Lost Names
“Your Legion, Honoured-Brother,” Seraphiel began, “no longer exists as you remember it.”
The Dreadnought stood motionless within the open arming cage. Wisps of coolant vapour curled through the candlelight, dissipating against the black iron of his sarcophagus. Somewhere in the depths of the Rock, ancient machinery groaned. The vibration travelled through the deck plates and into his chassis, a distant tremor beneath his feet.
“Explain.”
“The First Legion endured the Heresy and remained loyal to the Emperor. In its aftermath, however, the Legiones Astartes were divided into Chapters, each entrusted with carrying forward the traditions and duties of the Legions from which they were formed.” Seraphiel lowered his head slightly. “You now serve the Dark Angels, Honoured-Brother. Heirs to the First Legion, and guardians of its traditions.”
“Successors?” The word rasped through the Dreadnought's vox grille. “I serve the First Legion.”
“You served the First Legion,” Malachai corrected gently. “Ten thousand years have passed since the Heresy. The Imperium you knew has changed beyond recognition. The Emperor remains upon His Golden Throne, and we remain His servants. But the Legion you remember has been gone for millennia.”
The Dreadnought did not answer.
His red optics burned steadily, casting narrow beams across the ancient markings on his sarcophagus. Somewhere within that armoured tomb, a mind reached through the ruins of its own past. A battlefield. The roar of engines. The voices of brothers whose names lay just beyond reach.
Then darkness.
Brief awakenings. Unfamiliar faces. Strange voices speaking of wars he could not remember fighting, and centuries he could not remember enduring. Each time, the world had moved on without him.
“Your injuries were extensive,” Seraphiel continued. “The damage to your body, combined with prolonged periods of stasis, has left your memories fragmented. There are gaps in the records, and gaps within you, Honoured-Brother. The Chapter's archives record six occasions on which you have been awakened.”
“Six.”
The Dreadnought repeated the number slowly, as though testing the weight of it. His immense power claw flexed, its pistons drawing tight with a metallic clack.
“And how many of those awakenings were spent explaining the state of the galaxy to me?”
“Not all of them, Honoured-Brother.”
“An answer designed to avoid the question.”
Seraphiel offered no reply. He had learned that silence was sometimes the most respectful service he could provide.
They left the arming cage and entered the vaulted passage beyond.
The Dreadnought's first step struck the deck with a thunderous clang. Dust sifted from the overhead arches. His second footfall sent a tremor through the metal flooring, followed by the deep groan of ancient servos bearing his immense weight. Servitors abandoned their labours as he passed, their pallid faces turning towards the towering war machine. Tiny indicator lights flickered within their cranial implants.
Seraphiel and Malachai marched at either side of him. Both were giants by the standards of ordinary men, armoured warriors whose very presence would have commanded a mortal's reverence. Yet beside the Dreadnought, they seemed diminished. His sarcophagus loomed above them, his weapons hanging at his sides like instruments of execution. With every stride, the deck plates shuddered beneath his feet.
The Chaplain's crozius tapped against his greave as he kept pace. Seraphiel's mechadendrites curled close to his armour, carefully avoiding the great machine's moving joints.
“Where are we going?” the Dreadnought demanded.
“To the strategium, Honoured-Brother. The Chapter is engaged in a campaign. Your awakening was authorised because your strength may be required.”
“Then tell me of the enemy. Their numbers, their disposition, their positions. What defences have they established? What is our plan for their destruction? Where is my squad?” His voice hardened, the familiar cadence of a commander emerging from beneath the confusion. “And why am I being escorted through corridors when there is a war to be fought?”
Malachai glanced towards Seraphiel, but the Techmarine answered.
“The situation will be explained at the strategium. You will have access to the available intelligence, and the Chapter's commanders will determine where you are most needed.”
“The Chapter's commanders.” A low growl rattled through the vox grille. “I was a commander.”
“Then I expect you will have much to contribute, Honoured-Brother.”
For a moment, the Dreadnought said nothing. Then he resumed his march, his pace quickening. Pressure valves hissed as the great pistons drove him forwards, each movement accompanied by the groan of machinery that had endured centuries beyond its intended service.
The passage opened into a gallery lined with statues of hooded warriors. Their faces were lost beneath stone cowls, their carved armour worn smooth by the passage of ages. Candlelight crept across their features, throwing long shadows against the walls. At the far end stood a set of great doors beneath the winged sword of the Dark Angels.
Malachai slowed.
“Honoured-Brother, there is one matter I would ask before we reach the strategium.”
The warmth had left the Chaplain's voice. His words were measured, his skull-faced helm tilted upwards towards the Dreadnought's burning optics.
“Do you remember your name?”
The Dreadnought took another step.
Then stopped.
The last echo of his footfall rolled away into the vaulted darkness. The machinery within his chassis settled with a series of small, tired clicks. Seraphiel halted beside him. Malachai stood at his other flank, waiting.
Within the Dreadnought, something stirred in the dark.
A name should have been simple. A name was carried into battle, spoken by brothers, recorded in rolls of honour and carved into the memories of those who survived. He remembered the weight of his weapons. The stink of promethium and blood. The thunder of guns, the fury of an enemy breaking beneath the Legion's advance.
He remembered that he had served.
That he had fought.
That he had endured.
But the name itself was gone.
“How many enemy formations are confirmed in the theatre?” he demanded.
Neither Space Marine moved.
“What is the strength of our forces? Where are the breach points? What has the enemy taken, and what remains to be recovered?” His voice had become cold and clipped, each question carrying the authority of an officer demanding a battlefield report. “If I am to be of use to this Chapter, then I would know where to apply my strength.”
Malachai regarded him for a long moment.
Then the Chaplain inclined his head.
“Of course, Honoured-Brother.”
He did not ask again.
The Dreadnought resumed his march. His footfalls shook the gallery, making the candle flames bow in their holders. Seraphiel fell into step beside him, offering neither question nor consolation.
Ahead, the doors of the strategium waited beneath the sigil of the Dark Angels. A Chapter that had inherited the wars, oaths and secrets of a Legion that no longer existed.
The ancient warrior marched towards them, certain of his purpose.
Only his name remained behind.
*****
Dreadtober: Week Two Progress
Another week of Dreadtober, and more progress has been made!
Despite limited hobby time this week due to work, I have managed to sit down at my desk and put in some more hours on the Dreadnought. I am happy with where the project currently stands, and I am feeling confident about getting it completed by the deadline.
The main progress this week has been on the upper assemblies. The Sarcophagus, Plasma Cannon and Power Claw are now more or less ready for their final layers of paint and detailing.
All the parts have had their base colours applied, followed by a wash of Agrax Earthshade to bring a warmer tone to the otherwise stark black armour.
The metallics benefit particularly from this treatment, with the Earthshade helping to suggest weathering without requiring me to go to extraordinary lengths.
Sometimes a little work with the right wash can do a lot of the heavy lifting.
On the base, I have also applied the base colours to the dirt, while the fallen Word Bearer has received his own basecoat and wash.
Yes, I decided to go with a Word Bearers Legion Marine for the traitor on the base. I thought this would provide a little visual variety once the Dreadnought's legs are completed, adding another splash of colour beneath the black-armoured war machine.
The Plasma Cannon
Looking at the Plasma Cannon, you can see the highlights left by Mechanicus Standard Grey against the Corax Black. These have now been washed down, giving the armour a warmer, slightly weathered appearance.
I find that the Agrax Earthshade leaves a somewhat shiny finish, so the next step will be to relayer the black with Corvus Black, bringing the colour back up while retaining the work already done. I will then pick out the sharpest corners with selected grey highlights, while the metallic components will receive their own highlights.
The biggest job remaining on this assembly is the plasma coils themselves. However, those will be left until last, once the rest of the cannon is finished.
The Powerplant
Moving around to the rear, we can see the exhausts and powerplant.
The scrapes across the metalwork were already present when I acquired the model from its previous owner. Rather than attempting to fill them in or repair the damage, I decided to lean into it and treat them as old battle damage.
They will receive a little more attention as the project continues, but I quite like the idea that some of the Dreadnought's scars were earned long before it reached my painting desk.
The Power Claw
Moving on to the Power Claw arm, this is now more or less at the same stage as the other upper assemblies.
One of the main differences here is that I am planning to add fine white line highlights to emphasise the shape of the bone-armoured sections. These should help define the edges and bring a little more contrast to the finished piece.
The black-and-red checkerboard panel is another detail I am particularly pleased to be including. It is a nod back towards the Dark Angels Legion iconography of the Horus Heresy, tying the model into that older visual identity.
For some reason, I have always really enjoyed painting checkerboard patterns freehand. I honestly couldn't tell you why, but I have been doing them for years on my Orks, so it is nice to bring that little bit of hobby tradition across to this project.
Looking Ahead
That brings us to the end of this week's Dreadtober update.
As I mentioned previously, I am more than happy with where the project currently stands in relation to the deadline. There is still work to do, of course, but the remaining tasks feel manageable.
For the torso and upper assemblies, it is now largely a case of picking out the remaining details, applying the final highlights and finishing the individual components.
In a week or so, I should also be able to collect the candles and banner that Duncan is printing for me. These will be added to the model to bring some extra character and detail to the finished piece.
The fallen Word Bearer will receive a few additional details of his own, although I am not planning to spend quite as much time on him. Once the Dreadnought's feet have been painted, I can return to the base and drybrush the ground with my usual selection of dirt colours.
There is still plenty to do, but the Dreadnought is steadily coming together, and I am looking forward to seeing how it all looks once the separate assemblies start to come together.
Until next time, have nice day...
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