Shouting Into the Void

I'm not certain what the purpose of this blog is, or what it ever was. Even in the days when I posted 5-7 times a week, it was more of a chore than anything else. It's had reviews, poetry, short stories, painting guides... Now I think it's just me, shouting into the void of the internet. I think I'm OK with that.

In fairness to this poor blog, most of my hobbies have felt like chores at one point or another. Writing, painting miniatures, video games, all of them enter slumps wherein even a beloved game like Animal Crossing or a paint scheme that's an absolute joy to paint become grey dull things without any spark of my love for them. (Case in point, 18 Reaver jetbikes and 4 Venom transports are killing any desire to finish my Cult of Rakdos Drukhari army. Thank goodness for an airbrush and the Battle Ready painting standard...)

Anyway. Maybe I'll post here tomorrow. Maybe in another two years. Does it matter? Will civilization still be around in two years? No idea. I find it pointless to plan for a future that probably will never arrive.

The Silent Host: Magnus the Red, The Crimson King

Yeah, yeah, it's been a while. I've been busy, ok? Get off my case. Anyway, this little project has been wrapped up and a bow put on it. So let's talk about the centerpiece. Magnus the Red. Primarch of the Thousand Sons. The Crimson King. Champion of Tzeentch. Total sucker.

This model was a joy to paint. Detailed, gorgeous, I have no complaints. Except the nipple horns. Really, Games Workshop? WHY? Why nipple horns? It makes no sense. Oh, and much like the Chaos Spawn from last time, I added some ghosties to his hand and sword, because I like how it looks. Deal with it.

The Silent Host: Chaos Spawn

Ah, these guys. They were a pain to build. See. Normal Chaos Spawn look derpy. So I said to myself, "Greg, you wanted to paint some Primaris marines, and the person you play the most has like, three different armies of them. Why not make your own Chaos Spawn depicting their spirit being ripped out to serve you, rather than your opponent?"

So I did that, and it was a pain. Those ghosts? Would NOT stay together. Like balancing toothpicks on top of each other. And getting convincing-looking points where they could emerge from the Primaris marines? Annoying. So annoying.

The Silent Host: Heldrake - Yarak, Stooping to Devour

Diving precipitously from the sky onto unsuspecting prey, Yarak unleashes gouts of baleflame and rends with dreadful claws. Its cry is the shriek of tortured souls, the shadow of its wings the cold chill of death.

Those whom the shadow passes over breathe a sigh of relief, that some other mortal has been chosen to die for the delight of the once-man which motivates this twisted metallic demon.

The Silent Host: Raptors - The Jhatorat

Swooping down from the sky, jetpacks exhausting cold blue flame, the small, elite cult of Jhatorat assault troops are a remnant of the Silent Host's pre-Heresy days. Once, the Jhatorat formed only a portion of the vanguard of the Silent Host's strike forces. Now, only a single squad remains, four dusty automatons and a single sorcerous master, bound together by psychic might and undying aggression.

The Silent Host: Mutalith Vortex Beast - : Ammit, Gnawing Souls

The horrifying, mind-wrenching Chaos beast Ammit lurches across the battlefield. Raking claws, lashing tentacles...Mere physical threats pale before the writhing vortex of pure Chaos energy which emanates from the creature's back. Bolts of aether strike out, morphing and slaying whatever they touch. 

Oh, man. This model was really fun to paint. Also really tedious. But mostly really fun. Mutalith beasts are beings of pure Chaos, so getting to go wild with weird color schemes was amazing. Unfortunately, that means I don't entirely know what colors I used to get what effects...

The Silent Host: Scarab Occult Terminators - The Sekhmet

Teleport-striking from the aether with a hissing crackle of ozone, the Terminator-armor clad troops of the Scarab Occult stride forward inexorably. Their heavy plate deflects weapons fire, while their twin-linked bolters tear enemy troops to shreds. Once their steady gait has brought them within melee range, power-bladed khopeshes reap a heavy toll, slicing through bodies like wheat.

The Silent Host: Rhino-Class Vehicles

As the Rhino-class transports Nascentes Morimur and Memento Mori rumble across the battlefield, they are supported from afar by their Predator-class cousin, Omnia Mors Aequat. Once the Rhinos reach their destination and disgorge their deadly payloads of Rubricae, the Predator tank turns its undivided attention to crippling enemy emplacements.

The Silent Host: Cultists - The Saqqrati

Cultists. The great unwashed masses of thralls in servitude to the Silent Host, children of lost Prospero who fight and die in the name of a planet they never knew. Their duty is death, their strength is numbers. Bolstered equally by belief in a shining afterlife and fear of their masters, the Saqqrati are the last link to humanity the Silent Host possess. This fact does not spare the Saqqrati from being fed to the meat grinder of war.

The Silent Host: Rubricae - The Saqqrmose

Rubricae. Ghastly automatons, dust and spirit trapped eternally within a sealed armor shell. Led by aspiring sorcerers of the Silent Host, Rubric Marines stride forward across the battlefields. Unnatural silence accompanies their advance, even the explosive fire of boltguns muffled by the pallor which surrounds these liminal beings.

Rubric Marines are gorgeous models. They're also incredibly frustrating to paint. All the detail of an HQ unit, but the numbers of the Troop choice they are. Let me tell you, once you've painted thirty of these spooky bois, you won't want to paint any more.

The Silent Host: Forgefiend - Taharqa, Baring Fangs

The Forgefiend Taharqa is a fearsome sight. Jaws locked open in a constant grimace, fearsome autocannon scything down enemy troops, immolating tanks with jets of ectoplasmic energy vomited from its internal furnace, Taharqa stalks catlike across the battlefield. Woe unto the mouse.

I didn't take in-progress pictures for this model, as I'm trying a different approach. Additionally, I'd like to note the recurrence of my color philosophy. Black is a color reserved for units which were present at the Burning of Prospero. All Forgefiends postdate the Horus Heresy, and thus, Taharqa does not wear black.

The Silent Host: Contemptor Dreadnought - Heraclitus the Red-Handed

Interred within the mighty walking tomb of a Contemptor-class Dreadnought chassis, the warrior once known as Heraclitus the Red-Handed rages against the dying of the light. Unleashing simmering resentment at being denied the peace of death upon those who oppose the Silent Host, Heraclitus is a force to be reckoned with. Here's how I painted him.

The Silent Host - New Warhammer 40K Project

This is a bit of a prelude to a new project I'm going to be working on. I'm about 1/3 through painting a Thousand Sons army for Warhammer 40,000 and decided I'd like to chronicle the painting process. What's below is the overall background of the army, which informed my color choices, as well as the theory behind those colors.

For context, the Thousand Sons were a legion of soldier-sorcerers who fell to Chaos (the baddies) and now wander the galaxy fighting all manner of aliens, as well as the Imperium (the less-baddies). 

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: "Death is the wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all." 

Why So Serious?

Life’s a joke,

A nasty brutish

Buildup to a cosmic punchline:

Us.

POEM: Back-Country Prophecy

I see my life

In the broken-down, sway-back farmhouses

Of the Minnesota backcountry,

Out where no one travels

And only ghosts reside,

Murmuring might-have-beens. 

Poem: Like a Coastal Shelf

Knives as long as memory
And just as sinful sharp.
We kill our dreams
And waste our lives
Longing for them back.
The blood is dark upon our hands
And gnaws upon our soul.
Our fitful dreams
And fevered days
Remind us what we lack.
Until at last we find a hole
And hide there with a mate.
Strip a child of their dreams
And give them ours instead:
Reassembled memories with glue upon the cracks.

Poem: Caoineadh

The earth cries out beneath your feet,
It weeps to see you pass.
And while I wandered in the street,
You danced upon the grass.

I heard your laughter in the air,
It burned my soul like fire.
The sunset shone upon your hair
Like blood upon the lyre.

You passed on into shadowlands,
And left behind your light.
I wrung my crimsoned hands
For I lost you in the night.

Poem: Slow Summer's End

Heat-thick air and the scent of

   mown grass

As an old man trims golf-course lines into his
    lawn.

A lone heron over the dry-grass slough,

One circling black dot just above the vivid divide

Between treeline and sky.

Dust-motes hang in the becalmed air,

Drifting among heatlines rising

Off the neighbor's tin roof.

Save for the insects, nature is silent. 

Consume, the Journal of a Dreamwalker: Final Entries

NINETIETH TOTEMPHATHT

This almighty titan knew much, and its power consumes me. 

But for all its power and knowledge, the lingering titan-self cannot satisfy my desire. Instead I have been filled with an aching void which demands substance I cannot provide. Is this how the deiphagists feel in the end?

FIRST UNKEMSPRECHT

Today I glimpsed a mirror. I did not recognize myself. My skin was pale, and my face was not my own. What have I become?

FIFTY-SIXTH UNKEMSPRECHT

I was searching for something. Something important. Can’t seem to remember what it was. Once, though, I was a titan.

SEVENTIETH UNKEMSPRECHT

I don’t remember my name…

FIRST LUONG

My name is Akhule Otimnhir. Eons ago I ruled a thousand stars. Now, I am reborn.

Status Update

I'm not dead. Never was. Unfortunately.

I've been working on some larger projects that, combined with work, have managed to make sure I haven't posted anything on here.