Dreadtober 2026, Awakening.

Awakening 

The Forge of The Rock was never silent.

Deep within the Fortress-Monastery, beneath layers of ancient stone and adamantium, its great furnaces burned without end. Hammers rang against anvils, pistons thundered, chains groaned beneath immense loads, and the machine spirits of a thousand engines murmured their endless litany. The sound followed Techmarine Seraphiel as he walked, the familiar rhythm of the Forge accompanying his passage through the ancient corridors.

His red robes moved softly around him, their hems brushing against the iron deck. The servo-arm mounted upon his back shifted with quiet mechanical clicks, while his Omnissian Axe rested across one shoulder. The weapon was more than a weapon. It was his tool, his badge of office, and the authority by which he was permitted to commune with the machines of the Chapter.

Seraphiel passed beneath an archway of black stone, and the ringing of the Forge began to diminish behind him. One hammer fell silent, then another. The distant roar of the furnaces became little more than a vibration beneath his feet, until even that faded.

Then there was nothing.

Seraphiel stopped before the doors of the Sepulchre.

They opened without ceremony.

He stepped inside, and the silence became absolute. No hammering. No engines. No chanting servitors. Only the measured sound of his own footsteps carried through the darkness.

The Dreadnoughts rested here.

Ancient warriors entombed within iron sarcophagi, their names recorded in the annals of the Chapter and their deeds preserved in the memories of those who still remembered them. Some were covered in dust. Others bore the scars of battles fought centuries before Seraphiel's birth. All were silent.

He stopped before one.

The sarcophagus was immense. Its armour was dark beneath the accumulated dust, the remnants of ancient heraldry barely visible upon its surface. An iron halo rose behind the sealed tomb, its edges dulled by age.

Seraphiel lowered his Omnissian Axe and placed one hand upon the ancient casing.

"Honoured-Brother."

Nothing answered.

He began the rites.

Words were spoken in the sacred tongue of Mars as ancient commands passed through his mechadendrites. Cables were connected, seals inspected, and the machine spirit petitioned. The rites continued until, at last, Seraphiel raised the Omnissian Axe and touched its blade against the sarcophagus.

The first spark leapt across the metal.

Then another.

Deep within the tomb, something answered.

A single red optic flickered to life.

Seraphiel remained perfectly still.

Another ignited, then another, until two points of crimson light emerged from the shadows. They grew brighter, their glow spreading across the ancient armour and catching the edges of worn plates. Dust hanging motionless in the cold air became visible as the darkness slowly retreated.

Systems awakened. Ancient mechanisms groaned into motion. Hydraulics hissed and power conduits crackled as something enormous drew breath once more.

Seraphiel bowed his head.

"Awaken, Honoured-Brother."

The Dreadnought moved.

The sound was terrible. Metal screamed against metal as ancient pistons drove into motion, and the sarcophagus shuddered beneath the force of systems returning to life after centuries of slumber. The two red optics burned brighter, illuminating the chamber, the Techmarine standing before him, and the darkness beyond.

The vox grille crackled.

Static whispered through the Sepulchre before a voice emerged from somewhere beneath centuries of dust and iron.

"How... long?"

Seraphiel looked up at the glowing optics.

"Too long, Honoured-Brother."

Silence followed. The red lights remained fixed upon him.

"I know not your voice."

The ancient machine shifted within its cradle, old pistons groaning as power returned to systems that had slept for generations.

"I know not your face."

Seraphiel remained silent.

The optics brightened.

"I do not remember you, young upstart."

There was something different in the ancient voice now. Not anger, but the unmistakable irritation of a warrior who had been disturbed from his rest and had little patience for whoever had done the disturbing.

"I do not suffer fools."

The sarcophagus strained against its restraints. Metal screamed as the Dreadnought forced itself upright.

His voice came again, louder now, carrying through the Sepulchre with the authority of something that had once commanded warriors beneath very different stars.

"Do not make me ask a third time."

The great machine leaned forward.

"How long this time?"

*****

Dreadtober 2026 is about to begin, and preparation work on my entry has begun.

I managed to find one of my miniature collecting Holy Grails for a surprisingly decent price on eBay.

Released by Forge World in 2007, their Dark Angels Deathwing Venerable Dreadnought was one of my favourite models they ever produced. It also combined two things that, at the time, made it almost impossible for me to resist: an older Forge World design and my favourite Chapter.

This was back when the Dark Angels were still labouring under their 4th/5th edition codex, which was... let's be charitable and call it limited compared to what would come later.

Codex creep. Always a thing.

When he arrived, he had been roughly sprayed with grey primer, some of which had already flaked away from the plasma cannon.

The first job was therefore stripping and cleaning him, followed by a bath in warm soapy water. Once he was clean, I began separating the model into sub-assemblies so that I could actually reach the awkward parts when it came time to paint him.

The base was a little more..."interesting".

A Chaos Space Marine had been half-pressed into what I can only describe as model railway ballast embedded in interior filler.

Spackle, for the Yanks.

The Mk.IV feet had also been pressed firmly into the same material and were, for all practical purposes, part of the base. There was no sensible way of removing them without risking damage to the model, so I decided to work with what I had.

Some careful work with clippers and files, followed by cork rocks and my usual mixture of sharp builders' sand, has produced something much more presentable. The legs are now glued into position and the base is ready for painting.

The torso arrived with the ribbons, loincloth and iron halo unattached.

I have plans to add a few more details to the sarcophagus, including some 3D-printed candles and a banner, although those will have to wait until the second half of the month before I can print them.

The arms have been their own little modelling project.

The plasma cannon is thankfully a single main piece, but the power claw is an assembly in itself. Each individual claw is separate, followed by the fist, wrist, elbow and finally the shoulder connection.

It is very much a product of its time.

Le sigh...

The question now is what colour he will be.

The obvious choice is the classic Deathwing bone-white armour, which would suit the model perfectly.

Alternatively, I could go for the more traditional Dark Angels Green, with bone-coloured details.

Or there is a third option.

Legion Black.

The First Legion's black armour would suit this old Forge World design remarkably well, particularly with bone and Calibanite green details picked out across the model.

But there is now a fourth option.

Deathwing Companion.

Black armour, red details, and either dark green or deep purple robes, with a single section of the armour painted bone-white.

The idea would be that, long before his interment, he served as the sworn protector of an important officer of the First Legion. During a battle, he took a potentially fatal blow intended for his charge and survived.

The injuries eventually left him with little of his original body intact, and what remained of the warrior was interred within the sarcophagus of a Dreadnought.

But the ancient tradition of the Deathwing demanded that the sacrifice be remembered.

A section of his armour was therefore painted bone-white, marking the blow he had taken in defence of his charge.

Not the colour of the entire warrior.

Not the livery of the modern Deathwing.

A single mark of honour, earned in blood.

There is an almost eerily appropriate precedent for this in Idravain Mors, a Deathwing veteran who took a shot intended for his commander, later shielded his Praetor again from Konrad Curze, and was eventually recovered from the battlefield and interred within a Dreadnought sarcophagus.

I'm currently undecided, but I'm leaning towards the Deathwing Companion scheme.

Black armour.

Red details.

Dark robes.

And one section of ancient armour, bone-white.

Perhaps, somewhere beneath all that iron and machinery, there is still a warrior who remembers exactly why it was painted that way.

For now, the important thing is that one of my Forge World Holy Grail miniatures is finally sitting on the painting desk.

And Dreadtober 2026 has begun.

Until next time, have nice day...

The Lupercal's Eyes - Black Legion Havoc Squad.

The Lupercal's Eyes

The assault was going well.

That was the first thought Varek Saul had as he stepped over the corpse of a hab-worker and onto the roof.

Below him, the Black Legion forces flowed through the ruined streets in black and gold waves. Cultists surged ahead of them, shrieking and firing wildly into windows and doorways, while packs of horned beastmen bounded through the rubble on cloven hooves. Behind them came the Legionaries, disciplined and deliberate, advancing through the chaos they had created.

Saul looked back across the three adjoining city blocks his men had taken in their advance.

They had chosen their position well.

The building formed a natural firing platform above the surrounding streets, the upper floors overlooking the avenues from three directions. The Havocs had stripped away the last defenders within minutes. Saul moved through the darkened rooms behind them, putting down anything that still moved while his men hauled their equipment upward.

Now the roof belonged to them.

Four massive lascannons stood at its edge.

Each was connected by thick cabling to the powerplants mounted across the Havocs' backs, the conduits pulsing faintly beneath their armour as the weapons drew upon their reserves. The ancient systems hummed with barely contained power.

Saul watched one of them fire.

The beam crossed the street in an instant.

A Chimera vanished beneath it.

The vehicle's forward armour turned white-hot before the entire front third of the machine erupted, throwing burning wreckage across the road. The vehicle behind it slammed on its brakes, trapping itself in the narrow avenue.

Three more lascannons traversed.

Three beams struck.

The Imperial column disappeared beneath a succession of concussive explosions.

Saul watched through the smoke.

"Good."

Another vehicle attempted to reverse.

The four weapons tracked it independently.

The first shot crippled it.

The second killed it.

The third and fourth struck vehicles further back in the column.

There was no cheering from the Havocs.

There never was.

They simply moved to their next targets.

*****

Hopefully I have a game of 5th edition arranged for a few weeks time. 

Why a few weeks? 

I hear you ask.

Well, life is busy, also I don't live close to anyone whom I know (and importantly like enough to invite to my house) who plays wargames, and there is only so my solo planning i can do*.

*old wives tales say thay if you play by yourself too much you'll go blind!

So with that thought in mind, I decided to finish off a few things, and then a couple of nights before decide what army I am taking to Element Games Stockport.

Be that my Orks, Tyranids, Death Korps or perhaps some Chaos Legionaries!

We'll see...

Importantly though I have gotten this particular unit finished and off the painting table.

Varek Saul and the Lupercal's Eyes are a veteran unit of Lascannon toting Havocs**.

**I would like to take this moment to point out that they are completely illegal to play in any modern format of the game. Given that every unit GW makes is now "Box Locked" to whatever weapons or combination it comes with on the sprue...grumble grumble.

EDIT: It has been brought to my attention, by my friend Duncan, that this statement is in fact incorrect.

Duncan plays 11th Edition and, upon reading the above, decided to actually check. He plugged the unit into the army-building app, selected four lascannons, and was rewarded with the big green tick informing him that, yes, apparently the unit is completely legal.

So there we are.

Live and learn.

I'm still not playing 11th.

So anyway, Saul here pulls double duty until.i can build another champion.

He is normally my Aspiring Champion for the force, hence his ragged cape, made from.a chopped up Nighthaunt Chainrasp.

His banner, a remnant of the 16th Legion, was 3D Printed, and I painted it in that classic 2nd/3rd edition art style where the eight pointed stars would be yellow, not gold***.

***this also makes sense from a painting perspective, as the gold we use is far too metallic to represent gold thread.

The four Havocs of his unit were a rescue purchase from Mirfield Miniatures for a bargain, but definitely needed some.TLC to bring them up to snuff.

The crimson panels across the unit match my Chaos Lord for the force whom i painted a while ago.

Maybe I should have gone for Sons of Horus Green instead, but I like the contrast of the red, giving very 2nd edition vibes.

The Lupercal's Eyes aren't simply another Havoc squad. They're one of the oldest surviving elements of Zhal's warband, veterans of the XVI Legion who have followed him from the end of the Heresy and into the Eye.

They're the sort of unit I imagine Zhal deploying when something absolutely, positively needs to stop moving, we'll see how they perform**** on the tabletop when/if I manage to get my game.

****Hopefully they don't suffer from Freshly Painted Model Syndrome. Not that I'm superstitious or anything but Freshly Painted models ALWAYS tend to perform badly on their first outing.

The same as new dice, which often end up in Dice Jail.

Next is a five man unit of Chosen and the last Marines to bring my two Chaos Marine units up to ten men each.

*****

Saul turned away from the slaughter and walked the perimeter.

He carried no lascannon himself. His armour was instead configured for command, communications and close combat, leaving his four warriors to operate their weapons without interruption. The enormous power cables snaking from their backpacks made the arrangement cumbersome, but these men had been doing this for longer than most Imperial worlds had possessed their current names.

Saul had learned long ago that his place was not behind the gun.

It was behind his men.

He reached the western parapet and looked down.

Something moved between the buildings.

Then another.

Then dozens.

Imperial infantry.

They were gathering in the streets below, emerging from alleys and shattered hab-blocks. More were arriving from the rear, filling the avenues until the mass became impossible to mistake.

Saul watched them for several seconds.

A counterattack.

He turned towards the nearest Havoc.

"Keep firing."

The warrior didn't acknowledge him, he didn't need to.

Saul activated his vox.

Static crackled in his ear, followed by the distant roar of battle.

"Vhal."

A pause.

Then the reply.

"Saul."

"Enemy infantry massing on my western flank. Close to a hundred souls, perhaps more. They're forming for an assault."

He watched the Imperial soldiers begin advancing through the ruins.

"They've seen us."

Another lascannon fired behind him.

The beam punched through the distant street, catching an Imperial command vehicle as it attempted to move into position. It detonated beneath the impact.

Saul smiled faintly.

"Correction," he said into the vox.

"They've seen me."

Vhal's reply came through the static.

"Can you hold?"

Saul looked across the roof.

Four ancient Sons of Horus veterans stood behind their weapons, the old power systems humming and the remnants of the Lupercal's banner snapping from its pole.

Beyond them, an Imperial force was coming.

Saul licked his lips and drew his sword.

"Of course."

He paused.

Then glanced towards the vox.

"But I'd appreciate some company."

*****

As always, have nice day...

Atlas Seventeen - Imperial Armour.

Three and a Half Miles

The Demolisher had stopped moving at 1643 hours.
It had taken a direct hit somewhere forward of the left track, and the explosion had torn away two road wheels, buckled the track assembly and driven half a metre of ferrocrete into the hull. The tank had lurched sideways, slewed through the ash and come to rest beneath the broken shell of an Administratum transit station.

Its gun was still pointing towards the enemy.
That was why its company commander had not ordered it abandoned.
The other Demolishers pulled back around it, engines growling as they formed a ragged defensive crescent amongst the ruins. Their sponsons and demolisher cannons traversed outwards. Infantry spilled from Chimeras and took firing positions behind shattered masonry. The vox became a snarl of range calls, ammunition reports and shouted warnings. Somewhere beyond the smoke, something large fired and the entire street shook.

Then the Atlas arrived.

It came forward alone, heavy bolter barking as the driver picked his way through the wreckage. The recovery vehicle looked absurdly small amongst the Demolishers, but the crew did not seem concerned. The commander stood half out of his hatch, one hand gripping the edge of the cupola as he watched the disabled tank.

"She's still alive," he said.
The driver looked at the wreck.
"She's a Demolisher."
"That's what I said."
They went to work.

The first chain took four minutes to secure. The second took seven. The third had to be dragged through a gap in the rubble while fragments of masonry fell around them. The Atlas reversed until the recovery boom hung over the Demolisher's shattered rear quarter...its engine screaming as the winch strained against the weight. The crew of the Demolisher remained inside their vehicle throughout, feeding information over the vox while the Atlas crew worked outside.

Every few seconds, someone fired.
Sometimes it was one of the surrounding Demolishers.

Sometimes it was the enemy.

Once, something hit the ruins less than thirty metres away and showered the Atlas with powdered masonry. The driver flinched. The commander did not. He simply watched the cable.

"Again," he said.

The winch groaned.
The Atlas dug itself deeper into the ash.
For several seconds nothing happened.

Then the Demolisher moved.

It came reluctantly, dragged inch by inch from the wreckage, its ruined track carving a black trench behind it. The Atlas strained forward, tracks biting into the broken ground. The defensive cordon tightened around them. Demolisher cannons fired over the recovery vehicle, great hammer-blows of sound that shook the Atlas's hull.

Three and a half miles.
That was all the distance between the battlefield and the motor pool.
Three and a half miles.

The commander would later remember it as the longest journey of his life.

They crawled backwards through the industrial district, towing seventy tonnes of crippled battle tank behind them. Every corner became a problem. Every crater threatened to swallow the Atlas. Every sudden burst of gunfire made the crew of the Demolisher wonder if they were going to be abandoned after all.
But they kept moving.

The front line slowly receded behind them.
Smoke became haze. Gunfire became distant thunder. The ruined manufactoria gave way to prefabricated workshops, ammunition stores and the familiar barricades of the rear area. At last, the Atlas crossed the motor pool perimeter and the recovery crew heard a voice over the vox.

"Recovery vehicle, identify."
The commander pressed the transmit rune.
"Atlas Seventeen. One recovered Demolisher. Returning to depot."
There was a pause.
"Copy, Seventeen. Bring her in."
The commander looked at the ruined tank behind them.
"That's the plan."

*****

I've been sitting on this post for a while as I printed and painted this vehicle several months ago, just life seemed to find a way to get in the way of absolutely everything recently.

The Atlas ARV from Forge World was always a favourite vehicle they made. Not a full battleline tank, one of those more interesting vehicles which very rarely is seen on tbe tabletop.

When I found an STL for a "close enough" version, I was quick to download, get the built plate going and pull this little lot off the printer:

A selection of sandbags, spare tank tracks, storage bins and fuel drums were also pulled from the stowage collections to add to the vehicle.

With a first pass at her, adding sandbags and equipment where feasible and realistic for the crew, I had this:

The straps holding the tank tracks are made from 0.3mm plasticcard, the same as the bin holding the jerry cans.

The chain is a heavier gauge 2mm linkage I bought specifically for this project, normally on Marines I use a smaller 0.5mm linkage, but I wanted this to look heavy weight in order to tow wrecked tanks and not snap.

Some 1.2mm linkage chain can be seen holding the oil drum on the side of the Atlas.

Adding some more resin cast stowage rolls, backpacks and equipment boxes, I started with the weathering.

The accumulated mud is made from a mixture of AK Sandy Desert paste, PVA glue and sand mixed together. The mixture was slathered on around the tracks and lower hull, piling a little more at the rear of the track protectors, where naturally the dirt would accumulate as the tank drives.

The securing hook was added from misprint armour sections from another project.

Fashioned to shape and the towing chain wrapped around it securely, stowed like we do the securing chains at work.

One the painting stage started i got a bit carried away and didn't take any photos of the progress, instead skipping to the completed tank.

Believe it or not, the underlying colours are actually Mechanicus Standard Grey and Ulthuan Grey stippled on in camo stripes.

A lot of the softening comes from the later layer of Ushabti Bone and a little Pallid Wych Flesh dry brushed over the entire tank.

Then Nuln Oil and Agrax Earthshade used to create oil pools and spills from around bearing casings* and especially the top of the chain winch.

Any exhaust and radiator grille also got a stipple coat of Corvus Black, with some dry brushed above it to create soot build up.

This shows the winch in a lot more detail, showing the oily sheen i managed to create with successive washes.

I deliberately stayed away from adding any squadron or regimental markings as the vehicle is "buttoned up" with all hatches closed, I figure I can make most of my planned armour generic enough and just swap top hatches with different tank Commanders to represent Mordian, Steel Legion, Cadian regiments, etc.

Lastly, a photo with a Death Korps Commissar I painted for a challenge, to show the relative size of the Atlas. 

ATLAS RECOVERY TANK

Crew: 3

Weight: 43 tonnes

Engine: MR230 V12 Multi-Fuel

Road Speed: 34 km/h

Cross-country: 20 km/h

Armament: Heavy Bolter

Recovery capacity: In excess of 60 tonnes

Primary role: Battlefield recovery

*Better be getting that bearing changed if it's got that much of a leak! Also, I only just realised I mirrored the tank, giving the same bearing a leaky hub on each track unit. Apparently Atlas Seventeen has two identical problems.

Legally distinct enough from a GW Leman Russ hull, I think the silhouette reads as that family of vehicles, so she will fit into the army as a whole. 

*****

The Atlas finally rolled to a halt beneath the harsh lumen strips of the motor pool.
For a few seconds, none of the three crew moved.
Then the driver killed the engine.
The sudden silence was almost painful.

Haines climbed out first. His uniform was grey with ash, his face streaked with sweat and grime. He stood beside the Atlas and stared at the recovered Demolisher as though he had only just realised how large it was.
"Three and a half miles," he said.
Locke, the commander climbed down beside him.
"Closer to four."
"Feels like thirty."
Marxse, their driver looked at him.
"You walked three hundred metres once."
Haines turned.
"Four hundred."
"You complained."
"I had a blister."
That settled it, with sighs and laughter.

They left the Atlas to the depot crew and walked towards the mess hall with the peculiar loose-limbed gait of men whose bodies had only just discovered that they were no longer required to be frightened. Inside, the noise was different. No engines. No guns. Just voices, cutlery and the metallic clatter of stainless-steel trays.

The queue moved slowly.
Haines leaned into the man ahead of him and got an elbow in return. He shoved back. Someone behind them laughed. They were surrounded by maintenance crews, ammunition handlers and off-duty tankers, men and women who had spent the last several hours doing things that were dangerous, unpleasant or both, but who now looked remarkably ordinary beneath the mess hall lights.

When they reached the serving counter, the cook slapped a ladleful of something steaming onto Haines's tray.
"Next."
Haines looked down at it.
"Is that meat?"
The cook stared at him.
"Do you want it?"
Haines considered this.
"Yes."
"Then it's meat."
He moved along the line.
Behind him, the Atlas crew laughed.

Outside, the guns were still firing.
Inside, somebody asked for extra bread.

*****

We've got a mixture of some more Samurai and the Black Legion are back soon, as i (hopefully) have a game planned fornthe end of the month. 

Until next time, have nice day...

The Final Gallery - Royal Armouries, Leeds.

 

The final round of photographs taken on my recent visit to the Royal Armouries museum in Leeds.

This time it covers Islamic and Western European armours, as well as some more modern weapons.

The big opener is the Armoured Elephant, impressive, intimidating, imagine being on foot with one of these approaching...

In the Islamic cabinets, there was this set of armour which was impressive, with the full helmet.
The huge Executioners sword at the side there, the blade nicked from use. I actually turned and lifted the Mrs up, when she asked what I was doing, I wanted to see how heavy the blade was, being 2Kg heavier then her!

Like in the Samurai cases, there were armour suits and mounted warrior exhibits.

The central stairwell is ranked by row upon row of pikes, swords, muskets, breastplates as you look upwards.

Then we were in the European exhibits, most of which were provided from the national collection from the King's archives.

Edward, the Black Prince's surcoat, the Mrs having watched A Knight's Tale again (for god knows how many times already) happily told me about something she recognised more then just in passing.

There is a large historical gun cabinet, with this filigreed hunting musket on display which was owned by the daughter of Catherine the Great of Russia.

The Royal Armouries has a long tradition of providing armours and armour replica's for Television and Movie productions in the UK, and there was this interesting Vampire Killing Kit in the TV show section.

Finally, in more of a wargaming vibe, there was this rather large display of the battle of Waterloo, featuring the battle around La Haye Sainte, a wargamers dream if only we could field that many miniatures in one game...some day eh?

This is the last of the posts about the Royal Armouries, and we'll be back to wargaming posts soon once I can get back to painting.


Until next time, have nice day...