#40karmorweek

[flagcaptainart]

For 40k Armor Week, the only vehicle minis I own right now. The spider lunchbox! He needs basing and he needs a name, as does his little turret friend.

[lontau]

Shadow Force Branwen - Fire Raptor and Land Speeders

Escorted by the “Birds of Prey” Land Speeder Squadron, the Fire Raptor Gunship “Huntress” lines up for a strafing run on Night Lords forces. (Gomeiza Campaign, 011.M31)

Entry for @40kartweek for the Armor Week! Showing off some of the vehicles of Shadow Force Branwen

#40kArtWeek #40kArmorWeek

[40kartweek]

Its time for another Warhammer 40k Community art week! All about the armor this time around! Bring your breastplates, your bolters, your tanks, your Knights!

Rules: The only rule is that posts be related to Armor. Art, writing, miniatures, photography, playlists or original music is all welcome! Show us how creative you all are. You don’t even have to follow the prompts- they’re just there to give inspiration and open to interpretation. Feel free to reblog old art too!

Tag your work with #40kartweek or #40kArmorWeek or submit it as you wish! I will be tracking both tags and reblogging all entries here.

Themes:

Monday, Apr 8th - Ornament/Customize

Tuesday, Apr 9th - Care/Repair

Wednesday, Apr 10th - Paint

Thursday, Apr 11th - Break

Friday, Apr 12th - Ceremonial

Saturday, Apr 13th - Underneath

Sunday, Apr 14th - Swap

Looking for another theme week? Check here!

Mini courtesy of @tempestor-sharaf

[techpriestess]

Unbroken

For 40k Armor Week Day 4: Break, featuring Rebeckah Radcliffe, @a-panoply-of-muses‘ Joseph Montemarte and High Sacristan Elise.

[We must recover the Le Glaive Fulgurant.] Technalingua was undiminished over the din of combat. Rebeckah looked to the knight standing still above them. The Montemarte men-at-arms were fighting valiantly to defend the frozen war-machine.

[We must recover Joseph.] Elise replied, her personal passions evident in the ripple of her noosphere.

Rebeckah’s expression tightened. [If he is alive.] With a keening static sound she began to sing a litany of appeasement to the machine spirit of the knight, and began to climb the back of it’s massive leg. Her skitarii picked up the sound, joining it with songs of war and renewed life. The Knight hummed in reply, but still she would not move. Her desire to retaliate against the foes that were pummeling her shields remained bridled.

Elise followed close behind, her voice softer than the rest. She couldn’t entertain the prospect of the princep’s death- not yet. She wasn’t ready for that yet. The fear of what she might find in the cockpit ate at her belly as much as it propelled her feet.

The hatch was just ahead, but the whine of the shield generators warned they were about to give way to the mortar rounds and tank blasts that pounded her. Did they have time? Would they survive their shattering if they remained on her carapace?

[Quickly, Elise!] Rebeckah called, calling the Sacristan’s attention back from the frozen fear. She slipped inside, and Elise right after her.

Inside was hardly room for one, much less three. Elise was pressed against the magos, who in turn was just holding herself over Joseph. Rebeckah’s mechadendrite had snaked around to connect with his cerebral ports while Elise tried to collect herself. Blood dribbled from a forehead laceration and from his nose.

[He’s alive, but he requires medical attention immediately.] Rebeckah’s cant was song-less. [I can’t rouse him; you’ll have to do it.]

Elise shook her head at the data subtext. The magos could not speak as the sacristany, and could not guide the machine spirit as she could. [I don’t have the port for your plugs.]

Rebeckah’s mechadendrites withdrew from the princeps and pulled hers forward enough for Rebeckah to see the ends. She removed the head of hers, and started pulling the case framing around Elise’s mechadendrite. [Disconnect, and adjust your programming with this-] An additional data packet came with the direction. Elise accepted the file and unfolded its contents, meshing it immediately with her programming without even running the most basic of security clearances. The shields burst, a dozen warnings blaring across the screen neither paid much mind to. Rebeckah lurched forward, nearly headbutting Joseph, but focused on the task at hand. Elise gasped, bracing herself as the mortars now slammed into the hull.

[Try it.] Rebeckah released her, and Elise obeyed. The connector was alien, and Joseph’s vitals were abysmally low, but was the pressing presence radiating through his plugs that held her attention.

[Le Glaive Fulgurant] She was in awe; only within the sacred forges had she gotten to even glimpse the full breadth of the war machine’s indomitable spirit. It rippled and growled at her invasion.

[Quickly, Elise.] Rebeckah warned, her attention now on the view port. The glass cracked under a tank round.

Elise hardly heard her, all her processor power committed to the work of the Le Glaive Fulgurant. She hummed deference, desire to help, resisting the tide of a hundred souls imprinted on the ancient machine’s spirit. Familiar expressions, of Joseph’s father, and all those who had led the House before, brushed her mind. Tears rolled down her face unbidden. [Please, great spirit. We must return to the shrine. Wake Joseph, that we might live to fight another day.]

It rumbled in reply, helpless. It had tried, but Joseph was too injured.

She pressed herself into joseph’s lap, her gut turning. [Then let me, through him, Le Glaive Fulgurant.] Her hand reached for Rebeckah’s. [I require your help.] Elise’s studs met hers, demanding use of her processor capability. Rebeckah didn’t fight the demand, shutting her security down immediately to welcome her in.

Elise dove deeper into Joseph and Le Glaive Fulgurant’s joined minds despite the pressure and building pain, tethered by Rebeckah’s grip, and looked for the right way to prompt the warmachine to move as she willed. It growled and grimaced, whispering in voices of men she did not know, and one she did, in warning and guidance, sometimes in conflicting direction.

Outside, the Le Glaive Fulgurant’s armor was failing. It was blackened and pitted. Rebeckah’s Skitarii keened warning and pleading for their mistress to return; they could not hold back the tide for much longer. Rebeckah could not hear them, oblivious when the glass at her back shattered, showering the trio in broken pieces. A line burst in the next impact, flooding the cockpit in smoke.

[Le Glaive Fulgurant, we must move.] Elise begged as she sought the machine’s leg programming. At her command, Rebeckah pressed on the foot pedals, and slowly, ponderously, the first leg lifted, and it pivoted. Le Glaive Fulgurant loathed to leave the field, but she could not remain without her princeps, and using the Sacristan was burning through her neural pathways at an unsustainable rate. Elise ignored the warnings popping up across her noosphere, and the burning feeling where her plug met his neck.

A cheer went up among the remaining men-at-arms as the Knight retreated, their faithfulness rewarded. The Skitarii did not change their song, opting to jump onto the crumpling carapace and ride back with their mistress while they encouraged and soothed the beleaguered machine spirit.

[Mistress, we’re reading failing vitals for the High Sacristan.] Aurelius chirped, perched up at the hatch. He dared not open it yet, for it was what little remained to protect them in their flight. Still she did not answer, but the Knight continued to move toward the rear line and the waiting Sacristany. The Magos remained whole, and that was all he could ask.

The songs of the House Sacristans joined in, and Le Glaive Fulgurant slowed until she stopped. Rebeckah pulled on Elise, withdrawing her from the expanse that was the machine spirit. Synth flesh around the ports where they had been joined was scorched black, but Rebeckah paid it little mind. She pulled Elise physically back, cooing softly as she disengaged her from Joseph. The mechadendrite in his cervical port took some manipulating to get loose, the connectors held together in charring fragments.

[Aurelius, call the medicae, and take Elise.] She finally replied to the anxious Skitarii, who was quick to pry open the hatch and pull her up. Elise mumbled and resisted, having trouble returning to such small senses after seeing so broadly in the eyes of the Knight. Rebeckah turned her attention to the princeps. “Come back to me, Joseph… You have work yet to do.” He did not respond, even as the sacristans performed the rites to release him from the throne, and rushed him away to the medicae tents.

Rebeckah lingered despite Aurelius’ fussing, staring up at the warmachine that bore them back. She would need much work to be returned to the field again, but she had time with her princeps unwell. Le Glaive Fulgurant, though wounded, remained unbroken. She closed her eyes, praying Joseph would be so lucky.

[empress-of-xerxes]

The Shahmaran

Worn fingers, calloused and weathered from centuries upon centuries of conflict traced over the trim of armor that had been his during the best and most tumultuous of times. They trailed along the curve of a pauldron aged and grey that still had flecks of the once beautifully lacquered royal purple that had once presented itself across every piece of his wargear. His thumb pressed against a rivet that once held in place a symbol of bravery, victory, and most importantly that of a Legion steeped in martial prowess and the strive toward perfection. He could not recall when the Palatine Aquila had broken or shorn away. Something deep inside had told him it was in fact himself that removed it, out of spite or painful memory.

He smiled then and pressed his index finger against the symbol that now adorned the pauldron, a pentacle that held a curling snake entwined within it but was now debased in cruel mimicry and faded. He had taken his knife to it ages ago to remove the symbol of his former homeworld and yet somehow the snake would slowly find it’s way back in time only to be removed again. He tapped the symbol twice now with his index and middle finger then set the armor piece aside.

In front of him, Adrian looked over the rest of his armor with the fiery brilliance of his golden irises. Mark IV pattern Maximus, extensively modified and aged. It’s eyes once glowed in crimson lights but now shimmered in heavy rosen-gold lenses. Gone were any markings of rank, the plume or crest of his helm. Gone were any affiliation with the Children of the Emperor. He had refinished his armor to match the ashen grey of his brothers and the crimson trim of his homeworld. Only to be exiled, to be cast away from wanting more than stagnation. Indeed, even the teal that had once enwrapped his right gauntlet and up the forearm was becoming stripped away, though the shimmering scales still rattled and bristled upon the surface in a kaleidoscope of color.

Then there was the chest piece. A tunic was clasped across it’s shoulders, made of gilded lodge coins, ancient brass currency, brilliant red archeo-tokens and kept tied together and taut with silver thread. They would clink and chime as he walked speaking of the secretive lives he had taken to secure a single lodge coin or the soft sigh of his knife as he pulled it from a gods maddened techwitch. Every coin had a story and he recalled them all to the last minute detail. He was proud of his wargear. It was an extension of himself and it’s machine spirit pronounced this in every way. Always driving itself further and further, taking blows that should have killed him but simply shrugging them away. Giving precious power to life support systems that had no right to remain functional. He had shown his armor love and an attentiveness that few dared attempt in an age of constantly low resources and it repaid him handsomely. No man was ever completely immune to the damage of war but if Adrian could squeeze out any advantage then he would.

Adrian chuckled and rolled his shoulders, standing from his admired crouch and beginning the slow and arduous process of placing the suit upon himself. Every piece, every plate was done himself as serfs were almost nonexistent and slaves weren’t trustworthy. Only he was allowed to touch the armor and occasionally the odd lover. This thought made him grin now, the gilded golden fangs of his canines flashing in the lumen light. Who had been the last to touch it? An enemy or a gentle hand? He took his time with the rising memories and the process and he felt the armor appreciate his careful nature. Induction ports smoothly connected, plates never chaffed or rubbed wrongly against the black of his body glove, every piece was perfectly fitted for the man and with all of them set he felt a rise of bliss. 

He would lose a few coins. Gain a few more even. But such was the price to pay for the tally-man to look the other way. 

[flagcaptainart]

Day 1 of @40kartweek - Ornamentation/Customization. @techpriestess‘ armor as a Magos. She doesn’t see combat often, but when she does, she leaves no room for doubt why she’s here.

Like my work? Commission me! Or enter to win my weekly Ko-fi Giveaway!

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For Art Week Day 2: Care/Repair, Sophia post-combat.

Like my work? Commission me! Or enter to win my weekly Ko-fi Giveaway!

[flagcaptainart]

For 40k Armor Week, the only vehicle minis I own right now. A precious boi, who needs a name.