I usually couldn’t care less about spoilers, but if anyone ruins this for me, I will hunt them down and slowly spread Marmite over their juicy, squishy eyeballs.

I will then eat their eyeballs, like Marmite-stained, gooey gobstoppers.

The Walking Dead, so far, is breathtaking. I’m just gutted I missed out on the episodic release system, as that seemed like it would’ve added to the anticipation.

My only problem is that it’s really reinforcing the fact that I’ve almost entirely stopped playing single-player games, the last few years. Without a really worthwhile storyline (and I realise that’s relative) I’ve been feeling for a long while that single-player games are something a little like busy work. They eat time, and I have nothing to show for it at the end. I don’t go for unlocking achievements, so that’s meaningless to me. I rarely feel some massive splurge of inspiration after a game, the way I do for a good movie or a great novel.

Curiously, I’ve never enjoyed Halo on my own, but in co-op it was always one of the best ways to spend a weekend with my friend Barney. Similarly, Civ V is an astounding motherfucker of a game, but whereas I can spend 10-hours straight on Skype, playing Civ with Ben – when I load a solo game I just feel like, well, I have other shit to be doing. I’ve clocked up about 400 hours in Civ V, and only about 15 of them were on my own.

Anyone who knows me will be well aware than I’m a fantastically insular creature. I need to spend most of every day alone, or I get distracted, tired, irritable. Even on a 40K weekend with a bunch of my best friends and funnest acquaintances visiting, when it comes to playing card games and watching movies at the end of each night, I usually need to retreat to my office and detox from the press of humanity, while they all have fun downstairs. It’s not about enjoyment, but endurance. I’ll have a great day, but the constant press of “Am I showing the right emotion of my face? How do I reply to what he just said? Why did she say that? What is he thinking?” presses in on me, sucking up the immeasurable fluid from my brain-battery. People tire me very quickly. My involvement in conversations begins high, and trickles down to almost nothing by the day’s end. My head will be too slow to think of anything to say, and I’ll be second-guessing everything that comes to mind. Far easier to stay quiet, and even better to retreat.

So I’d have thought single-player games would be one of my main hobbies (like reading is), but I think at some point over the last few years, it’s mutated into gaming becoming a largely social deal for me. Part of that might be because I live 8,000,000 miles from all my friends, so although I usually hate the phone (if my tinnitus is bad, I can’t read lips over the phone), Skype is something of a lifeline. I mean, I do practically everything alone, and prefer it that way. If I gamed alone as well, I’d never see other humans.

Some of it surely comes down to the fact that some things are better with other people. You laugh more at movies if other people are there, laughing with you. But again, that’s not all of it.

I reckon the core deal is that most single player games aren’t made for me, or people like me. Skyrim was amazing, but so light on interaction and storyline that all I could think about while playing it is how incredible it would be as a co-op game. Heading into dungeons together, one as a mage or a thief; the other as a warrior, and so on. If the game offers you no interaction to fuel the immersion, I tend to need it elsewhere. And despite Skyrim’s beautiful setting, the lore was pretty thin on the ground, and the NPCs were never anything more than cardboard cut-outs with limited scripts. So I needed other “living” characters to make it real.

Like I said, “worthwhile” storylines are relative. I can’t stand military worship games like Call of Duty or Medal of Honour, and their infinite ilk, but Transformers: Fall of Cybertron kicked me in the balls hard enough that my soul felt it. Playing through that was a moving experience: it felt literally like my childhood had come to life, caught up with me, and wanted to know if I could come out and play one last time. Presumably, after waving farewell to me, Fall of Cybertron will then vanish to go play with another kid in need of a secret best friend, or something. The same with War for Cybertron, actually. Here were the same feelings I’d had as a kid – that potency of imagination – brought out before me again. People slated the gameplay of both games. I barely noticed the gameplay of either one. I was hanging out on Cybertron, running alongside the characters as Optimus became the Last Prime; as Megatron attacked the Ark before it could reach Earth.

I literally teared up at the moment you stand on the Iacon Highway, with all that road stretching before you across Cybertron, and Optimus finally, finally tells you to “Transform and roll out.” I don’t give a shit how lame that sounds. That was the sunny days of my youth, right there. I’ve waited my whole life for him to say that to me. The immersion was masterful. High Moon Studios, the guys behind the Transformers games, recreated the emotional intensity of the best novels and movies for me, right there in that moment. Emotion. Immersion. Involvement. Feeling like you’re there. Giving a shit.

Very few other games have appealed to me on that level, or through awesome enough characterisation and storylines, in a long while. The last to do it was Half-Life II, which I still regard as the best game ever made. Before that? Knights of the Old Republic II. Before that? Republic Commando; KotOR I; Planescape: Torment; Baldur’s Gate I & II.

I love Left 4 Dead; Civ; Portal, and Halo – with other players. Specifically with my friends. And I thought Portal I & II were great fun, approaching the above games in similar intensity without quite reaching it.

But right now, I’m only half an hour or so into The Walking Dead (love the comic book style graphics, by the way) and it took insane effort to log out and get some work done. I keep thinking about saving that little girl, and the decisions I’m making with everyone I meet, and wanting to know Lee’s story, and and and and and–

And that’s a good thing. This game is stellar. It makes me give a shit.

A Tale of Five Heretics: Dramatis Personae

I – IV – VI – IX – XX

 After infinite delays, let’s talk some hobby. Specifically, let’s talk Heresy armies.

As my 40K campaign grows ever-larger, I find it’s sprawling into this behemoth that almost defies discussion. Battle reports are tough to write out, because we’ve not played any traditional battles. Instead, the fights are a matter of ad hoc narrative deciding the game. Like 5 Chaos players all using a Lord and one squad as an ambushing strike to ambush the same 1-Commander / 1-retinue counterparts on the Imperial side, representing an assassination attempt as the Blue Team’s commanders gathered on neutral ground. Another of the battles involved the Eldar, Imperials and Chaos forces beating the snot out of each other downtable, while the Adeptus Mechanicus happily shelled all three forces from the objective zone.

Smug bastards.

So it’s happening – that’s a good thing – but it’s difficult to sum up. I love the new edition. You might think I have to say that, but that’s an assumption which doesn’t take into account how often I’m in trouble with my publisher Black Library (and the powerful, nay, monolithic entity that is Games Workshop behind it). I wasn’t huge on 5th Edition; a lot of its rules reminded me why I’ve always been more of a Warhammer Fantasy player. But I digress. I love 6th Edition.

The next 40K weekend will take us to 1,500pts. Since the last meetup was an icebreaker to get everyone acquainted and learn the rules, that weekend (which will take place in my new games room: The Aaronorium), will be the real deal. I’ll be able to discuss it with a little more coherency closer to the time.

So I’ll backburner all that for a while, and talk some Heresy. I’ve set this up before, with hobby talk and avoiding author bias. No more excuses. Time to get into it.

Here’s my ragged attempt to build a Heresy army with some friends. Katie said no. Her 40K Marines are enough work. Thus, I went hunting beyond the borders of the family unit. If anyone has any mega-inspiring advice, pictures of their own armies, or any general chatter, feel free to chime in with whatever you feel like. Consider this an open book.

We’ll start at the beginning. That seems wise.

So who’s doing this with me, and what armies are we all playing?

Eddie Eccles – Tournament Player, Painter, Marketing Guy, Poet, Lover.

This is Eddie. In the future, when Eddie’s writing, I’ll use this delicious green text, right here.

A cursory Google check (or perhaps your own unpleasant memories) will reveal the uncomfortable truth that Eddie is ferociously, ball-achingly good at Warhammer Fantasy. He’s been at a bunch of tournaments where he took home every award (except sportsmanship. Ha!) and my fave story about him illustrates this point nicely. Before I really knew who Eddie was, I knew this about him: At a tournament, there was one award – a measly lone certificate out of about a dozen in total – that his team hadn’t claimed. The tournament organisers wanted to share it in a joint-first-prize situation with another team. Eddie’s team resisted this act of honest and merciful charity, pointing out that they deserved it because they’d won more games and earned more points. The organiser tried one last time, one last vain hope to appeal to the sense of kindness that Eddie had clearly left in his car.

ORGANISER: “How about we share this prize? Look, you’ve won all the others. Some of these guys just came here to play games with their collections.” 

EDDIE: “I collect trophies.”

Given my utter disinterest in the whole concept of tournaments, you’d think I’d despise Eddie for this attitude. I don’t despise him. I fear him. That’s a crucial difference.

Eddie works in Black Library, as some of marketing overlord. I’m not even sure what he does anymore, to be honest. That place is like the Webway when it comes to who’s doing what, why, and where. All I can reliably say about my publisher is that I have a dinosaur picture I need to send to Rachel, Princess of eBooks.

Eddie is fated – nay, destined isn’t too strong a word – to make the rest of us look like absolute hacks in this project. His conversions are irritatingly masterful; his painting is frustratingly superb (“Ooooh, I’m Eddie, I can fucking wet blend, lah-di-dah”), and he also paints shockingly quick compared to, say, me. But then, so does everyone in full possession of at least one limb. As we’ve discussed, I’m really slow.

Eddie’s Legion: The Dark Angels.

A picture of me hating Eddie.

Admit it, you hate him a bit, too.

His WIP Contemptor – I look at this, and I realise that I wouldn’t even go to Eddie’s funeral if he died.

Hate, hate, hate.

His first month’s pledge is absolutely ludicrous compared to the rest of us (I’ve begged him to slow down). Here’s what he had to say about choosing an army, and the first month’s pledge:

“Picking a Space Marine army is tough.

There’s a lot of choice, and they’re all awesome in their own way, (even the yellow ones). It’s not a decision to rush. Colour schemes must be considered, tactics, play style, background.

Its not like the olden days when all you had to do was pick your favourite primary colour. These days, the legions and chapters have their own identities and heroes, histories and tragedies.

When all said and done though, it still comes down to the same basic male calculus that you use to pick you favourite super hero: who would win in a fight. (its batman by the way)

The Dark Angels were the first Warhammer 40,000 army I ever collected back in the Age of Strife(second edition). To me, the sons of Caliban embody 40k like no other Legion, proper Space Marines: knights in space. Anyone who chooses to go to battle wielding a sword when perfectly functioning guns are available, must be the ultimate badass (see also, Optimus Prime and Jedi).

Also, they have those stylish robes – the Dark Angels are a legion that isn’t willing to compromise fashion for battlefield utility.

At the time of the Horus Heresy, the Dark Angels went to battle in stylish black.

Armies composed of entirely black miniatures can sometimes look less than awe inspiring on the tabletop, so I have covered my warriors in a Blessed Load-out of Imperial Neo-classical Gadgets (BLING). The Dark Angel plastic kits are amazingly generous when it comes to spare components, and I supplemented these with ForgeWorld MKIII marines, mainly for the techno-knightly look of the Iron Armour helmets.

My main inspiration for the paint scheme is going to be this awesome looking piece of Horus Heresy art by Neil Roberts. I’m going to try for some chequered shoulder pads on the units (we’ll see how that turns out).

as well as the power armoured Marines, I built a dreadnought.

I love dreadnoughts. To me, nothing sums up the gothic tragedy of 40k like a half dead hero of legend in a walking tank. This ancient champion has refused to let his near-death stop him going to battle with a sword, and now strides to war swinging a 4m long blade of calibanite steel. A weapon whose awesomeness is matched only by it’s impracticality.

The next addition to the army will likely be some vehicles (because the First Legion isn’t going to walk to battle!) and maybe some kind of character to lead the force.

Watch this space!

(the space in question being Segmentum Obscurus)”

John French – A cog in the grinding mechano-bowels of the great GW war machine. Not a particularly warlike photo, but he’s one of my closest friends, and this picture of him and his son Henry always breaks my heart a little. I don’t have any half as good of me and Alexander.

This is John French. The man who inevitably ends up chairmanning and overseeing every games weekend we have, because… well, just because. You may know him as an author for Black Library (and if you don’t, you really should), and every time I go over to Nottingham for Heresy meetings or BL events, I have dinner and drinks with John to chew over the complicated chaos of fatherhood, writing, gaming, and being married. It should be noted that he always blows the candle out on our restaurant table, in case it looks romantic and/or gay.

Or maybe he’s scared of fire? I don’t know. It could be.

John has a hand in the Forge World side of things, too – he writes material for the Horus Heresy rulebooks. When he writes here, I’ll use this rather attractive dark red font. Like so.

John’s Legion: The Blood Angels.

WIP – Blood Angel Destroyers of the Sixth Chalice. John’s promised us all that he’ll get around to drilling the gun barrels.

He has to play the Blood Angels, since I bought him a bunch of Blood Angel bitz for his birthday, effectively guilting him into a corner.

Having seen the first WIP pics of John’s Blood Angel Destroyers, I look forward to the uproar of “WHY ARE THEY WEARING SANGUINARY GUARD DEATH MASKS?” and so on. Also, John was the first to mention the sacred words: “I’m going to use bits of Mk7 and 8 armour without giving a shit in the slightest. I’m also going to convert a Storm Talon and Nephilim.”

The purist in me shudders just a little at that. On one hand, I know that an Armour Mark is something built with a thousand variations on a thousand forge worlds. The Marks we see are a template, and individual forges, foundries, manufactories and artisans will design their own versions and equivalents. I know the Space Marine Legions had hundreds of vehicles we’ve still not seen, and never will, and that in 40K that scale is magnified a hundredfold. Yeah. I get it, I really do. I love that. Scale, people. Scale.

But if I see something that’s clearly an Errant-pattern  collar without some fantastic unit description and cool lore behind it, then I’ll pop his eyes out with an ice cream scoop, and ask Phil Kelly if he wants to join, over John’s twitching corpse.

This is me. You know who I am. This unintentionally shit photo is one of my favourites, as I was trying to get the daemons and Khorne icon scenery in the cabinets, but someone said “That’s Aaron Dembski-Bowden” just before I took it, and it made me smirk/jerk, screwing up the pic.

If you’re reading this here, you probably know who I am, already. If you don’t, no worries, you’re not missing much. I drink, I write, I scowl. This is life.

My Legion: The Space Wolves.

I chose the Space Wolves for several reasons. Firstly, most importantly, tribal/clan fantasy races are my absolute Number One joy. I love the primal archetypes and shamanic mysticism of it all, as well as the deviations and variants between the noble/ignorant savage tropes. Think of the Cimmerians and Vanir in Robert E. Howard’s works. Orcs, trolls and tauren in WarCraft. The Aztecs. The Vikings. The Mongols. Slaine, the Celtic Fantasy series. The Thirteen Tribes of Werewolf: the Apocalypse. The list goes on and on, and I’m trying to be at least relatively brief. I don’t assume these cultures are better, deeper or more profound than any other, just that I find them fascinating to read and write about.

Secondly, I love the Space Wolves, because I love pretty much every Legion. The Space Wolves will have a longer wait than most Legions when it comes to bitz from Forge World, given that the next rulebook looks like Isstvan V, but they have some awesome bitz already available from GW in the basic Space Wolf pack. So we’ll see how that goes.

Speaking of packs, that’s what comes next. One of my favourite themes in fantasy and sci-fi is the feeling of a pack of characters. A coterie, a brotherhood, a warband. They don’t have to get on well, but they have to be close. it has to be them against the world.

You see it done to perfection in Robin Hobb’s writing, where FitzChivalry and Nighteyes are their own pack: it’s them back to back, against the whole world. Bernard Cornwell does it, too – Derfel Cadarn’s warband of wandering spearmen, with their shields marked by the Star of Powys in reflection of Derfel’s bride. They even have the little traditions that make these things actually matter: the warriors of the warband that went with Merlin on the hunt for one of the Treasures of Britain have five-pointed stars painted on their shields, but those who remained behind to guard their farms only have four-pointed stars. That’s what I love: the notion of a pack having its own rituals and rights of passage, unknown to most outsiders. It was a vibe I wanted to show with First Claw, and I hope to show with Abaddon and Khayon’s inner circle, in The Talon of Horus.

I really want that feeling with my Space Wolves. Every squad will be its own pack, with its own legends, heroes, traditions, markings, and rituals. I hope I can have it reflect in the models, as well as the background I’ll do for them.

Admittedly, I hesitated with the Space Wolves because – as I’ve said before – I try to avoid playing anything I write about. That’s pretty cowardly, so it’s time to knuckle up and ignore anyone who’s ignorant enough to genuinely think that implies bias one way or the other. People will always, always generate their own reasons for why other people do things, and no matter how wrong they are, reasonable discussion rarely changes anything.

I was tempted by several other Legions.

• The Salamanders, because I think they look seriously lovely on the tabletop. A dead attractive green, and I love writing about fire.
• The Blood Angels, because red is one of the few colours I can paint to an acceptable standard. And, as I’ve confessed before, they’re my favourite Legion. First among equals, at least. 
• The Dark Angels, because… so many bitz. So very many awesome bitz. Also, because of Lynn Dunlop – a reader we met at the Black Library Weeeknder – who made Alexander this freaking incredible Dark Angel Chapter jumpsuit:  

Not the best photo I’ve ever taken of him, but you get the idea. How badass is this?

On the other shoulder, it says AD-B II.

Which is, objectively, just too awesome.

For my first month’s work, I’ll stick to a modest single squad. Given that it’s Heresy-style and squads are 10-20 guys, it might actually be a quarter of a squad. But, y’know, leave me alone.

Lord Alan of Bligh. Forge World’s lead writer, the guy behind the Horus Heresy rulebooks, and quite possibly the most English man I’ve ever met. The best thing about this photo is that it looks like Alan’s sent it out to people with nothing but two kisses in the bottom corner.

This is Alan.

For Alan, choosing a Legion was something of a nightmare, because avoiding spoilers is an absolute bitch. He was originally going to do [LEGION NAME HIDDEN TO PRESERVE MY PRECIOUS CAREER], but wouldn’t even be able to show his models, because of… well, because of spoilers. In the end, he settled on a Legion that I think he’s got quite a bit to say about. I’m not sure how much will make it out of super-secret emails, but bear with me – our jobs make opening up about the hobby pretty difficult.

Alan’s Legion: The Alpha Legion.

Alan’s first WIP shot, a Veteran Squad of the Saraph Splinter.

As a point of interest, Alan ends up sharing dual campaign management roles at 40K weekends, assigned the onerous task of saying “You need 3s to hit” and “Roll anything but a 1″ about eight-hundred-and-seventy-four times a day. He shoulders this burden with a patient smile and a mug of tea close at hand (even when Katie makes him and John build three (yes, three) Rhinos and Razorbacks the night before we’re all supposed to play).

I suspect his models will come out looking second-best after Eddie’s, because Alan has a John Blanche-style of painting going on with his 40K Adeptus Mechanicus, and it looks absolutely killer.

Ead Brown – Forge World bureaucrat; Chapter Master of the Minotaurs; Happiest and Grinningest Man in Britain. Look at him doing countryside things. LOOK AT HIM.

And here’s Ead, rounding out the batch. I’ve seen Ead’s Minotaurs a billion times (and if you’ve got the Badab War books, so have you), even going up to see a bunch of them in the Citadel Miniatures Gallery at HQ. Ead’s always a sane and stable presence in my professional life, which I appreciate immensely, but he also drinks the most random shit at the Games Day after-party – and gets me to drink it, too – which I appreciate a great deal more.

He’s also informally a member of my test reader circle, and rolls his eyes every time I try to be cool and call a heavy bolter a “bolter cannon”. It’s slang, you Forge World  son of a bitch.

Anyway, Ead’s basically lovely. Getting him into this was a bit of a trial, as Ead does Minotaurs, Minotaurs, and nothing but Minotaurs. I expected him to say no, so I added him to the secret Facebook group without his permission and started acting like he’d already agreed to join in.

Guilt. A potent weapon. Works every time.

Ead’s Legion: The Iron Warriors.

So here’s Ead, in his glorious blue-grey font, saying why he chose the Iron Warriors:

I just knew he’d bring up the Minotaurs somewhere in that.

So there we go. That’s the introductions done.

—   —   —   —   —   —

January Summary

—   —   —   —   —   —

The Rules:

• Every month, a minimum of 5 models, or one Codex unit entry from Horus Heresy Legion Army List.
• Every unit and character has to come with at least 300 words of history, personalisation, and background.
• No spoilers from future Heresy releases, despite our spoilertastic jobs.
• No crying more than once a week over Eddie’s progress photos.

January Pledges:

• Eddie: 10-20 Dark Angels, 1 Contemptor-pattern Dreadnought.
• John: Blood Angel Destroyer Squad.
• Aaron: Space Wolf Tactical Squad.
• Alan: Alpha Legion Veteran Squad.
• Ead: Iron Warriors Contemptor-pattern Dreadnought.

Deadline Date / Next Post:

• Monday the 11th of February. 
• Potential Theme for Next Month’s Task: “Dreadnought Month”. Other suggestions are totally welcome.

The last Desktop Watch came at the end of my Mega-Photo Canada Update(TM), but with deadlines looming and Alexander’s first birthday party this weekend, there’s only time for a flyby teaser.

Here’re the Word.docs I’ve got going on in the January/February/March period. Hey, I never promised this game would a) Be regular; or b) Be any fun.

As you can probably guess from the background, I finished TWD. In all honesty, The Walking Dead game deserves a much better post than I’m capable of making, but I’ll give it a shot at some point. For now, let’s just say I finished it about two weeks ago, and it was one of the most intense, evocative storytelling experiences of my whole life. I think it’s won about 100 Game of the Year awards by this point, and it deserves every single fucking one of them.

I was crying so hard at the end, when I went downstairs to tell Katie it was over, I was having trouble talking and breathing. That’s not an exaggeration. It may be less than cool, sure, but it’s not an exaggeration.

As for the actual Desktop Watch, it runs a little like this:

• Howl of the Birthworld is my first Space Wolf pack, for ToFH.
• Blood & Fire (Rewrite) – A sequel story to Helsreach, where Grimaldus intervenes with the Celestial Lions before they can destroy themselves. I did almost all of it in first-person present tense, then decided I hated it, and spent three days rewriting it first-person past tense. It’s almost finished now.
• First King of Rome – Is a secret.
• Blood in the Water – A Horus Heresy Blood Angel short story, and a prequel to Master of Mankind, my next HH novel.
• The Lord Inquisitor – The current script for The Lord Inquisitor movie, obviously.

The first month of our Tale of Five Heretics is getting close to its update, and it’ll come as no surprise for y’all to learn that in the time it’s taken me and John to build and paint 5 Marines each, Eddie has painted 20, as well as a converted Contemptor Dreadnought, and managed to build a Land Raider just for kicks.  

You don’t get to know their names until they’re painted.

Alexander is 1 today. A year ago, this was happening: http://aarondembskibowden.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/dear-fuchsia-part-iiib-dear-alexander/

Excuse the pointless update, but I was just going through my Old Republic screenshots folder. For some reason, Katie and Emma are completely missing the good-time wholesome ‘family movie’ aspect of the whole deal. In practically every image I have of them both, they’re negotiating as pictured below. I think in the last one Katie’s even going to execute that motherfucker.

Meanwhile, Steve and I are peaceful, calm souls WHO ONLY STICK TO CANONICAL LIGHTSABER COLOURS FROM NOW ON, OKAY, FUCKHEAD? NO MORE YELLOW, YEAH? THANKS, MAN.

Katie’s Smuggler, no doubt pictured robbing some kind of charity that gives money to space orphans.

Emma’s Trooper, perhaps taking a moment to shoot some unarmed prisoners in the back.

And this guy’s clearly never going to see his wife and kids again.

I can hardly believe it, but I started The Talon of Horus today. The book I’ve been wanting to write since forever.

The rough plan (very, very rough, remember) is to open the Black Legion Series with a trilogy: The Talon of Horus, The Black Legion, and Chaos Ascendant. I’ve been saying it in interviews and on panels for years, and it’s such a rush now it’s finally coming to pass.

The sheer scale of possibility has had me delaying this series a few times, because it’s the story of… everything. It could last for years and years. I originally pitched it as 2-3 novels, but my editors have mentioned that it might work better as a long-running series. “Your ‘Gaunt’s Ghosts‘,” are the words being used.

The scale terrified me, the way it would terrify anyone with at least half an eye towards all the possibilities on the table. It’s the story of the Chaos Marines after the Scouring, from the first years of the Legion Wars in the Eye of Terror, right up to… well, that’s the thing. Right up to wherever I want to take it. It could go anywhere. The story of the Black Legion is the story of the Chaos Marines themselves, the Armies of the Damned, across 10,000 years of spite, sin, and war.

So. Here we go. The story of the last days of the Sons of Horus, driven to extinction by the Traitor Legions, yet reborn from the same bloodlines.

I love how even my own Microsoft Word doesn’t recognise my surname as a real thing.

The Traitors (consisting of Eddie, Alan and Ead) have hobbied and lobbied about 16,000,000 times harder than me and John on the Loyalist side, meaning that in the absence of any Blue Team information, here’s a feature-length cavalcade of good juju from the Red Team.

Me and John have got to get into gear, or the Space Wolves and Blood Angels are going to have a pretty poor showing. Part of my problem is that I’m not all that keen on my test Wolves, and I keep wanting to use all their names in a Heresy novel instead of as army background. But mostly, it’s just that Eddie’s upset me because my Marines look shit. I’ll have to man up.

Here’s this update’s Contents List:

1. Eddie’s Fallen Angels – including background text: “Caliban’s Wrath”.
2. Alan’s Alpha Legion.
3. Ead’s Iron Warriors – including background text: “Rakharyz Tactical Squad” and “Zhukar the Unyielding”.

First up, everyone’s favourite disgustingly talented asshole: Eddie Eccles of the First Legion, with his vile Fallen Angels that I’m not jealous of at all, and that don’t make me cry.

—   —   —

“It’s been a pretty busy month of Dark Angels hobby.

After furious hours of painting, twenty Knight-Legionaries and a Contemptor Dreadnought are complete and ready to kick ass and chew gum (and in the 31st millennium, shipping tithes and warp-storm interference has lead to an acute shortage of Legion approved gum).

Eddie’s full army so far.

Venerable Brother Accolon.

Accolon’s bsword ‘Caladbolg’, the Everblade of Al Baradad.

First Sergeant Caradoc and his Inner Circle Knight-Legionaries.

A close-up of the heraldic detailing all over Eddie’s hatefully perfect Dark Angels. 

The Knight-Legionaries of Squad Cadorius.

Squad Cadorius – Close-up.

“Some chump. He doesn’t get a name. He gets a bolter and stands at the front of the unit. It’s best not to get too attached to them by giving them names.” — Eddie.

Behind the scenes, there was some quite brutally polite (all very English and passive-aggressive) swaggering going on with Eddie guilt-tripping Ead into doing hazard striping for his Iron Warriors. Eddie achieved this by – of course – showing off how to do it better than any of the rest of us.

Squad Caradoc and Venerable Brother Accolon.

Anotehr shot of Squad Caradoc.

“While writing this, I’m not yet sure if the rest of the Heretical Five (that’s a rare Enid Blyton novel BTW) will have finished their pledges. My suspicion is that some of them may not have had such a productive hobby month as myself. Unlike them of course, I do not have the disadvantage of adoring children or a social life. As always, loved ones have proven a huge obstacle to productivity (unless they can be trained to assemble plastic kits and basecoat.)

I have to remember though, with this challenge, the hobby is only half the battle (the other half is knowledge as all good G.I.Joe fans know). I also have to come up with some awesome-cool background for my army, that goes beyond my usual fallback story of “Here are some Space Marines – fuck em up!”.

While in the hobby or gaming sphere, I feel i can hold my my own with the best of them, my writing credentials don’t hold up to much scrutiny (GCSE grade B!). I am, after all, in the company of a New York Times bestselling author, one of BL’s up’n coming stars, the man behind the quite excellent Horus Heresy Betrayal and Ead, who can also write words good.

Still, I will strive to do what I can. My hope is, that through spending considerable time amongst talented authors, some of their skill will have leached into me via osmosis. Much like pig-farmers inevitably smell of manure, and most nuclear scientists are slightly radioactive and sterile. It is, I grant you, a bit of a long shot.

You can read my background below, or you could just skip straight ahead and read Aaron’s much better background (which is kind of like a free HH novelette if you think about it (a novelette is created when a novel and a novella love each other very much))

So what’s next for the First Legion?

I’ve always wanted a Land Raider.

In the many Marine armies I have collected over the years, none of them have had a Land Raider and it’s high time that was rectified.”

“I’m a big fan of the new Dark Angel 40k fighter with the mini-chapel on its back, and I wanted something similar for the Raider. I kind of see the Dark Angel tanks being extensions of their Order monastery-castles back on Caliban, so that’s what I built: a rolling fortress-church with the firepower of half a company.

(I know you can’t actually put the guns that it has on a Land Raider, but so what? you’re not the boss of me, I can do what I like.)

With any luck Arrogance’s Redoubt will be painted ready for the next blog update.

If I get the time, I might even look at doing some Terminator’s by next month as well.

Aaron asked me to slow down a little, but I’m just going to carry on painting even more stuff to make him look bad.(sorry Aaron). 

Until next time – Eddie.”

—   —   —

Caliban’s Wrath:

High Castellan Yvain paced the corridors of his ship. There was nothing else to do. Along the grand avenues of Caliban’s Wrath, his slow footfalls were heavy echoes in the reverential silence.

 Three months.

 Three months since the 25th Knights Company of the Dark Angels had last seen battle. If you could call it a battle.

Even pacification was probably to strong a word. The extermination a lost colony of humanity, clinging to an inhospitable rock on the wrong side of nowhere. They had refused to be enlightened, so they had been destroyed. The human inhabitants of Al Baradad had fought bravely, and against most invader’s that might have been enough. But against the Emperor’s Angels, the outcome was never in doubt. They had died to a man. Would he have done differently? If the Lion had opted for war against this new Imperium rather than brotherhood. Would he not have fought and died for his home? for Caliban? he knew the answer, and it did not sit well with him.

 Three months since that battle.

Not a bolt fired in anger or a foe to match blade against. The 312 Legionaries aboard Caliban’s Wrath kept busy as best they could: the training cages rang with the clash of black steel and distant echoes of the firing range could be heard across half the ship. Nothing outwardly had changed, but a dark foreboding had settled across the ship during it’s painstaking crawl back towards civilisation. 92 days of blindly stumbling through a turbulent warp until being spat out, time and again into the silent vastness of the void. Freak warp storms had made what should have been a simple trip back to Imperial space into a gruelling ordeal for the ships navigators.

 But the journey back from Al Baradad had not been without incident.

 While passing through the althorn cluster, the Wrath of Caliban has stumbled upon the crippled Ravenguard battleship Shadowfall. The Dark Angels had naturally offered aid to the  stricken vessel. In response, the Ravenguard ship had fired up its warp drive and made an immediate jump. Why the crew of a Legion ship felt that such action was necessary was a  serious cause for concern. A concern that several of his officers had voiced. He had no answers for them. Castellan Yvain had a horrible suspicion that not all was well in the Galaxy, but with the apparent inability of his astropaths to contact anyone who wasn’t standing on the same room as themselves, it didn’t look like he would have answers any time soon.

 The vox buzzed into discordant activity.

 ”Castellan”

 The distorted voice of First Knight-Seargent Caradoc crackled to life in his ear.

Yvain reached a hand to his helmet-mounted receiver.

 ”Report, brother.”

 ”I’m in the Librarium. It’s the Archivist. I think you need to get here right away.”

 …….

 The Archivist was the longest serving member of the First Legion’s Librarian Corps. He was as old as anything could be in this new age, and his body was wearied as much by time as by the ethereal powers that had drained his vitality in exchange for the power of the warp. He seldom wore his armour out of battle, and instead adopted the simple robed attire of a scribe. His hair was long, a silvered main that framed a face as ancient as the rock of Caliban.

 All of this, Yvain had seen before.

But the screaming. That was new.

The Archivist pulsed with power. Two Knight-Legionaries were doing their best to hold him, but waves of invisible force buffeted everything around him, it tore books from their shelves, and sent servo skulls clattering across the room.

His eyes were fire. Golden orbs of psychic power that bled pulsar light. His voice was a void cry of despair.

“He’s been like this for ten minutes”

Knight-Seargent Caradoc addressed the Castellan as he entered.

Yvain strode over to the struggling Librarian. Caradoc moved in beside him, a hand wandering to rest on the pommel of his sword.

“Brother, what is happening to you?”

The Archivist turned his head jerkily to regard the Castellan. Slowly, the thrashing stopped and the screaming died away. He held the Yvain’s gaze with eyes that faded slowly from a solar flare to oceanic green.

Then he spoke, and his words were a choir. None of the voices were his.

“Hear me, brother.

Our Imperium is undone.

The Lion will fall, the sword will shatter and we will be lost.

The carrion’s call will bring death to us on wings of bone.

Let all loyal sons of Caliban return to her, and we may yet save her soul, and with it, our own.”

The Archivist’s head slumped and silence reigned, broken only by the ragged breathing of the ancient Librarian.

Seconds passed.

Knight-Seargent Caradoc was the first to speak.

“What was that about?”

Yvain regarded the unconscious figure of the Archivist.

“I do not know brother, but I think we need to get back to Caliban. Right now.”

—   —   —

—   —   —

So, that’s Eddie’s immense contribution. He has a lot more on the go than that Land Raider, but that can wait until next time.

Next in line is Alan, with his Alpha Legion. He’s less of a talker than Eddie. Alan, like me, is knee-deep in the dead, fighting back the Deadline Beast. It makes him terse and, dare I say, more heroic. More authorly.

He also has the fine excuse of screwing his arm up recently, and being busy at work on the next book in the Horus Heresy range, following on from Betrayal.

Terminator Harrow: Dagon Sigma.

Another shot of Terminator Harrow: Dagon Sigma.

Nuran Lorne, Master of Signal.

Alan’s been busy, as you can see. Alan takes bad photos, as – again – you can see. Alan paints very well, as you can’t see, due to Point #2.

Destructor Harrow: Calix Kappa

—   —   —

And to round things off with yet more shamefully significant progress, the mighty Ead (he of Forge World’s Minotaurs fame). He’s been Iron Warrioring like a boss, using these bad boys in some official playtesting, as well as getting a bunch of shit-hot thematic background text done, too.

Ead and Eddie are plainly kicking all our arses to heck and back.

Dreadnought Malbeus.

Dreadnought Zhukar the Unyielding, showing off his Kheres assault cannon’s heat bloom.

The first Rapier of Digamma-Omicron-Zero-Mu Battery. “I’m chuffed with that guy’s grumpy face.” — Ead.

Child of Thunder, Deimos-pattern Predator Executioner.

Child of Thunder, Deimos-pattern Predator Executioner.

Child of Thunder, Deimos-pattern Predator Executioner. “With hazard striping, just for Eddie.” — Ead.

Rakharyz Tactical Squad. These guys have their background plotted out – see below.

Rakharyz Tactical Squad: The I Tactical squad of the CMLXXXVIth Grand Company, Rakharyz Tactical Squad has long been a keystone of Warsmith-General Mitras’s battlefield success, and the squad has stormed ramparts and breaches both human and xenos alike in their Crusade to reunite the scattered fiefs of humanity.

Traditionally, the sergeant of Rakharyz eschews the more esoteric weapons of the Iron Warriors in favour of the trusted bolter, and the high-capacity box and drum magazines used by the squad are something of a signature. Their method of war is to obliterate the foe beneath a merciless storm of accurate bolter fire and a punishing advance, and while every shot is made to count, it is not uncommon for the members of the squad to expend thousands of rounds in any given engagement. The squad habitually refuses a Rhino, operating constantly at or close to their full strength of twenty battle-brothers through greatly-expedited implantation and hypno-indoctrination procedures, and the apothecarion’s grafting of augmetic limbs to charred stumps and replacing ravaged nerves with micro-fibre cabling. They embody the IV Legion’s doctrine of unyielding advance and concentrated firepower, breaching strongpoints and redoubts with their dogged stubbornness and brutal volley fire. The unforgiving nature of their chosen role means that few engagements end without injury to the brothers of Rakharyz. 

Their bloodiest undertaking was the destruction of the Nozhetarushi, the Technomancers; a human civilisation that unrepentantly made war against the CMLXXXVIth Grand Company and their Crusade fleet. Scattered across a handful of worlds, the Nozhetarushi utilised hideous and blasphemous technologies; machines guided by abhorrent intelligences that did not require symbiosis with man to operate. A long and brutal campaign ensued, and finally only a single world remained in the hands of the misguided Nozhetarushi. The Imperial Army cohorts of the 986th were scattered before the punishing firepower of the terrible sentiences that served as warriors, and with the line beginning to crumble, Rakharyz marched forward, bolters braced tight to shoulders. The massed fire of the Nozhetarushi flailed at them, casting Iron Warriors from their feet, yet Rakharyz took not a backward step; their fallen rose and took up their bolters in bloodied hands. As soon as they entered bolter range, a great volley rang out, many of the battle-brothers firing with a single hand due variously to the loss of their limbs, or the need to bear their wounded fellows. For over a kilometre of shattered ground, the squad advanced, firing a volley with each stride, their shells blasting apart the mechanical warriors that stood against them, until they stood even unto the heart of the last redoubt, the ruin of their foes smote upon the rubble about them in shards and rags both artificial and biological. Sergeant Zhestok himself, one arm torn from his body and his war-plate haning in shreds about him, planted the Aquila through the chest of the last lord of the Nozhetarushi, and declared the Technomancers destroyed. Eighteen members of the squad were rated unfit for combat following their assault into the breach, and it would be seven compliances before Rakharyz stood at full strength once more.

Spirodon Tactical Support Squad.

Venerable Brother Zhukhar the Unyielding, entombed within Ferrus Pertinax.

Zhukar the Unyielding: Brother Zhukhar stood alongside Centurion-Marshall Uborevich in the Emperor’s name, purging heinous agri-cults in the Nordafrik Conclaves and debased data-warlock tribes in the ravaged cities of the Francks, earning a reputation for unerring marksmanship, cold strategy and merciless humours.

When the Wars of Unification became the Great Crusade, the CMLXXXVIth Grand Company voyaged far from Terra and their Legion brothers alike, reclaiming world after world from the clutches of Old Night. They fought xenos predators and tainted petty-fiefdoms alike, and always did Zhukhar form the tip of the Iron Warrior’s spear, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Tauromanch; matching his commander’s hammer blows with brutal firepower. Upon the benighted world of 15-986-22, the Iron Warriors stood against a nameless xeno-kind, strange creatures that took the forms of others to disguise their own, armed with beam weapons of an unknown design. The fighting was cruel and constant, and casualties were high, forcing the Iron Warriors to construct long chains of redoubts and fortifications to house their supplies and for their Apothecaries to minister to the wounded.

The largest of these was ringed with many-layered defences; bunkers and trenches in an impenetrable pattern, and it was here that Zhukhar’s command came under an attack in unprecedented strength. The xenos-breed seemingly ignored the defence lines, attacking directly into the central keep and seeking out wounded Space Marines with blasphemous vigour. Zhukhar ordered his brothers to withdraw, personally forming the rearguard and pacing steadily backwards. His rotor cannon burned red-hot with his ceaseless fire, and the alien beam-weapons inflicted terrible wounds upon him.

Zhukhar cared not and despite his torn flesh managed to overload the great antomantic arc-reactor that powered the keep, outnumbered hundreds of times over. The resulting blast engulfed the majority of the xenos force, and Uborevich the Tauromanch was able to isolate and destroy the remainder with ease. Zhukhar’s remains, blind and horribly rent, were recovered in the midst of the shattered keep and by some fluke chance life still burned in him.
The Contemptor-pattern dreadnought Ferrus Pertinax had recently been delivered to the CMLXXXVIth by the Mechanicum Forge-Barque that accompanied the fleet, and Zhukhar – already being called The Unyielding for his stubborn and uncaring defence – was entombed within it. The weapon he so often fielding in life was replaced with an early-pattern Kheres assault cannon, and restored, Zhukhar yet stands alongside his Centurion-Master in war undending.

Centurion-Marshall Uborevich, named ‘Tauromanch’ for his brutal pogroms against the agri-cults of Europa and the Nordafrik Conclaves during the Unification Wars. Siege-Breaker of the CMLXXXVIth Grand Company.

Well, because you asked so nicely (and as a reward for 5,000 Likes on Facebook), here’s the cover for The Talon of Horus.

Don’t say I never give you anything.

A video I made for distant friends and family, showing a bunch of photos and footage of Shakes in his first year on this wonderful world we call Terra.

It’s my first ever attempt to edit a video together (which is polite-talk for “Amateur as fuck”) and it took me about 4 hours to do. As Alex’s photos are still spread across 800 computers belonging to several people, there are a lot of family members and events that didn’t make it into this, but I did my best with the photos I had in easy reach.

I tried to thread a narrative through it, with photos on the verses and video on the choruses, telling a little tale and speeding up as it goes along.

Excuse the black bars early on from my phone being vertical. I was young and reckless. Looks best in 1080p and full-screen, natch.

I get asked about writing advice all the time, and all the time I refuse to give it because there are others out there doing it better, with far more qualifications in that regard.

But I’ll tell you a story. A story I don’t like thinking about, and don’t often tell.

First, go watch this. It’s a trailer for a movie called Captain Harlock: Space Pirate.

Go on, watch it. I’ll be right here waiting.

I hope you watched it. Now here’s my story.

In 2012, I was a guest of dubious honour at the SFX Weekender. Anyone who knows me well also knows that any time I’m in public it’s automatically the worst day of my life because of that very reason, but even for the barely contained flesh-host of anxieties that the world calls Aaron Dembski-Bowden, that was a particularly tough convention. It lasted several days. There were thousands of people. I had a deadline. People kept recognising me while I was walking to the bar, or taking a piss, or trying to think.

I know, I know – First World problems / it’s such a hard life, etc. I’m not complaining; I’m not saying my life is terrible. My life is awesome. I’m just giving context.

I’m a very private person, held together by white lies and black thread, and I was already in a state of acute discomfort when it came time to sit on a Space Opera discussion panel with three of the best and most famous writers in the science-fiction genre. I was one of five authors asked to be on the panel – and while I’m kinda used to Dan Abnett now (we harass each other over Skype and email often enough), sitting with him on a panel with Alastair Reynolds and Peter F. Hamilton was nothing short of skull-fuckingly terrifying. I can recall being this scared only two other times: my driving test, and the Black Library Weekender 2012 quiz show, when everyone cheered at the announcement of my name.

At the SFX Weekender, the panel I was already dreading started off with one of the other authors inviting another writerly friend into the group. Which meant there wasn’t enough room at the table. Which meant the last person in line one was left slightly in the shadows, off the edge of the table. This, of course, was me. I could’ve solved it with two seconds of “Can you shuffle up a little?” but I was concentrating hard on trying to look like a normal human being, and not a poor copy of one that was having trouble breathing. I pulsed telepathically to Dan, telling him to notice that I looked like some kind of shadowy loser, and move everyone along on my behalf, but Dan was too busy being effortlessly cool.

Here’s a picture of the scene itself, that I can scarcely bring myself to look at.

I remember practically nothing of what I said, and I don’t really care. What should’ve been one of the coolest moments of my career was an anxiety-blighted nightmare, and getting to meet two of sci-fi’s best and brightest writers (whose work I’d been reading and loving for years) turned into an hour-long war not to get up and go back to my room to hide in the current Word.doc, shielded by my headphones.

I do remember, much to my torment, opening with a pointlessly defiant defence of “why I’m writing tie-in fiction”, citing how the money was so good, as if: a) I’ve ever done this for the fucking money, or b) Any of the people at this table gave a shit about that, or c) Anyone had mentioned it in the first place. I quite literally opened with a knee-jerk lie about myself, nothing to do with the topic, because I felt so defensive. Representing yourself poorly is often a side-effect of serious anxiety issues, and of course, in a beautifully dark cycle, people’s opinions of you are one of the things you get most anxious about. But I don’t want to go into my headspace too much. It’s not hugely relevant.

After the panel ended, Dan got up, smiled and said something that I no longer remember, then swanned away Dannishly to his Next Thing. I had a Next Thing as well, but I could barely move. Alastair Reynolds, Peter F. Hamilton, and the others grouped together, talking on the other end of the table – and why wouldn’t they? They were friends and colleagues, after all. I could’ve gone over to them and insinuated myself in their circle, but I was too shaken, and too self-conscious. Their circle also reminded me unpleasantly of when I’d been in India as a kid, and seen a pack of vultures surrounding a dead dog.  You couldn’t see any of the birds’ faces, just black shoulders and black wings, as they picked at what remained of the carcass in their midst. As an idiot kid amazed at how dense this flock of creatures was, I picked up a rock and threw it at the locked wall of vultures. It wasn’t much of a rock, and it bounced harmlessly off one of the birds’ wings, apparently unnoticed. But it was like a rugby scrum: there was no way in or out of it.

There was nothing confrontational or exclusionary about the authors’ huddle, but that was how I felt just seeing it. I saw the vultures again, which put a shitty capstone on an already shitty morning.

I remember, very clearly, wanting someone to come up to me and start a fight. If they did that, then I could hurt them and it wouldn’t be my fault, since I’d not started it. I wanted something else to be damaged for once, instead of myself. I wanted externalisation. Expression. Blunt and stupid as it was.

In a moment that ranks as one of the Top Ten things I’m most grateful for in my entire life, my friend Mark (better known to the world as author Mark C. Newton) came up to me and smiled.

“That went well,” he said.

Reality returned with those words. Back to trying to fake a real person’s facial expressions; back to smiling and hoping it didn’t look false. Everyday normality.  I said something I don’t remember, and headed away to the Next Thing (which, as I recall, was some signing).

Now, the rest of the Weekender was nowhere near as bad as that experience, and I crossed paths with the various characters in this pointless drama later, in much less idiotic ways. That’s not my point. I try to use my memory of that discussion panel every time I feel myself on the edge of knee-jerk elitism with anything. The sheer irrational emotion of the moment, in how defensive I felt in the presence of established, famous authors. The teeth-clenchingly fervent defence of my work when it wasn’t even being challenged. I think back to that insecurity when I’d otherwise say “This sucks” and move on.

I think about how angry and worried I was, so instinctively certain my heroes were looking down at me and what I did. Whether they were or not is irrelevant – it’s my reaction and thought process that was so unhealthy, so boxed-in.

Which brings me back to Captain Harlock: Space Pirate.

I watched that trailer last night, and my thoughts went like this:

“An anime thing? Ugh. Jesus, this narration is agonisingly cheesy. Oh my God, more Final Fantasy-style girl-boys with shit hair. Christ, this is every cliche’ ever, condensed into a single trailer. That spaceship looks hilarious. Who’d fucking build that? Their uniforms look like Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” 

My elitism kicked in with brutal force, as it often does with everyone who likes anything, when they instinctively confuse “What I like” with “What’s objectively good”. This trailer didn’t look like ‘serious’ sci-fi, therefore the movie would be shit. The characters were Final Fantasytastic, so they were stupid. And so on. You see it everywhere, most often with movie reviews, but anywhere there’s an opinion, you’ll find that kind of bias. “It’s not my thing, therefore here are the reasons why it’s terrible.”

Except… I don’t need all my sci-fi and fantasy to be serious, or to be presented in a certain tone. I love The Hitch-hikers Guide to the Galaxy. How to Train Your Dragon is one of my favourite films.  Christ, I love Babylon 5, but I can never bring myself to argue when someone points out all its bad points. The fucking thing was a triumph for me in spite of a bajillion flaws. I like Star Wars. I like family films. Yet I hated this trailer because Ha-ha, it looks silly and Japanese and a skull spaceship and lol anime amirite.

I caught myself doing it, and rewatched the trailer. Now, I have no idea what Captain Harlock is beyond this trailer, but on a second watching, my thoughts were like this:

“This looks… cute. That ship is so fucking melodramatic, but I dig it. It suits the setting. That fat guy with the goggles looks like he’ll be awesome. The battle scenes look cool as shit. Who’s that green girl? That looks like a difficult love story. I love that shit. The art direction on this is pretty damn unique. Those deep-sea diver guys look all kinds of rad. The captain has an alien bird-thing! I love animal companions in sci-fi and fantasy, they’re one of my fave things ever. I’m all over that. Damn, that guy hugging the hologram – his wife must be dead or something. These space battles look fucking killer. Oh shit, that green girl is, like, dissolving or something. I bet she becomes human.”

Like I said, I have no idea what this movie is about, other than it’s apparently based on an older cartoon. But beyond my knee-jerk bias, this has a huge chunk of the stuff I love in a good story. Fucking spaceships at war. Massive baroque-looking warships and huge boarding actions. Themes and concepts I try to put in most of my own writing, and the same ideas and ideals that are in the stuff I love to read. There’s an animal companion (of a dark kind…) in The Talon of Horus. There’s a complicated love story somewhere in everything I write, and the one(s) in The Talon of Horus are loud and proud, much like the Chief and Cortana in Halo – it doesn’t need to be traditional love, it’s more a matter of loyalty and affection, above and beyond the call. And I’ve always said that if I ever get to write a novel about the Space Wolves, fuck you, the main character will be best pals with a Fenrisian Blackmane wolf, and I don’t care what anyone says. Warriors and loyal beasts = rad.

So, if you want any advice about writing, it all comes back to that old adage of “Read, read, read” and “Watch, watch, watch”. I’m not advocating changing your tastes. I’m not advocating liking stuff that sucks. I’m advocating trying something new and seeing how it goes, because elitism may be a toasty and comforting blanket to wrap around yourself, but it’s also a sign of insecurity. After a while, it starts to stunt your growth. Read outside your favourite genre. Do the same with movies. Look for the universal appeal in things you wouldn’t usually consider. The best science-fiction and fantasy is the best because it’s about people and creatures in believable, nuanced situations, and we see their actions and reactions as believable in context. If it could happen anywhere, not just in space or Krynn or Middle-Earth, or wherever, then it’s got a good foundation.

Don’t let yourself be comforted by your own secret fear and jaded anger. I promise you, it’s not a pleasant way to be. I almost pissed all over what looks like a fun fairy tale in space (that Alexander’s sure to love, and that I’d have loved as a kid) out of knee-jerk elitism. Because 40K is so super-serious. Because I’m so worthy and above anime, or whatever.

And now I can’t wait for this film.

On the other hand, maybe just ignore my stupid over-analysing. Katie watched the Captain Harlock trailer, too. This was her reply:

“Emo Sky Pirates. Sold.”

As some of you know, I recently went to Phoenix.

As fewer of you know (but those who do possess this lore are among my very favourite humans), I’m something of a Phoenix Suns fan.

As many more of you will know, I take literally the shittiest photos of anyone in the world. On an incredible week-long trip to New York, the only photo I actually took was a weird pit of LEGO heads in the NYC store, which looked like something from a kid’s vision of Dante’s Inferno.  In fact, here’s that bad boy right now, for the glittery fulfilment of your facial seeing-balls:

So my editor Laurie and I went to PHX on a stupid, last-minute whim, to go to the 20th Anniversary Babylon 5 reunion at PHX Comic-Con. This was a prohibitively expensive whim, and I’m sure I’ll come to regret it around tax season, but it also represented the first time I’ve left my house by choice rather than because I had to, in about 10 years. I think Katie recognised that (and maybe wanted a week to have all kinds of affairs) so she encouraged me to do it.

In Phoenix, it was (and I say this with great consideration, as someone who lived in Bangladesh for almost 4 years; has visited Egpyt; and had meningitis in Thailand) Human Rights-breachingly hot. We weren’t in a city. We were in the middle of a desert – there just happened to be a city around us.

Anyway, here are the photos. Despite meeting the B5 cast members; being served at every meal by uncomfortably nubile and embarrassingly luscious Arizonan nymphettes; and spending three full days around a billion people dressed up in various outfits, my photos are of… pretty much fuck all.

Here’s a picture I took in Birmingham Airport, close to the start of a 25+ hour, 4-plane journey from Ireland to Arizona. I found these little fuckers especially charming because of the way they claimed to work in “The Americas”, which felt faintly colonial, and a bit like if an American said they were going on vacation in “The Old World” instead of Europe.

Here’s a picture of a terrifying, leering pink bus cartoon man, who looked a bit like he preys upon children. I took this while waiting for Laurie in Birmingham. No children were harmed in the taking of this photo, but I can’t speak for their safety once the bus was out of sight.

Here’s my hand, obscuring most of Laurie’s existence. You can just see him rising above it, like a bespectacled scholar shipwrecked in the Sea of Knuckles, gasping his last regrets to the uncaring sky.

Here’s Laurie after making it ashore, on one of the weird spinal-radness beds that almost made us miss our flight to Minnesota.

Here are my knuckles again.

At this point, Katie sent me a photo of what was going on at home. Panic struck like a bitch-hammer when I saw Shakes not only destroying the kitchen in a storm of mess, but doing so by standing on the oven door. The same oven door he’d recently pulled off its hinges, just because he wanted to.

We were on floor 26 of our hotel, and this was on the wall. It meant absolutely nothing, but it charmed the shit out of me every single time I passed it.

Here’s Phoenix from our hotel window. The flattest city I ever did see.

Some more unholy flatness.

Phoenix, street-level. Look at this bullshit. They have palm trees, just like in cartoons.

Katie then sends me this slice of horror, where our 15-month-old son has managed to climb all the way onto the table, hunting for Shreddies. No Alexanders were killed in the making of this image.

Here’s a shitty pic of the main B5 event, which you can find all over YouTube anyway. Mira Furlan was there, and was lovely, and I love her, and she’s lovely, and the best ever, and lovely.

My one aim on this trip, in the initial emails to Laurie, was that if we made the stupidly long journey at all, I wanted to go to Majerle’s Bar & Grill in Downtown Phoenix. Dan Majerle is one of my fave ever Suns (I totally own his classic white jersey) and this was about as important to me as the actual Babylon 5 thing. We ended up eating there every day, because it was 2 minutes from the hotel. Score.

Sat in Majerle’s Bar, eating barbecue wings, drinking beer, and watching the NBA Playoffs… There are no words for how happy I was right then. I couldn’t stop grinning as I leeched modern-nights Americana from the very air. Laurie also told me about a novel pitch he had, which is still secret, but sounded a little bit like a motherfucker of a book with some clever stuff I wish I’d thought of. Thus, I now hate him.

The obligatory shot of the front entrance to the US Airways Centre / Center. That alone would’ve been worth the trip.

Only… Look! Imagine my surprise! More palm trees. Can there be any surer sign a place is hostile to human life than palm trees? Except maybe lava. Lava doesn’t count.

And then, lastly, this:

This wasn’t our hotel; I couldn’t have stayed in a building called that. I’m not ashamed to say that the name made me snigger.

July 5th marked mine and Katie’s 2-year anniversary, and I thought – in lieu of actual content and updates about writing – this might interest one or two of you. With apologies for sound quality at the venue, and blah blah blah.

My friend John (who you’ll know as the ball-achingly talented and urbane gentleman John French) once told me that his wedding day was the best day of his life, and that it went by so fast that he could remember almost none of it.

As usual, John and I agree on pretty much everything ever.

In recent months, as The Talon of Horus rolls ever onward, I’ve spilled a wealth of words on Ezekyle Abaddon and the Black Legion over emails and hastily-chucked notes to various other authors and IP-tastic souls in the dark conclave of Those Who Contribute to 40K.

This is a difficult book, not only because of the wealth of lore (much of which subtly shifts from edition to edition, meaning you need to choose what to focus on and run with that), but also because of the 40K comedy memes that do the rounds, just like in any fandom. Abaddon, however, gets hit hardest by a barrage of misunderstandings, and lore that remained fairly vague in the past. I hope you’ll forgive me for focusing on the positive and the reality behind the curtain, but I already spend long enough worrying about, and discussing, the negative perceptions. I can’t bring myself to commit several hours hashing them all up again here and now. Besides, they’re already out there. What I can offer today is something a little fresher. From the source, so to speak.

Over the course of all these exchanges with various people (who thankfully took the time to lay out a bajillion words and share their insights with me), a lot of the back and forth discussions revolved around just what it means to be Warmaster of Chaos. Everyone mostly said the same thing in different words, which matched my plans down the line, and that was a pleasant slice of reassurance, let me tell you. I’m sitting on tens of thousands of words from various people about Abaddon, the Eye of Terror, and Chaos Marines in general, as well as practically every word printed about the Black Legion since Rick Priestley and co. first said “Hang on a minute, I’ve got an idea…”

In short, this project has been an absolute dream to research. The more people you talk to, the more perspective and insight you get, and this has been freaking killer. I’ve learned a lot about stuff I already thought I had a brilliant angle on. I’ve had some of my best lore discussions over all of this madness. The really bizarre thing is that all these discussions have made Heresy meetings look like the easiest and smoothest thing in the world. No, really. I can’t overstate the number of times I’ve almost called Dan, Gav or Graham in shrieking tears, demanding they fly over and hold me in their arms until the scary times go away.

Okay, maybe not. But there’s an image for you, nevertheless. The reality is that I wanted to call Alan Merrett – GW’s IP overlord – but he’s really scary and would never hug me.

As an interesting extract, here’s something from one of the longer back-and-forth barrages, which managed to stand out as so painfully inspiring that I had to go make a cup of tea and sit down in the garden to recover, like the weakling Englishman I am.

Note:- Of course, because it’s Ireland, it was raining, so I came back inside almost immediately. Me – and my cup of tea – calmed down in the living room while Shakes watched Jake and the Neverland Pirates, but let’s just move on and stop slaying my quintessentially English reaction.

So, here. These aren’t my words – they’re from The Archive to End All Archives. The crowning jewel of said archive, as it happens. It aligns with the general consensus on Abaddon, but how it was phrased just resonated with me like nothing else quite had before.

Hope you find it as intriguing and inspiring as I do.

“Horus was weak. Horus was a fool.” 

It sums up Abaddon. Horus allowed himself to be used by Chaos – Horus is the Chaos Powers’ dupe to get back at the Emperor. Abaddon will never let this happen. He will never allow himself to be a Pawn of Chaos. Simply surviving without choosing one as a patron is a massive achievement. Never succumbing to the temptation of becoming a daemon prince is a second. Seriously, Abaddon is so driven he’d rather battle and scrape and bite and claw his way up to achieve his goals on his own terms than achieve immortality and virtually limitless power, because the alternative is to open the slightest chink in his independence that the Chaos Gods will exploit. 

If Horus was the vessel that all of the Gods poured their power into (right up until they abandoned him at the end), then Abbadon has become the vessel that the gods want to have for themselves but haven’t been able to claim. They’ve all offered him a chance to be their regent, to rule in their name, and he has turned them all down, playing them off each other. He is the New Emperor in a way that Horus never was or would have been. Abaddon has, through sheer force of will and dominance, made himself more than a pawn, he has made himself kingmaker. If he were to choose one god to serve, if he dedicated the Black Legion to a single power in his name, that God would crush his rivals almost to the point of victory.

Almost.

Because Chaos can never win against itself, of course, and Abaddon has seen the truth of this. He knows that Chaos is a process, a state, not a goal, and the moment anyone surrenders to the journey and forgets the destination is the moment their worldly ambitions are forgotten and their spirit becomes simply a part of the Chaos Powers. Abaddon is utterly relentless in his pursuit of what he wants – whatever that may actually be. Revenge on the Emperor? Too petty. Vengeance for Horus? Too sentimental. Power? Yes. What kind of power? Mortal power. He could have all the immortal power he can handle if he but asks for it, but that is not what drives him. He sees the Primarchs disappear, fade, die or simply not care anymore and he understands that only a man can really rule other men. Abaddon doesn’t want to destroy the Imperium, he wants to succeed where Horus failed. He wants to be Emperor and have Mankind bow beneath his rule.

His rule, not the rule of the Chaos gods.

Abaddon has not failed because he is wilful or incompetent. He has mustered the greatest armies since the Heresy and unleashed them upon the material universe. He has amassed power and influence within the Eye of Terror greater than any primarch. He has done this through feat of arms and personality, but the one thing he can never truly do, because it is anathema to Chaos, is truly unite the ruinous powers. They can only come together in dominance, not subservience. Whenever Abaddon has been on the brink of victory his backers break ranks, seeking to gain some last-minute short-term advantage.

Ultimately, a win for Abaddon is a loss for Chaos. If he becomes Emperor he has everything he desires and they can hold nothing over him. And so they continue to dangle the carrot, continue to be his patrons, giving him daemonic power and servants, ordering their mortal representatives to debase themselves and serve his will, all in the hope of snatching the final victory of Abaddon for themselves.

It is the Office Politics of Hell. Literally… One of the beliefs surrounding Satan in many Christian theologies is that his defiance of God was his refusal to bow to Man when they were created. In refusing to submit to the rule of mortals, Abaddon carries this analogy perfectly – the Legiones Astartes were created by a god and were never meant to be corralled and curtailed by purely mortal ambitions. As Angels they have a higher purpose – and once had a higher regard in the eyes of their creator, who shunned them.

Quite how much of this Abaddon realises when Horus fails and how much he learns over the next ten thousand years (or three days, depending on warp time) is narratively elastic…

Bearing in mind the warp/ real interface, being the bearer of the Mark of Chaos Ascendant is not just having a shiny star of Chaos imprinted in one’s forehead. It is, when the Chaos gods are bestowing their blessing/ energy, to be the centre of a blazing star, to be surrounded by a coil of ever-replenshing Chaos energy, heralded by choirs of daemons of all powers, suffused with the essence of the four great Chaos Gods. To each worshipper and follower he appears different (much like the Emperor…). He is a schemer, a warrior, a self-centred iconoclast and a survivor. 

But there are the times, after the effort, the glory, of being the conduit of so much power, when he teeters on the precipice of doubt, madness and physical corruption. He stands between mortals and immortals, his ambitions far beyond the understanding of the first, yet incomprehensibly alien to the second; constantly he is failed by the inherent weaknesses of both. 

His enemies circle, material and immaterial, sensing potential weakness. His allies start to disappear. For a while the Chaos Powers are disinterested, choosing to split, becoming self-serving once more, raising up their champions, sometimes alone, sometimes together, hoping that these mortals will rival Abaddon. Yet they never do.

And he wonders if it is vanity. He wonders if he is deserving. He wonders if what he wants is possible.

And then the Powers come back, trying once more to win him to their cause, taunting, threatening, cajoling and coercing Abaddon to become theirs and theirs alone. And he listens, and he wonders. And always, from somewhere deep in his soul, from the darkest yet strongest place in his mind, the answer comes back, hesitant but growing louder with every beat of his twin hearts. 

Yes.   

Yes, one day it will all be yours. 

And he starts the struggle again. The Long War continues. 

The Black Library Weekender is mere days away.

As anyone who knows me can attest, I’m “not a big events guy”. At GDUK, you’ll usually find me taking longer breaks than the other authors, or signing for less time, and going to spy on people’s armies instead. I like doing panels with Graham of the McNeill Clan, and John of the French bloodline (and anyone from Forge World who will sit next to me for more than three minutes with me lavishing kisses upon them), but BL’s brand new events overseer (who is called Claudia, and is lovely, by the way) was very thoughtful in arranging a slightly less hectic schedule for me than last year’s Weekender. I barely survived last year’s one. And this year, I may not have a surprise midnight kiss with a burly male prison guard to boost my morale.

So while I’ll miss the Everyone Sit In A Room With Aaron event (which was humblingly full, last year), I’ll be less frantic and rushed with 800 panels and stuff, so I won’t constantly be saying “Uh, fuck off, I have to go to a thing now” if you happen to stop me in the hallway or the bar.

You can find a schedule thingy here: http://www.blacklibrary.com/Events/weekender-2013.html.

Also of note, I think my Mum and Stepdad are showing up to collect Shakes on the Saturday morning/afternoon, so if you want to see what I’d look like if I was a couple of decades older (and female) then I’ve got you covered.

I should (should…) have finished The Talon of Horus by the weekend, as well. If you ask me about it at the event, and all I do is hang my head and weep soulfully, then you’ll know just how well that intention worked out in the end. As with every book I write, I hate it and I’m sure everyone will hate it, too. We’ll see if time plays it out that way. It’s the story of the warriors who form the Black Legion first coming together to seek the lost First Captain Abaddon, and ends with Abaddon’s inevitable return to confront the clones of Horus – the first thing of note in the Black Legion/Sons of Horus’s famous post-Terra history.

Which all obviously leads into the second novel being about the Black Legion’s first few years of struggle.

I’m a little worried about a storm of 1-star reviews (“Abaddon doesn’t show up until really late!”) just because he’s on the cover, but whatever. If I wasn’t second-guessing myself and rewriting every line three times in a state of awkward discomfort, it wouldn’t be me. I’d be, y’know, someone brave instead.

I feel a little guilty about anyone who makes the main characters, though. First Claw aren’t equipped to be great on the tabletop, but at least they’re pretty easy to model. The ‘main character squad’ equivalent in The Talon of Horus (and going forward through the series) is the Ezekarion, and they’re not going to be easy to model. They’re also not actually tabletop legal, and would cost about 3,000 points if they were. So I apologise in advance.

The Tale of Five Heretics is, as you can see, massively delayed. I’ve accidentally started a Minotaurs army, and the maddest thing is that – for once – I’m actually painting them. And it’s fun. I’m enjoying it. This is progress on an unprecedented scale for me, given that I’m the guy that recently fielded 1,000 points of unpainted Chaos Marines, and still claim victory with 4,000 points of unpainted High Elves in my teens. The good news is that from mid-November onwards, I have a lot more free time again. I’ll have a proper update around then, hopefully with my first 3-man Sky Hunter Squad in the bag. I went from hating those models to absolutely adoring them in the space of about a week, and now I can’t get enough of them.

In other news, here are some of the fruits of my Facebook wall and various inboxes.

Is it inboxes? Inboxii. Inbeexes.

Whatever. You may recognise Defreee’s freaking killer representation of these fine, polite young men:

‘Sons of Nostramo’, by Defreeee. I may have given a small, ladylike sigh of contentment at seeing this.

Here’s Benjamin Sephton-Smith’s Warhound with an ursus claw armament. My exact comment on seeing it was “Sacred bronze balls of Mars, that’s fucking mega!”

Jai Livingstone’s Celestial Lion Scout. I’m in love with the gold and the skin tone.

Michael Garbo’s First Claw. I never get sick of seeing these guys, and this is one of the most beautiful versions of them I’ve ever seen.

And here’s Keith Bruce’s “Rough WIP” (in his words) of Abaddon. How much do I fucking love this one? The answer is “Lots”.

Before I go, did I tell you a few of us are gearing up to play some Deathwatch in January? Hopefully a long-running campaign, and we’re looking to make it more than just a series of shooty-death-kill scenes. I’ll have more info soon, but right now the line-up runs a little like this:

• Varianus Noster, Praesarius of the Ultramarines 5th Company. [Devastator]
• Jorran, Battle-Brother of the Imperial Fists 5th Company. [Tactical]
• Droitus Mallory, Battle-Brother of the Lamenters. [Assault]
• Deiphobus Lorec, Intendant of the Minotaurs. [Apothecary]

Given my shameless love of Apothecaries, it’ll be no surprise that I’m playing Dio. It was hard resisting Devastator, Tactical, and Librarian (because of heavy bolter, awesome bolter, and psychic powers, respectively) but nothing beats a narthecium.

Some interesting tensions between the Chapters, too. Hope it works out.

And lastly, you can see Katie thinking about whether to join in or not, over at her blog right here. It’s a conundrum. She likes her D&D gnome, and Space Marines… aren’t D&D gnomes.

Sometimes, just sometimes, the Candy Goblins will get caught in their own rattle-clanking machinery, and their saccharine corpses become yet another ingredient in the deliciousness they produce. And other times, I have no idea what happens, because just look at this fucker.

This is a jelly bean. I’m not even kidding. I can’t bring myself to throw it away.

Looks okay on one side, right? I mean, it’s about 17 times larger than it should be, but whatever. That should be a feature, not a bug.

And then, flip the little fucker over, and you’ve got this abomination unto the Lord.

Initial scientific analysis suggests that it would be unwise to eat this thing.

The main evidence is that it’s as hard as a golf ball and the colour of ass cancer, but I’m still waiting to hear back from the lab.

The Black Library Weekender is mere hours away. So close in fact that me, Katie, and Shakes are flying over tomorrow for the traditional “Having dinner with Liz and John French on the night before an event” ritual. We were also thinking of taking up the McNeills on Graham’s offer of crashing at theirs, but Shakes has started a recent habit of getting up at 5:00am, so we’re trying to spread that delightfulness around as little as possible.

I love the Weekender. I love the atmosphere, I love the fast and loose feeling the authors get to have that disguises all the organisation the staff have put in,

Last year’s Weekender featured the Fifty Shades of Geek fellows (who can be found on their homepage, as well as Facebook, and Twitter) showing up wearing T-shirts with quotes from my novels running down the front, and I was so humbled and embarrassed, I dealt with this magnanimous gesture by hinting that I never wanted them to do anything like it again. Make note, people: try not to be such an uncharitable cunt when similar moments roll around in your lives. At one point, I actually fled from three of them in the T-shirts, in case a couple of the other authors thought I’d arranged it to make myself look special.

Here they are, saved for posterity. Tim (far left) recently joined our 40K campaign, The Thracian Caul, which I’ll have more details on soon. It’s undergoing sweeping changes based on me and John (French) trying to give it some more unity and purpose, rather than getting distracted and all momentum failing as they so often do with these things. It’s looking good; I’d be interested in your opinions when we start showing some of the datasheets, and stuff. Nikki (in the middle) looks half-asleep. I don’t know why.

Also of note, you may have seen this slice of lushness on various forums, but here’s David Sondered (from Studio Colrouphobia) ‘s freaking killer version of Konrad Curze. You might also remember his Talos, from a little while ago?

One of the things I love most about it is that he’s captured the primarch’s fundamental unhealthiness, which is something a lot of the more, uh, ‘badass’ artwork can ignore. For me, this is one of those images that becomes definitive the moment I see it, much like when I saw the cover of Aurelian, and made unstoppable sex noises for three days straight every time someone asked me about it.

David’s also one of the guys I’m musing over asking about doing some personal commissions in the near future, some based on my TOR character, some for a private project, and some for our games group. I mean, seriously. Just look at this. With the fact Jon Sullivan’s artwork doesn’t feature on the future Night Lords omnibus, I wish I’d discovered David earlier and pimped him, hardcore, to Black Library.

Last of all, I’ve had a bunch of requests for info on my Star Wars: The Old Republic character. I can’t be bothered to go into all the details (and I admit I’ve barely touched the game in about 3 months because of work, so most of my guild has forgotten me), but suffice to say, here he is:

Just bolting online in a hurry to say thank you to everyone for another wonderful year. If you’re crazy enough to like my work, thanks for supporting it – whether you did so through buying it, through reviews online, or through the simple act of not throwing human waste at me if we met in public. I appreciate all three of those reactions, but perhaps the last one most of all.

Thank you – friends, family, publishers, guildies, and readers – for your patience and support, as well as your ability to tolerate my stalwart refusal to abandon the Oxford Comma.

To inject a personal note into proceedings in the spirit of Christmas, may I also take the time to say that I thought Pacific Rim was absolutely shit, and I was gutted when the awful, awful, unlikeable, awful, shallow, awful main character survived. This review is over. Personal note complete.

tl;dr –Thanks again from the Dembski-Bowden bloodline, as 2013 draws to a close. Happy Holidays and Season’s Greetings to you and yours. Please note that this is our second Christmas with the tiny heir (also known as ADB II in some circles, as well as Alexander, Shakes, and “Put that down, buddy, I’m begging you”) and he’d probably thank you too, if he wasn’t so small and largely focused on things like penguins, tractors, and books about dinosaurs.

He knows all and sees all. He is fire and he is doom.

Your money – and my royalties – hard at work on Christmas jumpers, kids’ books, and toys that needlessly require 500 AA batteries.

You may remember that I’m starting a Deathwatch game soon – next weekend, in fact – with a few of the members of my 40K campaign group. It’ll also be the first field test of the (finally finished) Aaronorium, which is the best name for a games room since Futurama’s “Angry Dome”, “Calamatorium”, or “the Accusing Parlour”.

I’m making an effort to blog a little more this year, especially about hobby stuff, so we’ll start with a teaser. Our GM Mark (who plays Eldar, for the record) is notorious in our gang for going all-out in terms of effort at our 40K campaign weekends. His models are insane. As an example, he pro-painted a Blood Bowl orc team for me for my birthday. But this is above and beyond the call of duty. He had actual props made for when we’re sat around the table.

Check these out…

Holy fucking shit, right? I need a weapons rack for the Aaronorium so, so badly. 

The guys in my DW group haven’t even seen these yet, so consider yourself on the bleeding edge of my delicious but ultimately futile existence.

This weekend I paid my taxes and killed a tyranid hive tyrant. In that order.—
Aaron Dembski-Bowden (@adembskibowden) February 02, 2014

Last weekend saw our first game of Deathwatch in what’s looking to be a pretty long-running campaign,  if the initial mission was anything to go by. You may remember me mentioning it before, when I showed you all the weapons our GM had made for atmosphere and inspiration.

As you might’ve guessed from the title of the post, we’re playing through the official Watch Station Erioch storyline (or our GM’s version of it) so no spoilers, thanks.

The first session went suspiciously well. It involved plenty of “Wait, wait, wait…” moments where we brought things to a mutual halt to consult the rulebook, but those moments are an inevitable part of playing a new system. Nothing too show-stopping or game-breaking, and we were always happy enough to call a break in order to get it right. What surprised me was the difference between how the rules read and how they actually played. I’ll clarify that though, because what’ll definitely improve this blog are my boring-ass opinions on RPGs. For really reals.

All five of us have been playing RPGs for 10+ years (close to 25ish in some cases) and came to it with a wealth of experience with different rules systems – added to the fact I used to design RPGs, like, for a living. So we went into Deathwatch with open minds and a good handle on a bunch of systems. I have no real game system snobbery; I’ve played crunchy games with rules as dense as the core of a collapsed sun, and I’ve played things as frighteningly free-form as, say, Amber Diceless. Similarly, I’ve read rulebooks that were a joy to study, and rulebooks that were absolute bastards of poorly indexed and looping-back text.

Deathwatch was nowhere near the worst offender on the continuum, but all of us felt on shaky ground before playing, just from reading the rules. Some things were explained with descriptions that took us several interpretations to get right, and I reckon it’s got a good shot in the running of Most Useless RPG Index Ever. On a couple of occasions, half a rule we needed to look up would be on one page, another quarter of it was half a book away, and the last chunk would be found in somewhere between here, there, and fuck-only-knows-where. (Hi, healing rules!)

But the way it actually played? Christ, that was a different story.

Witnesses described it as “totally badass.”

I love how it played. I love how the rules reflected the atmosphere – more than just the obvious lethality of being a Space Marine – down to how equipment worked and how freaking dangerous it felt to be out there in the wild worlds of M41. I don’t think any of us had any real complaints about actual in-game stuff (and let me be clear, that’s very rare for some of my friends, who can find something to complain about anything). So in short, yeah, I like the rules a lot. I like how smoothly it runs, I like the array of competent options at your disposal as a player, and I like that a lot of it was actually intuitive – again, despite the fact the rulebook read like the opposite was going to be true.

It’s nice to be able to sit down and say “Shit, this is well-designed” and really, really mean it.

Before we started, quotable nonsense was flying thick and fast:

Deathwatch quote #1: "We haven't even thrown any dice yet and I already hate the Ultramarine."—
Aaron Dembski-Bowden (@adembskibowden) February 01, 2014

A lot of the immersion came down to our GM, Mark. He took preparation to a whole new level, actually arriving with – I shit you not – crates of stuff.

The weapons were just the tip of the iceberg. Check some of this out:

Here’s one of the dataslates that Mark made up for us. This was the image side, where we got handouts of artwork and maps on transparent plastic to lay over the computer screen background. This was to represent our commanders and our warship sending us picts before and during the mission.

This is the other side of the dataslate, which is a chalkboard for recording Wounds and Ammo. Each one had its own customised Mechanicus symbol, and personalised eraser.

This is Jon’s dataslate, amidst his notes and wargear cards.

Beyond the glorious vista offered by my Lemon Grenade mug (Thanks, Liam and Nikki!) lies my array of wargear cards. Mark made these for each of us depending on our loadouts, laminated and personalised with quotes from the lore.

A better shot of some of my wargear cards. You can see the back of Ross’s cards – all of them have the Deathwatch Inquisition symbol on the other side.

Briefly, our kill-team’s first mission involved going to the moon Tantalus and recovering an Adeptus Mechanicus datacore of vague and dubious origin, along with secondary and tertiary objectives to achieve in the last hours before the entire moon was overrun by tyranids from Hive Fleet Dagon. In another example of Mark’s prep-work, he had prerecorded and voice-distorted distress calls to play us, as well as printed pictures of every NPC we met to be attached to the outside of his GM screen for us to see.

We didn’t roleplay all that brilliantly, in all honesty. We made decisions as our characters would’ve made them, but there was no real acting or talking in-character. Part of my problem there was that I’ve done what I always do these days, which is make the mistake of playing a quiet and/or surly and/or distant character. Not intentionally to be uncooperative (I’m enough of a vet to know how a loner can basically slaughter any RPG group with contrary stubborn bullshit, and it’s supposed to be a team effort) but I liked the idea of a paranoid, brooding typical Minotaur – with underlying distaste for other Chapters and Imperial institutions – slowly coming out of his shell into the bonds of brotherhood with his kill-team. That’s a great idea on paper, and would make for decent character development in a novel. It’s not as wonderful when it leaves you mostly silent at a gaming table, and doing no real roleplaying. It was a coward’s way out, and I’ll probably adjust it next time.

The idea behind Deiphobus, my Minotaurs Apothecary, is that he volunteered for the Deathwatch to explore a little more individuality beyond the unbreakable mass of full-scale Chapter deployment, a la standard Minotaurs tactics. There’s also the consideration of knowing your enemy: walking among the other Chapters and getting first-hand experience of how they differ from the Minotaurs, but he primarily wants to determine who he is (if anyone…) beneath the bronze armour, and test himself without the vast, vast resources of his Chapter’s hundreds of brothers at his back.

I really felt that, even if it didn’t exactly show in the roleplaying side of things. The isolation of it all; the sheer ball-aching distance of being out there, alone, with no hope of reinforcement. It was one of my fave parts of the whole game.

I was, perhaps unsurprisingly, way more into the idea of absolute violence for the most pointless of reasons when I was holding a bolt pistol in my hand.

A weapon of fine killingsmanship.

And these were for progenoid storage, like the good Apothecary I am.

One thing I was a little less keen on was combat, though again that’ll need some clarifying. I loved the lethality of it, how dangerous it felt. I love how true to the setting it felt, without being impossibly difficult, overwhelming, or overly complex. I thought it was awesome how some fights absolutely favoured the Devastator and his heavy bolter, while others showed the Assault Marine’s specialty, and the Tactical Marine was basically just good at everything. We’d decided not to use Squad Mode (or even much Solo Mode) on our first run-through, but I can see all the ways everyone (especially TacMarines) get even more useful when that stuff comes into play.

Apothecarying it up felt a little bland in comparison, though. I could heal like an absolute genius, and I usually enjoy support classes that buff, boost, and heal the rest of the group, no matter what game I’m playing. That worked in Deathwatch, too – just not quite as much as I’d hoped. Some of it came down to tactics, with our squad positioning being bad enough sometimes that I couldn’t really get to the others in time to heal them efficiently, but the ones I could heal jumped right back up and started killing all the Red Team again. That was cool.

What was less cool was how I was basically relegated to auto-attacking when I wasn’t healing, which was fairly often. And when I say “auto-attacking”, I mean in the MMO sense of doing basic automatic attacks while the others are using special abilities and controlling the fight. I could shoot my bolter, but with much less accuracy than the Tactical Marine and much less damage. I could use my chainsword, but only attacking once compared to the Assault Marine’s twice, and doing much less damage than him with each one. I just struggle to see an Apothecary being significantly less skilled like that, I guess.

It’s not a matter of my character’s stats (which are high, and awesome) or my dice rolls (which were stellar, for once). It also wasn’t a matter of feeling shitty for just doing less damage in combat. It’s more a matter of options. They had choices and options – special rules to get involved with – while I had a lot less of that going on. I could heal them, or do a less-useful version of what they were doing.

And looking at the advances, it seems to magnify as you level up and get more skills. Part of this is personal bias, mind you. One of my personal outlooks on Apothecaries is that they’re among the more courageous and capable fighters in a Chapter, rather than the doctor who hangs back, because they have to chainsword their way through where the fighting is thickest to recover their fallen brothers’ gene-seed. You see a little of it with Kargos in Betrayer. He’s one of the deadliest fighters among the World Eaters for precisely that reason. Not that I want to be The Very Best or whatever. Just “not significantly worse”. If you’re spending several turns healing the other guys while they do all the violent work, it feels a little like there could be some balance where you could contribute more efficiently in other ways when you’re free from kissing their aches and boo-boos.

I like kissing their aches and boo-boos. I just don’t want to be useless when I’m not doing that.

But again, we’re talking about a pretty tiny gripe in an otherwise awesome weekend. This campaign’s been the most fun I’ve had RPGing in freaking ages, and I’m itching for the second mission to get underway. Our homework for this month is to paint our Deathwatch minis, and for your viewing pleasure here’s Deiphobus “Dio” Lorec, Intendant of the Minotaurs. I was trying to go with an iconic look for an Apothecary – narthecium and chainsword – despite the fact I knew I’d almost universally be using my bolter. Aesthetic choice, etc.

If you look closely, this apparently boring Space Marine is made from bitz of 6 different kits, and took me fucking ages to get the iconic look right.

Dio’s most intriguing slice of personal renown came from standing before a kneeling, dying hive tyrant, and puncturing its skull with his reductor to take a gene-sample.

CRACK-THUNK-CLICK. SAMPLE STORED. Take that, alien bitch.

Actually, I’m lying. I didn’t see this in the wild, but it’s hit the desks at Black Library Towers, and I’m pretty much in love with how it looks.

I like how subtle and understated it is. It’s not wacky or cartoony, and credits the license with some intrigue and maturity. Admittedly, only in our beloved 40K license could you consider Hellpeople on Fire in the Shadows to be “subtle”, but let’s just say I’m pretty damn pleased with this one. The Night Lords Series has had some of the most consistently beautiful artwork BL has ever produced (Thanks, Jon Sullivan; look for your name in the Foreward), and even though it’s a change in direction, it’s one I’m dead pleased with.

As you may know, my sadfaced, lip-quivering rants about artwork are rare but, uh, “pointed” and “poignant”. I’ve never been afraid to sink to the lowest depths of unprofessionalism in saying I can’t stand a cover. But my last three have been this one, The Talon of Horus, and Armageddon. If it was BL’s intent to butter me up with lovely covers and shame me into hitting my deadlines, then… fuck, it might actually work.

Anyway, more details as they come in.

EDIT: Details have come in. Regarding the contents, here’s a l’il glance at what’s inside:

Literally everything I’ve written about Talos and co. so far.

On another note, remember my Deathwatch Campaign? Brother-Intendant Deiphobus of the Minotaurs is rolling along with some slow painting progress. Better photos coming soon:

With Princess Leia in the background.