I have purposely avoided opening up all these boxes of miniatures and putting them all together. I've taken this approach, because I don't have the room for 50+ miniatures lying around my apartment and because I don't want to dilute the excitement of cracking open a new box. I know that once I open a box of Devastators, I'll put them together, then they'll just sit there until I get around to painting them. The incentive to get them painted diminishes because they go from "box of excitement" to "pile of minis I have to paint." This approach has come to bite me on the ass.
One of the great things about the Space Marines, as an army and a line of miniatures, is that they're endlessly customizable. You can combine pretty much any component with any other component. If you like a particular armor piece, you can use it, even if it wasn't made for that particular model. For example, I like the running legs from the Assault Squad kit. I think they make for dynamic poses. So I use them for my Tactical Squad. The running legs make them look like they're charging into battle. Especially when I attach bayonettes to the front of their bolt guns.
As I said, however, I resisted opening all the boxes I purchased, and I wish I had. I used to know the contents of the boxes by heart (because I've painted a lot of Space Marines in my time), and I thought I knew what was inside each of them. So I was looking for a particular bit for my Scout Squad which I knew I could find in the Tactical Space Marine kit. It had changed. There were new pieces in there. So I got curious and opened up all the other boxes. There were tons of new pieces in those, too. By the time I got to the Devastator Squad, my heart sank. There, on the sprue, was a new piece; one that would have been perfect for my Space Marine Captain.
Only, I'd already assembled the Space Marine Captain. Because he's part of my Terminator Squad, I assembled the model with a storm bolter and power fist. But there's an even more appropriate power fist in the Devastator Squad; it's pointing (rather than punching). It looks very commanding. So now I've got to purchase and assemble another Captain.
The rule: Always bust open all the kits and look at the pieces.
20100728
20100727
Battle Doctrine: Death From Above
The battle doctrine of the Helljumpers focuses predominantly on mobility. While the other Chapters of the Legio Astartes are well-known as angels of death for their lightning strikes, the Helljumpers have perfected the use of the orbital strike. This is not the White Scars’ focus on ground mobility, or the Raven Guards’ dependence on jump-pack assault squads, nor even the Blood Angels’ reliance on tank-centered shock tactics. The Helljumpers take advantage of the ultimate high ground -- orbit -- to such a degree that some Chapters find unreasonable and unsettling. Theirs is orbital mobility. It is for this reason the Helljumper’s adopted the motto “Strike From Space.”
A battle barge emerges from the Warp as close to the target planetary body as possible, and as close as their astropaths can allow. These psychic navigators train religiously in the task, and are considered the best in the Emperor’s armies. This ensures that the fleet either circumvents any orbital defense systems, or surprises them before they can react. Burning off speed by entering orbit at near zero lateral vector, targeting computers rapidly commence orbital bombardment. Large population centers and military targets take priority in order to crush the opposition. The pilot places the battle barge in a “ball of yarn” orbit over the planet in order to ensure no target escapes the Emperor‘s righteous fury. A good pilot can place the ship in a position to glass every surface target within the span of thirty minutes standard.
Battle brothers only deploy in order to crush any remaining resistance. These are typically targets too small, or too vital, to warrant orbital bombardment by the ship’s mass drivers. The goal is to demoralize and destroy, and the Helljumpers typically target the strongest point in an enemy’s ground resistance. Destroy the center, Helljumper doctrine teaches, and you demoralize any opposition that remains.
Scout squads deploy via Thunderhawk gunships, their primary mission to work their way into a forward position and identify the main body of opposition. Once the Master of the Ship and Master of the Drop confirms the location via orbital imaging, the drop begins. The ship’s mass drivers switch from firing solid, deuterium core slugs to launching ceramite-armored drop pods loaded with Space Marines. Inertial guidance systems, maintained through prayer and unguents by the chapter’s Techmarines, ensure the drop pods scatter as little as possible and hammer onto the battlefield with pinpoint precision. They employ teleport homers and locator beacons at every opportunity to ensure accuracy.
Witnessing a drop pod assault would be an awesome sight, were it not terrible in its wrath. Few who behold one live to tell the tale. They are the ultimate weapon of terror and surprise. Their red-hot hulls blaze across the sky with the fury of re-entry. Impact kicks up a wave of debris and heat that levels everything in its path. Then, their hatches blow, like some horrible flower blooming, to disgorge a squad of Tactical Space Marines fuelled with righteous fury. Often, they sing hymns to the emperor as they dispense his vengeance upon the wicked.
In this way, the Helljumpers seize the initiative, and define the course of the battle. Tactical Squads can quickly establish a perimeter on the flanks on an enemy force. Or reinforce a single flank and roll up along the enemy’s lines of battle. Or use the drop pods themselves to smash into an opponent’s skirmish lines and simply mill around in an amongst the enemy. They can open up a new front, in order to confuse the enemy. Or, in the case of particularly strong opposition, can reinforce a stalled advance. In short, Helljumpers can be anywhere, or everywhere.
For many a foe, a Helljumper orbital assault is the last thing they will ever see. Good that it is a thing of terrible beauty, proof of the Emperor’s divine light and divine justice.
A battle barge emerges from the Warp as close to the target planetary body as possible, and as close as their astropaths can allow. These psychic navigators train religiously in the task, and are considered the best in the Emperor’s armies. This ensures that the fleet either circumvents any orbital defense systems, or surprises them before they can react. Burning off speed by entering orbit at near zero lateral vector, targeting computers rapidly commence orbital bombardment. Large population centers and military targets take priority in order to crush the opposition. The pilot places the battle barge in a “ball of yarn” orbit over the planet in order to ensure no target escapes the Emperor‘s righteous fury. A good pilot can place the ship in a position to glass every surface target within the span of thirty minutes standard.
Battle brothers only deploy in order to crush any remaining resistance. These are typically targets too small, or too vital, to warrant orbital bombardment by the ship’s mass drivers. The goal is to demoralize and destroy, and the Helljumpers typically target the strongest point in an enemy’s ground resistance. Destroy the center, Helljumper doctrine teaches, and you demoralize any opposition that remains.
Scout squads deploy via Thunderhawk gunships, their primary mission to work their way into a forward position and identify the main body of opposition. Once the Master of the Ship and Master of the Drop confirms the location via orbital imaging, the drop begins. The ship’s mass drivers switch from firing solid, deuterium core slugs to launching ceramite-armored drop pods loaded with Space Marines. Inertial guidance systems, maintained through prayer and unguents by the chapter’s Techmarines, ensure the drop pods scatter as little as possible and hammer onto the battlefield with pinpoint precision. They employ teleport homers and locator beacons at every opportunity to ensure accuracy.
Witnessing a drop pod assault would be an awesome sight, were it not terrible in its wrath. Few who behold one live to tell the tale. They are the ultimate weapon of terror and surprise. Their red-hot hulls blaze across the sky with the fury of re-entry. Impact kicks up a wave of debris and heat that levels everything in its path. Then, their hatches blow, like some horrible flower blooming, to disgorge a squad of Tactical Space Marines fuelled with righteous fury. Often, they sing hymns to the emperor as they dispense his vengeance upon the wicked.
In this way, the Helljumpers seize the initiative, and define the course of the battle. Tactical Squads can quickly establish a perimeter on the flanks on an enemy force. Or reinforce a single flank and roll up along the enemy’s lines of battle. Or use the drop pods themselves to smash into an opponent’s skirmish lines and simply mill around in an amongst the enemy. They can open up a new front, in order to confuse the enemy. Or, in the case of particularly strong opposition, can reinforce a stalled advance. In short, Helljumpers can be anywhere, or everywhere.
For many a foe, a Helljumper orbital assault is the last thing they will ever see. Good that it is a thing of terrible beauty, proof of the Emperor’s divine light and divine justice.
20100719
My Terrible, Wonderful Idea
Finishing these space marine scouts is taking longer than I anticipated. First, I decided that I may as well put together the second squad and paint them all together. Second, I still have to drill out the barrels on the guns. Third, I want to add all those little fiddly bit that come with the kit (packs, grenades, etc.) because they hide the awkward seam between the torso and legs. So rather than an update on my project, I thought I'd share with you an idea I had late last night.
I live in NYC, in an apartment I share with my roommate. I took the bedroom, and he's converted the living room into his bedroom. We share the kitchen and bathroom. What this means is that I have no place to play Warhammer 40K. For those of you who have no idea what this means (which I find highly unlikely since this is a site dedicated to the game), playing requires a large table. I mean HUGE. Six feet by three feet, at least. Then there's all the attendant terrain -- the buildings, forests, hills, and whatnot that you put on the table to provide cover. If you know me, I don't just build my own terrain; I construct my own modular table with different terrain themes (urban, refinery complex, forward operating base, desert, forest...). My current dream is to recreate, in 28mm, the location of the last battle in Saving Private Ryan.
I simply don't have the room for all of this. The living room would be perfect, since I've packed all my other activities into the bedroom already (TV, bookcases, desk, etc.). As I mentioned, however, that room is already occupied by my roommate. I could eliminate him (read that however you like), but then I'd have to pay my $1000/mo. rent by myself. I'm certain I'm not the only one in NYC with this predicament, however. And that's where my terrible idea comes from.
See, I live in Brooklyn. Specifically Bay Ridge. Bay Ridge is a traditionally Italian neighborhood. In my youth, if you were of a certain racial distinction, you did not come to Bay Ridge lest you wanted to be chased, Warriors-like, by kids with bats and golf clubs. The neighborhood is riddled with that old Italian standby and mobster-movie cliche: the social club. I kid you not. There are five of them within a few blocks of my home. These old, Italian men rent a storefront and convert it into a clubhouse. I've looked inside a few of them (not too closely, mind you), and they all have a few card tables, a couch, a TV, and a refrigerator. They sit around all day playing poker, watching the horseraces on TV, and presumably not collecting the vig at 32 percent (or else). Why can't I do the same thing?
The plan is to get a bunch of fellow gamers with too tiny apartments together. We create a club, with dues, and a charter and all that. We fill this space with giant tables for gaming. I could line one wall with shelves for terrain pieces. Put in a couch or two. And a TV so we could all watch the kinds of movies that appeal to gamers. A refrigerator for all the Code Red Mountain Dew and Chinese takeout. There would be a place for people to paint their miniatures. Then, I'd basically sell memberships to the club (to cover expenses). It would be, for all intents and purposes, an Italian social club. Only without all the leg-breaking.
Initial problems come to mind. I would have to be there 24-7, just to make sure everything was okay. Which means I'd have to give up my day job (err, night job). So the club would have to also generate some income for Ross. Gamers are a fickle lot; I'd get 100 people to sign up for May, but none for the month of June. I could compensate by selling Games Workshop and other hobby-related products. But I'd likely have to give a discount to club members (cutting into the margins). I might be able to offset this by selling other games, like Magic: the Gathering and YuGiOh. But that leads to the slippery slope of actually opening up a game store. I don't want to own and operate a game store. I want a clubhouse where I can lay down some smack in the form of 28mm miniatures. Finally, this club would have to be located in Brooklyn, because the rents are cheaper; who in the hell will travel all the way out to Bay Ridge just to play Warhammer?
I don't know how they make the Italian social club a viable, on-going concern. Well, I do, but I don't (if you know what I mean). I've thought about asking them about it, but it would be too hard to explain to a bunch of goombas more inclined to stick an ice pick in my ear. So I have no idea how to make my terrible, wonderful idea come to life.
I live in NYC, in an apartment I share with my roommate. I took the bedroom, and he's converted the living room into his bedroom. We share the kitchen and bathroom. What this means is that I have no place to play Warhammer 40K. For those of you who have no idea what this means (which I find highly unlikely since this is a site dedicated to the game), playing requires a large table. I mean HUGE. Six feet by three feet, at least. Then there's all the attendant terrain -- the buildings, forests, hills, and whatnot that you put on the table to provide cover. If you know me, I don't just build my own terrain; I construct my own modular table with different terrain themes (urban, refinery complex, forward operating base, desert, forest...). My current dream is to recreate, in 28mm, the location of the last battle in Saving Private Ryan.
I simply don't have the room for all of this. The living room would be perfect, since I've packed all my other activities into the bedroom already (TV, bookcases, desk, etc.). As I mentioned, however, that room is already occupied by my roommate. I could eliminate him (read that however you like), but then I'd have to pay my $1000/mo. rent by myself. I'm certain I'm not the only one in NYC with this predicament, however. And that's where my terrible idea comes from.
See, I live in Brooklyn. Specifically Bay Ridge. Bay Ridge is a traditionally Italian neighborhood. In my youth, if you were of a certain racial distinction, you did not come to Bay Ridge lest you wanted to be chased, Warriors-like, by kids with bats and golf clubs. The neighborhood is riddled with that old Italian standby and mobster-movie cliche: the social club. I kid you not. There are five of them within a few blocks of my home. These old, Italian men rent a storefront and convert it into a clubhouse. I've looked inside a few of them (not too closely, mind you), and they all have a few card tables, a couch, a TV, and a refrigerator. They sit around all day playing poker, watching the horseraces on TV, and presumably not collecting the vig at 32 percent (or else). Why can't I do the same thing?
The plan is to get a bunch of fellow gamers with too tiny apartments together. We create a club, with dues, and a charter and all that. We fill this space with giant tables for gaming. I could line one wall with shelves for terrain pieces. Put in a couch or two. And a TV so we could all watch the kinds of movies that appeal to gamers. A refrigerator for all the Code Red Mountain Dew and Chinese takeout. There would be a place for people to paint their miniatures. Then, I'd basically sell memberships to the club (to cover expenses). It would be, for all intents and purposes, an Italian social club. Only without all the leg-breaking.
Initial problems come to mind. I would have to be there 24-7, just to make sure everything was okay. Which means I'd have to give up my day job (err, night job). So the club would have to also generate some income for Ross. Gamers are a fickle lot; I'd get 100 people to sign up for May, but none for the month of June. I could compensate by selling Games Workshop and other hobby-related products. But I'd likely have to give a discount to club members (cutting into the margins). I might be able to offset this by selling other games, like Magic: the Gathering and YuGiOh. But that leads to the slippery slope of actually opening up a game store. I don't want to own and operate a game store. I want a clubhouse where I can lay down some smack in the form of 28mm miniatures. Finally, this club would have to be located in Brooklyn, because the rents are cheaper; who in the hell will travel all the way out to Bay Ridge just to play Warhammer?
I don't know how they make the Italian social club a viable, on-going concern. Well, I do, but I don't (if you know what I mean). I've thought about asking them about it, but it would be too hard to explain to a bunch of goombas more inclined to stick an ice pick in my ear. So I have no idea how to make my terrible, wonderful idea come to life.
20100716
Color Scheme
Here it is, my general palette for the Helljumpers:
That'll be light grey overall, with olive drab on some of the armor plating. Terracotta, orange or yellow to denote Company, either on the shoulder pads or right knee pad (or both).
The Next Step: Primer
I've finished assembling the first squad of space marine scouts, which was a lot easier and faster once I'd realized their main limitation (see my previous post). I pretty much banged them out assembly line fashion. The biggest help, really, was the switch from super glue to plastic glue. With traditional modeling glue, you have time to make the minor adjustments you need to get the model assembled properly; moreover, it actually melts the plastic pieces a bit thus creating more of a weld. So I'm quite happy how Company 10, Squad 1 turned out. Time to move on to the next phase: Priming.
Normally, I prime my miniatures in black. I generally believe it's more forgiving as a base, because if you miss a spot it generally looks like shading and not a glaring mistake. But it's also a bitch to paint over with lighter colors like yellow and red. Games Workshop now makes something called "foundation colors" which is supposed to clear this little problem up. But I've never used them (because I got out of the hobby before their introduction) so I have no sense of how well they work. I want to expand my horizons a bit, however, and stretch myself and my painting skills, so I'm actually going to prime these miniatures in white.
The reason for this is the issue of opacity. When you paint, a little bit of the color from the previous layer shows through. That's what makes painting yellow over black so difficult, because the opacity of the yellow allows the black to show through. What it (opacity) also does is determines how bright or dark your miniature will look. So if you prime in black, you're going to get a darker or duller miniature than if you had priming in white. Since I generally paint things in darker hues, I often get figures that look indistinguished or just plain difficult to see.
With the Helljumpers, I want to go with a more traditional military look. An army in bright blue armor just never made sense to me. My palette consists of grey and olive drab, with just a bit of color to denote unit designation (1st Company, 4th Company, 10th Company). It's actually the same color scheme used for Boba Fett's costume. And since these colors are drab, I want to prime in white so that these colors really pop.
I'll be doing this on Saturday.
Normally, I prime my miniatures in black. I generally believe it's more forgiving as a base, because if you miss a spot it generally looks like shading and not a glaring mistake. But it's also a bitch to paint over with lighter colors like yellow and red. Games Workshop now makes something called "foundation colors" which is supposed to clear this little problem up. But I've never used them (because I got out of the hobby before their introduction) so I have no sense of how well they work. I want to expand my horizons a bit, however, and stretch myself and my painting skills, so I'm actually going to prime these miniatures in white.
The reason for this is the issue of opacity. When you paint, a little bit of the color from the previous layer shows through. That's what makes painting yellow over black so difficult, because the opacity of the yellow allows the black to show through. What it (opacity) also does is determines how bright or dark your miniature will look. So if you prime in black, you're going to get a darker or duller miniature than if you had priming in white. Since I generally paint things in darker hues, I often get figures that look indistinguished or just plain difficult to see.
With the Helljumpers, I want to go with a more traditional military look. An army in bright blue armor just never made sense to me. My palette consists of grey and olive drab, with just a bit of color to denote unit designation (1st Company, 4th Company, 10th Company). It's actually the same color scheme used for Boba Fett's costume. And since these colors are drab, I want to prime in white so that these colors really pop.
I'll be doing this on Saturday.
20100715
Space Marine Scouts = Fail
The past two days have seen me putting together the plastic space marine scout kits from Games Workshop. I have to say, I hate this goddamned kit.
One of the great things about the space marine tactical squad (and assault marine squad, for that matter) is that they're so poseable. You can assemble them in any pose you want -- action pose, defensive pose, running... You can combine kits to make something uniquely yours. You want a space marine sergeant with a pistol in both hands? You can do that.
No so much with the scouts. You simply must put them together in exactly, precisely the way Games Workshop wants, or they won't go together. I wanted to assemble scouts with sniper rifles without the cammo cloaks (because I didn't buy camo cloaks for my scouts); you can't do it. The non-cloak torsos don't fit on the legs that come with the scouts-with-sniper-rifle kits. You could assemble the non-cloak scouts normally, but then the arms for the snipers don't fit on the non-cloak torsos, either. I wanted to model the missile launcher scout on kneeling legs. You can't do that. I wanted my scouts to look like they were firing their weapons in an aggressive pose. Can't do that because then the torsos don't fit on the legs. And the kit comes with a chainsword for the sergeant, which is not even an option for the unit (which is odd).
You cannot combine kits in any way, either. No, you cannot model your scouts with grenades in their hands. No, you can't give them "running" legs. Conversion oppportunities are severely limited. There is a reason you see the same five poses for space marine scouts. That's how Games Workshop wants it.
I've already ruined two scout models; they are completely incapable of being assembled due to my attempts at modelling what I want for the squad. (Oh, and even though I was able to assemble the sergeant in the way I wanted -- bolt rifle in one hand, the other hand pointing -- the best I could get was a model that looks startled rather than looking commanding.) Really, in the end, GW should have just kept the models as metal.
One of the great things about the space marine tactical squad (and assault marine squad, for that matter) is that they're so poseable. You can assemble them in any pose you want -- action pose, defensive pose, running... You can combine kits to make something uniquely yours. You want a space marine sergeant with a pistol in both hands? You can do that.
No so much with the scouts. You simply must put them together in exactly, precisely the way Games Workshop wants, or they won't go together. I wanted to assemble scouts with sniper rifles without the cammo cloaks (because I didn't buy camo cloaks for my scouts); you can't do it. The non-cloak torsos don't fit on the legs that come with the scouts-with-sniper-rifle kits. You could assemble the non-cloak scouts normally, but then the arms for the snipers don't fit on the non-cloak torsos, either. I wanted to model the missile launcher scout on kneeling legs. You can't do that. I wanted my scouts to look like they were firing their weapons in an aggressive pose. Can't do that because then the torsos don't fit on the legs. And the kit comes with a chainsword for the sergeant, which is not even an option for the unit (which is odd).
You cannot combine kits in any way, either. No, you cannot model your scouts with grenades in their hands. No, you can't give them "running" legs. Conversion oppportunities are severely limited. There is a reason you see the same five poses for space marine scouts. That's how Games Workshop wants it.
I've already ruined two scout models; they are completely incapable of being assembled due to my attempts at modelling what I want for the squad. (Oh, and even though I was able to assemble the sergeant in the way I wanted -- bolt rifle in one hand, the other hand pointing -- the best I could get was a model that looks startled rather than looking commanding.) Really, in the end, GW should have just kept the models as metal.
20100710
The Helljumpers Have Landed!
I successfully negotiated a Greyhound bus and the NYC transit system to get my giant pile of miniatures home. What was amusing about the trip were the children on the subway, who could see what it was I had in my shopping bag (there were a lot of boxes). I don't believe they knew what they were, instead simply associating them with toys. There were craning necks, hushed questions to parents, and one bewildered stare. Kids are funny (maybe I should do a piece on them on my other blog).
With the boxes home, it was time to dig out all my old hobby tools. It's been awhile since I tried my hand at mini painting (some four years, I believe), so I had to root around the old closet looking for boxes. I found my Games Workshop painting station; it's a little tray with handles and spaces for brushes, paints, and tools. I find it invaluable for keeping everyting organized. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I indeed had a set of modeling files, a pin vise, and mitre box. I was thinking of buying those at Zombie Planet (http://www.zombie-planet.com/), but dimly remembered already owning them.
I tend to do a lot of conversion work on my minis. I happily saw off heads and arms, and reposition them on other figures. I can do some pretty sophisticated stuff. Sadly, I lost my small bench vise a long time ago (it was put out by Restoration Hardware, and was an actual bench vise suitable for hobbiests); I could plop a mini in it and do some extensive conversions. *Sigh*. I wasn't planning on doing any conversion work on this army, mostly in order to get the army fielded quickly, partly because this isn't as necessary with plastic kits. But now I'm thinking about arm swaps on the scouts, and that's going to involve some cutting.
I also found my paints. This was bittersweet, as they'd been lying in a box for the better part of four years. They were clearly dried out. A cursory examination -- involving me sticking my finger in the pot -- showed that it was still tacky. I should be able to recover them with patience and a little water. I have almost my entire palette, too. All I'll need to buy is the primer and fill a few holes in my color selection.
So my painting area is set up. I even gave it a go this morning by beginning to cut the pieces for the scouts off their sprues. It looks like this'll work.
With the boxes home, it was time to dig out all my old hobby tools. It's been awhile since I tried my hand at mini painting (some four years, I believe), so I had to root around the old closet looking for boxes. I found my Games Workshop painting station; it's a little tray with handles and spaces for brushes, paints, and tools. I find it invaluable for keeping everyting organized. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I indeed had a set of modeling files, a pin vise, and mitre box. I was thinking of buying those at Zombie Planet (http://www.zombie-planet.com/), but dimly remembered already owning them.
I tend to do a lot of conversion work on my minis. I happily saw off heads and arms, and reposition them on other figures. I can do some pretty sophisticated stuff. Sadly, I lost my small bench vise a long time ago (it was put out by Restoration Hardware, and was an actual bench vise suitable for hobbiests); I could plop a mini in it and do some extensive conversions. *Sigh*. I wasn't planning on doing any conversion work on this army, mostly in order to get the army fielded quickly, partly because this isn't as necessary with plastic kits. But now I'm thinking about arm swaps on the scouts, and that's going to involve some cutting.
I also found my paints. This was bittersweet, as they'd been lying in a box for the better part of four years. They were clearly dried out. A cursory examination -- involving me sticking my finger in the pot -- showed that it was still tacky. I should be able to recover them with patience and a little water. I have almost my entire palette, too. All I'll need to buy is the primer and fill a few holes in my color selection.
So my painting area is set up. I even gave it a go this morning by beginning to cut the pieces for the scouts off their sprues. It looks like this'll work.
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