said with a bow before leaving with his remaining warriors.

Before he could argue at his new title, Cleaver felt a hand on him again. Through its palm came power and energy. The air around him thick with the smell of burning coals and rancid meat. Turning he saw five xenos women each carrying armour, all from different sources, each one ancient and impressive in it's own right. Behind them leered a gigantic being, a daemon of countless age and experience.

"You did a great job with them shiny tin men boy. Keep it up and you will be rewarded handsomely by the Huntress. If you can stop the Gregory and his Larceny Watch then you will be given great rewards. No one likes thieves especially the ones of mankind." Rasped the daemon in hushed tones, mere centimetres from the Chosen's face.

"I will do as you command my Lord. I am glad I have been deemed worthy of such praise," replied Cleaver as he was adorned and fitted into his new armour by the scantily clad elven warriors, each timeless and blood-soaked.

"Cleaver the Choppa, don't make me regret my decision. Give me blood. Shed it wide and far, let the name Rognavaldr be heard."

As the greater daemon departed, Cleaver tried to decide whether the had been gifted or cursed. Either way he decided he didn't care, bloodshed was all that mattered and he knew some renegades that would be more than happy to help out.

Clash for the Spirit Stones

The second game of the campaign week was against David's Eldar. The game consisted of two brutal turns of ranged combat and assault, systematically wiping out all three of his main squads. The combination of the noise marines and the plaguebearers close assault made it a swift and harsh defeat. Below is a piece of fiction representing what happened in the second game of the campaign.

Clash for the Spirit Stones

"Ramps ready to drop on your mark,"

"As soon as we are clear we need to join the Acolytes of the Wolf on Ground," Salazar said. He looked back at the writhing, fetid plaguebearers in the back of the hold, soiling his ships surface with layers of rot and filth. 

"I will see you once the battle is done," Quadir, Leader of the Endless Cacophony spoke, his crackling, wavering tones emitting from his vox amplifier.

"With claw and blade," Fell, added. "Her hunt has begun."

As they focused on the task at hand, the agents of the Endless Cacophony  began their hymns. Fell checked over his armour while the five marines opposite sang their death ballad in chorus, making sure his suit was sealed before striking the disembarkation rune with his fist.  It flashed from red to green, there was a thump of mag-locks and a hiss of decompressed air. Releasing the catch on the plaguebearers' containment cell, Salazar charged down the ramp as it fell forward. 

Stanford had been waiting for them. His eyes now adjusted to the truth, flaring with fire and ancient forbidden knowledge.  The xenos were just over the ridge, their spirit stones waiting to be claimed for the wolf mother. Failing to avoid the stream of projectiles that kicked up the stone of the crater around them, Standford and his unit were torn to shreds. Razor-sharp discs cut through bone and flesh with ease. Pulling a cocktail stimulants from backpack, the blood-soaked militia leader punched them into his chest, as he watched his leg roll slowly down the crater's edge.

Slinger's projectiles tore through the advancing plaguebearers like overripe fruit. Milky, yellowed pus burst forth as the shambling, slime-slick daemons marched onward towards their prey. Before the xenos warriors could pull back the plague carriers were on them, tearing through armour and gnawing at the flesh beneath.

Quadir had witnessed similar sights many times, but this was the first time he had fought with the forces of the Plague Lord on his side. With a mixture of disgust and pleasure, he watched the carnage unfold. Despite his senses being dulled to normal combat, the exchange still thrilled him. Most of the Jackals revelled in the sensation of axe and fist splitting flesh and breaking bone, but the agent required far greater chaos in battle.  Their hymn over, the Lord of the Endless Cacophony, turned up his amplifier and released the Howls of the Mother from their psycho-sonic weaponry. Impacting into two of the three squads of guardians. Eldar burst and split as flesh and armour was stripped from bone. Those that survived the blast clawed at their minds as the horrors of the warp filled their vision, before being torn down by bolter rounds from Fell's advancing squad. 

Not only had they secured the corpses they were after, but Quadir had found the drop of xenos supplies and weaponry. Releasing two more waves of sound into the retreating eldar forces, the Cacophony twitched in pleasure while flesh was flayed and their weapons exploded in arcs of flame.  

Salazar was greatly pleased with his warriors. Collecting the spirit stones off of the dead he wondered of the Wolf Mother's intentions. The thought came as quickly as it went. Any moment spent too long dwelling on the Huntress, gave him thick nosebleeds and nausea. He was a soldier not a thinker after all.  Signalling for his crew to finish up, the Champion made his way back to the drop ship.

Fiction: Eskade - Shrine World of the Wolf Mother

As he scratched at the festering wound in his side, Gurth convulsed before he wretched and delivered another serving of maggots to the rats beneath him.  The Wolf Mother had told him to come here. In doing so he had deserted the rest of his Chapter and travelled to the Charadon Sector along with his war band of Jackals. Months had been spent doing nothing while the rest of the Aureus squabbled and fought across the stars.  The Ancient had heard the tales of valour at Konor and the treachery of the new Primaris created to fight for them. He longed to be back in conflict, to show his chapter the might of Grandfather Nurgle.

“You’re disgusting and small,” rumbled a voice from above the Lord, the waft of breath scented with iron, smoke and charred flesh.

As the Jackal turned to greet his opponent he raised his volkite blaster with unnatural speed, his decaying limb flaking with the rapid motion. High above him towered a greater daemon of Khorne. Bewildered and lost for words Gurth pulled the trigger of his highly sought after firearm. The blasts tore through the beast's thick red skin but failed to penetrate the dense flexed muscle tissue below.

“Why does the Huntress choose such a weak and pathetic leaker to do her bidding? I am not your errand boy tiny man.”

“Ssstop… sssstop it with the insssultsss beassst unlesss you mean to fight me. My new massster has given me a force that will flourisssh in the eternity that is death. My legion of the undying is more than you can handle great one,” Gurth challenged, barely moving his infested facial features, as his clouded, singular cyclopean eye span wildly and without focus.

“I need to go and shed blood. I don’t have time for you or your so-called army. Here are your orders now do your work for the Huntress or I will be back to gut you,” spat the agitated Rögnvaldr’s, nostrils flaring as his temper increased.

With an almighty impact the rune stone hit the ground as the mighty daemon phased back out of reality. Masonry fell from the central shine chamber and the walls began to buckle. Having foreseen this moment many times over in his visions, Gurth grabbed the stone and ran towards the worn and submerged temple doors. Just like in his visions, he passed through the stonework as if it was water and clambered up the giant stone steps before him.

Inside of the temple there was a colossal statue magnificent and vast. A woman with the head of a wolf and the body of a human woman. One arm ended in a huge claw while the other hand held a vast daemonic blade.  The altar that stood before it, elegant and ornate, it’s centre filled with trinkets and scrolls of various sizes and colours. Each scroll simmered and distorted before his eyes. The surrounding walls were covered in scripture and perfect condition written in some ancient and forbidden language. Focusing on any part of the text made even the ancient astartes mind burn and his nose run thick with blood. Before he could investigate his surroundings any further a vast bird head with vibrant red plumage, came from around the corner.

“I have been expecting you Lord of the False Path, Unbeliever of the Truth. You have been chosen to protect this word, reap the reward of the Warp, free the Mother from her shackles and let the greatest hunt of the universe begin,” cackled the vast demented head.

Moving into the centre of the temple towards the altar, Gurth could see the vast bipedal form of the greater daemon before him. He knew he had been blessed or doomed to have been in the presence of two greater daemons within the hour. He began to approach before reeling back in horror as not one but two heads emerged, craning round to look at the astartes from behind.

“Fear is good and fear feeds the Mother of Wolves, bring fear to the system and protect her shrine world. You have been chosen to lead the armies of both humanity and Chaos in the name of the true Goddess of the Warp,” spoke the crimson plumed head, it’s eyes wide and unfocused.

“You have been chosen to die as a distraction for the ritual that is about to take place. Send your pathetic forces of the Grandaddy to death worm and let us feed off of your souls. Prove your worth!” Spat the head with flecks of green plumage.

Gradually it turned to face the Chaos Lord, one hand grabbing a staff and the other a mighty blade that’s surface constantly changed and twisted.

“Kill him now and then we can make a start on the preparations!” Snapped the green plumed head at the red.

“No he needs to be kept alive to defend this planet as the ritual takes place!”

The daemon moved with a grace and speed that Gurth had come to expect from most of the capable and older daemons in the warp. As the sword arm lunged at him, the arm with the staff intercepted. Beaks tore into flesh and feathers. Sword and staff bludgeoned and cut in union. Not able to comprehend what was taking place before him, Gurth left the temple with haste. Inhaling large amounts of the stale atmosphere he collapsed to his knees convulsing and contorting. His mind on fire he knew he had to protect this planet. For better or worse he was going to be part of something great. He had to contact the Deathguard, he needed their power, their protection and most of all their Primarch.

Daemonic Support

Having won with a full daemon army at 1000pts, I decided to go in again with half daemons, half chaos marines at 2000pts. The game was very close only leaving me with two troop units remaining against a fair amount of decent T'au units. Jamie fought well with his Pax'nera Sept, blowing away my most valuable targets.

It was a wonderful game and it has cemented my belief that daemons are a pretty great option in 8th Edition.

Daemonic Support

After wasting much time and slaughtering a number of his own forces, Rögnvaldr finally managed to get a portal opened to meet the Canis Aureus Astartes. They appeared to be heading into battle with the same brassy, blue skins that the greater daemon had just been in conflict with. Releasing a bellow of maniacal laughter, The Lord of the Unquenchable Thirst flew at the largest thing on the battlefield. As he brought his mighty axe down upon the riptide it's warning signals flashed and glared as its pilot was exposed. Far from the small retrieval party he had faced previously, these T'au bit back with extreme force. Rögnvaldr looked down at his perfect barrel of a chest to see his exposed rib cage and beating organs beneath. To die in battle was honour but to fall ineffective was a fate he could not bare to endure again. Launching upward he assisted the Aureus forces by smashing into the centre all tower. Hacking through masonry and plasteel, he eventually connected with the T'au leader's squad beneath. Sending the blue skinned body parts across the battlefield he roared in victory. As he faced off against the female leader he chuckled.

"You puny blue skins with all of your shiny, you think you are tough but I know different. I've shown you now. This is the true might of Rögnvaldr, I am ancient, I am terror, I am..."

"You are an egotistical brute with no honour!" Spat the female commander before charging at the gloating menace.

Her shots seemed to pass through him with little to no effect. Ego bruised, Rögnvaldr picked up the commander and ate her. He bit off her head first off her head before he threw the rest of her down his gullet whole.

Sulking at her accurate remarks, he decided to sit on the objective. Putting his axe down to one side, he jabbed at the machinery with his index finger. The lap dog of chaos never did understand technology. Part of him longed to understand the progress of races such as the T'au but more often than not his rage boiled over and he forgot about these deep thoughts as quickly as they had arrived.. Behind him a hellbrute exploded tearing apart the riptide and an obliterator. He knew the Aureus had prevented the T'au from getting what they needed but was repulsed by their ineffectiveness.

"All armour no sunstance," he said to no one in particular as he watched the T'au withdraw. Recalling the commanders insults a few seconds before he rose up and began to bellow in the direction of the retreat. The remaining crisis and stealth suits unloaded their weaponry into the greater daemon. Shots tore through his spinal column, separating his massive torso from his legs. The battle was over.
Fading out of reality the daemons took the technology back to their realm. Rögnvaldr left the Ta'u with the final image of his demented grin as his massive body phased back to his realm along with the console under his arm.

The Lord of the Unquenchable Thirst

On Wednesday I managed to secure an heirloom of an old friend from another friend that wanted to get rid of it.  My friend Ron had his bloodthirster for many years and it was one of his prize possessions. Sadly due to its lack of survivability in past editions, he eventually traded it for some other models.

For over a year I saw the greater daemon collecting dust at Jack's. Knowing that he wanted to get rid of a lot of the models that he did not field, I inquired about the model. Jack said he would sell it to me and now he is part of my collection and has already featured in three games in just as many days.  Below is some fiction to how he was acquired and his first battle alongside my forces.

The Lord of the Unquenchable Thirst

Wandering his prison for many decades Rögnvaldr had been denied combat. His soul bonded to a realm of desolate tranquillity. The dust beneath his feet boneless and missing the history of conflict. A bloodthirster of Insensate rage, he spent his days wailing and thrashing at the stale air and dust beneath him. Once a king among his army, now he was nothing but a joke. In the limited moments of clarity, he knew he had failed his master. A greater daemon was supposed to be the fear of all in the Warp and beyond. No one feared him. Every battle he had launched himself into he had failed, each one a depressing and hopeless loss. Now he sat collecting dust.

Perching on the only remaining piece of conflict, a broken ork truck, he sat and thought. His large taloned hands scratching at his thick-set godlike chest. The daemon had lost any sense of time and space. Wings bonded he had been denied flight and walking seemed a chore.

Suddenly the world lurched. The sand began to cascade downward, creating a whirlpool at his feet. he tried to escape but his hooves were bonded to the truck beneath him. Cursing and wailing he thrashed as the sand engulfed him.

Surrounded by fire, he felt like he was back at home. Stretching his now unbound wings, the embodiment of rage let out a roar that shook the rocky foundations beneath his feet.

"I am glad you are eager Rögnvaldr, Lord of the Unquenchable Thirst," spoke a raspy husky feminine voice.

Taken by surprise, the greater daemon turned to see the vast body of a female at least five times his height. Her hair wild untamed flame and her body glistening with sweat and seduction.

"I ain't got time for your Slaaneshy ways bitch, your gods just a tiny baby in comparison to Khorne!" He yelled, clutching at his ancient axe that was suddenly in his grasp.

"Do not be mistaken, I may look like a fiend of the Lord of Excess but I am no follower of any one god. I have benefited from the powers and blessings of many. My body is indeed the gift of Slaanesh, my Sword a gift from The Taker of Skulls, the hair a reward from the Changer of Ways and my internal corruption a curse of the Plague Father."

"I need blood, I don't care for your words woman!"

"Did your Lord give you blood? Have you been shedding Blood for the Blood god?"

Rögnvaldr looked at the floor, his arms going limp and his axe handing loosely in his grip.

"I thought as much," spoke the daemon, her Jackal head contorted in a bestial malevolent grin "I sacrificed the population of a planet for your release from your eternal prison. Now it is your turn to prove your worth. We live in a new age. Guide my legion of daemons to find the beacon of my shrine world and give it to Gurth of the Canis Aureus."

Before Rögnvaldr could question the mighty beast before him, he found himself in the realm of man. Sniffing the air he could smell the sweet innocent blood of the squishy blue men. Not sure of what orders to give the gaggling hordes of daemons he looked to his armoured gleaming enemies.

"KILL, KILL, and KILL SOME MORE!" Rögnvaldr roared.

Diving towards the devilfish he hacked it with his unrelenting fury. From the wreckage emerged the T'au fire team that then were dived upon by the daemonettes that surged beneath him. He had forgotten the excitement of war. Flying towards the next largest target he tore at the crisis suits, gleaming drones diving in the way of each of his blows. Spitting with rage he continued to swat them until he sunk his axe into the soft flesh beneath the crisis teams armour.

"Weak, weak you are all so weak before my might!" he roared in glee.

Rögnvaldr had never survived a battle or taken down anything of worth on the battlefield. Suddenly feeling a surge of admiration for his new leader, he knew he could get used to this level of slaughter.

Flamers darted across the battlefield setting T'au aflame, deamonettes moaned and shrieked in ecstasy, dismembering those in their path. Across the battlefield plaguebearers and the freshly diseased, marched forth blinking in and out of reality restoring what the T'au thought to be lost numbers.

Knowing when to cut her losses the T'au sun shark pilot retreated as the rest of her force was torn apart by the daemonic horde.

Victory had been swift but sweet. Rögnvaldr had cherished every moment, so much so that he had forgotten why he was even here. Approaching him, a daemonette held out a damaged ancient stone.

"My lord we have retrieved the artefact, we must now meet the Lord of the Aureus." she uttered in a raspy lust filled tone.

Embarrassed at his lack of focus and wanting to assert himself, Rögnvaldr brought his axe down onto the daemonette and picked up the artefact. Before pointing at a random daemon in his horde.

"Oi you! Open one of your portals, we have work to do!"