The Tale of Istarael

(More pics below)
I've been painting up my Death Company Dreadnought Brother Istarael. He's almost done. Currently on the first stages of highlighting. The base also needs to be done up. He's been a really fun project to convert and to paint :)

I also wrote up a bit of fluff on him. Please excuse the grammatical errors hehe!

I present to you, the Tale of Istarael...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Blood.


He likens it to the soul in liquid form, an ever present voice coursing through his veins. It sings when his enemies are vanquished, the ocean of their blood invisible upon his armor.



Blood..


A reminder of who he is and what he has become. Astartes. Emperor's Finest. A Son of Sanguinius. A warrior of the Flesh Tearers Chapter.



He can hardly recall his past battles and victories now. They all have become a blur, an indistinct amalgamation with the images interwoven into a fabric of water. He seeks to remember the faces of his brother marines, but the effort is like trying to focus on a speck of dust in a sandstorm.



Istarael grips his hands in frustration and anger. The ceramite armor of his gauntlets grinding against metal. A voice like bright steel pierces through the haze. "At ease Istarael. Blood will be shed. But not now." He turns and gazes upon a mask bearing the visage of death. A memory stirs. Chaplain. Jaron. Brother. Istarael relaxes his grip on the haft of his power sword slightly. Chaplain Jaron withdraws his hand and returns it to the pommel of his Crozius Arcanum.



Istarael slams his hand behind him for balance as the world around him lurches. His mind clears for moment as he recognizes the interior of a Rhino transport. The dim reddish light of the cabin illuminates other figures seated around him. All were silent yet he could sense that through their battle armor, his brothers were all tense with a seething bound rage.



The Rhino grinds to an abrupt halt. As the ramp opens, that first sliver of light melts away the crimson interior to reveal figures clad in black armor. Istarael blinks as the image of himself in blood red armor fades away. He is Death Company now. He and his brothers are The Afflicted. This is the battle that matters. The honor of his Chapter and his legacy as a Space Marine hinges upon this very battle.



"Brothers!" calls the stern yet commanding voice of Chaplain Jaron. "The enemy is in sight. They are without number. But we are without fear. For we are rage unbound!"



Jaron sweeps his Crozius in the direction of the Ork horde clambering over the ruins, thumbing the activation rune as does so and leaving a trail of crackling blue lightning.



"For the Emperor! For Sanguinius! Death to the alien!" bellows Jaron.



"Death! Death! DEATH!" roars the brethren of the The Afflicted as they charge toward the Orks.



Istarael's power sword flares into life. He hears his twin hearts beating fast, almost in tune with the crunch of his metal shod feet on the rockcrete as he hurtles towards the enemy. He hears his blood roaring in his ears singing with a wordless fury. The greenskins answer with a primal roar of their own.



And then it changed. Istarael sees the Orkish forms blurring, their bodies melting and indistinct for but a moment. The enemy are now clad in ancient power armor with glowing balefire burning through the eyes of their helmets. Istarael grips his power sword with both hands and swings it with all his might, taking off the head of the first Ork.



The Black Rage is upon the brethren. And now the Orks shall know the fury of Sanguinius.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days later...



Smoke rises from the ruins and sporadic firing could still be heard. In the ruins of Horovitz, all is silent. Green crumpled forms lie prostrate and mangled on the debris. The multitude of Ork dead only broken up by black armored forms. All unmoving.



A pile of Ork bodies stirs, then suddenly heaves upwards as a black armored form rises from it. His armor is rent and buckled in many places. The eye lenses of his skull shaped visor shattered. Joran limps forward, only one arm holding on to his Crozius, the other sheared off by an Ork power claw.



The Chaplain approaches the other black armored forms lying on the battlefield. Detecting no lifesigns, he begins to intone the prayers commending the souls of his brethren to the Emperor.



His prayer for Brother Giovan is interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the 4th Company. Crimson dust covered Rhino and Razorback transports roll in from the fog, stopping at the edge of the ruins as combat squads disembark to secure the perimeter.



The day had been won thanks to the heroism and actions of the Death Company.



Joran moves towards the sight of a black gauntlet sticking out beneath a huge pile of Ork dead. Pushing the foul smelling xenos off, he prepares his mind to pray for his fallen brother.



It is Istarael. His armor is torn and the paint has mostly been stripped off by the many blows the enemy has struck on it. There was only a bloody ruin to where his left leg had been and his right was badly mauled. His right arm appears to have been torn off, but his left arm is intact, the hand still wrapped around the crushed throat of an Ork.



Istarael stirs as Joran touches his forehead. The Chaplain activates the comm-unit in his helmet "Brother Nathaniel, this is Joran. To me."



The Chaplain is joined moments later by Sanguinary-Priest Nathaniel. "He lives." says Joran.



Nathaniel readies the Narthecium but Jaron stays his hand. "No."


Nathaniel withdraws his arm and gives the Brother-Chaplain a nod of understanding.


Istarael is borne away by the Sanguinary Priest.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


It had been a week since their glorious charge into the ruins of Horowitz. The Death Company holding the Ork tide long enough for elements of the Imperial Guard and the Chapter to flank the enemy.



Brother-Chaplain Jaron flexes his bionic arm. The replacement was fully functional and therefore satisfactory for dispensing death to the enemies of the Emperor. He is dressed in robes of a dark rich crimson, and his wounds were almost fully healed.



Brother Techmarine Seraphon walks towards Jaron. "Is the replacement giving you trouble brother?" he asks.


"No. The arm is without flaw." Jaron replies. "My thanks Seraphon."


"He awakens." the Techmarine intones. Jaron stands to his feet. "Let us go attend him."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Istarael wakes up to a darkend interior, the only luminiscence a dim red. He tries to move.



"Be at ease, my brother." Jaron's voice is calm but forceful. The Dreadnought stops moving and Jaron senses its occupant looking down towards him. Jaron places his arm of metal upon the black armor of the Dreadnought. "Blood will be shed again. But not now." he says softly.



Istarael calms down, the dim redness of the interior of the sarcophagus becoming a blanket that comforts his mind.



When the time comes, he will be ready once again. There are more enemies of the Emperor yet to be expunged.


My thanks those of you who read this far. Hope you enjoyed it, and if not at least entertained ;P


Here are some pictures of Brother-Dreadnought Istarael.


Front view.


Side view of Storm Bolter & Blood Talon.


Other view of underslung Meltagun & Blood Talon.


Rear view.


The pilot and in his new body of adamantium.

Thats all i got for today. I wish everyone a great weekend :)


EDIT:
DC Dread update.

Added eyes to the skull using some greenstuff and added some color to the base.