Hobby Group Auxilia Work
Moderators: The Heralds, The Loremasters
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SpellArcher
- Green Istari
- Posts: 13847
- Joined: Sat Sep 13, 2008 11:26 am
- Location: Otherworld
Re: Hobby Group Auxilia Work
I especially like the psyker, great pose.
A New Blog (Orcs and Goblins)
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=70550
Cavalry Prince Reloaded
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=80&t=70001
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=70550
Cavalry Prince Reloaded
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=80&t=70001
-
Karak Norn Clansman
- Posts: 650
- Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2013 11:25 am
Re: Hobby Group Auxilia Work
@SpellArcher: GW sculptors has excelled at posing, much to our benefit. I look forward to see the High Elves for Old World! They deserve good poses, unlike the Swordmasters. 6th ed Dark Elf Executioners were luckier in that regard.
Astro-Ungarian Colonel
Colonel Graf András Petr von Böhbenmann is the Count of Grevéberg, Honorary Pfamp of the Golden Order of Saint Günther and the legitimate contender to the disputed title of Arch-Earl of Spritzenhaufen. A fun-loving Astro-Ungarian servant of the Emperor, von Böhbenmann has found his soulmate in Gräfin Liběna Mila Moroznich von Lamberg, to whom he is engaged. This couple can always be relied upon to be the life of the party. Ding-dong! Touch the tralalalala!
Graf András is the favourite drinking buddy of Herzog Victorianus "Gamen" Neumann, and their drunken orations are infamous across three continents at home for their meandering speech and overblown arrogance. When drunk on amasec, ale, imported machpagne or the finest of wine, the two noble friends will frequently begin spitting on the underclass, both figuratively and literally. Indeed, their liveried bodyguards and junior staff members have often had to work hard to prevent a mob lynching of the two jolly drunkards after their esteemed saliva has landed upon the heads of lowborn scum.
The drunken escapades of von Böhbenmann do not stop there, for indeed they have become legendary far and wide upon fair Astro-Ungaria and beyond. Even distant voidholmers close to the Ghoul Stars have heard of how the Drunken Count smashed out his teeth while riding wildly on a dirtbike through the streets of Pfraag-Schlossburg, which led to Graf András installing a most golden garniture of false teeth and exotic ivory for that shining smile under the festive lumens.
Drunk like a lord, many other anecdotes can be told about the joy and merrymaking of Count von Böhbenmann and Countess von Lamberg. Tales are told by high and low alike of the times when the Drunk Count danced on palatial roofs, hunted by his retainers and bodyguards, who had to jump from gargoyles to buttresses as they chased the singing nobleman across domes and gable roofs. The stories about von Böhbenmann are legion in number. For instance, the blue-blooded party animals of Astro-Ungaria will often joke about that one time when an intoxicated Graf András tried to eat five cheese-dripping grox sandwiches by chewing around the hidden location of a slice of salty cucumber laced with a mild poison. For each sandwich, this cherished suicide cucumber managed to show up in new locations every time, and every bite into the toxic vegetable slice sent the good Count into a fit of vomiting. Much amusement was thus had in highborn company, as the Emperor intended.
The high spirits of civilian festivities has translated well to military service, for the easy-going aristocrats that make up the officer class of loyal Astro-Ungaria would rather waltz than brood. The sloppy schlamperei culture of the Astro-Ungarian armed forces leave plenty of time for fun and games, and so Colonel Graf András Petr von Böhbenmann has found that the hardships of starship travel and campaigning out in the field on strange worlds has been compensated by the merry atmosphere and generous drink that is to be found in the staff of General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz.
Graf András carries an artificier-crafted dagger and prized plasma pistol while in uniform, both of which he won at card games. The pompous Count von Böhbenmann's heirloom power fist carries the ancient mark of the Moon Wolf, symbol of Astro-Ungaria's patron saint the Divine Horus, who according to the fair world's legends faced down the Devil Lorgar side-by-side with the Emperor Himself. For some reason this treasured ur-myth of the Astro-Ungarians meet with frowning disapproval or much worse from offworlders such as Ecclesiarchal priests or members of the Imperial Inquisition. Yet somehow this quaint belief of Astro-Ungaria has so far managed to escape a bloodthirsty purging and suppression, probably because the critical orders got lost in Astropathic transmission or disappeared due to some misfiling by an Administratum clerk. And so the sclerotic mess of the inept Imperium ensures that heretical beliefs of yore survive in pockets across the Milky Way galaxy, akin to a sprinkle of living time capsules.
To Astro-Ungaria's noble castes, life is often a party, and Graf András has warmly embraced this jovial spirit. Occasionally, Colonel von Böhbenmann will even do some proper commanding of his regiment, the Astro-Ungarian 1993rd Infantry Regiment of His Divine Majesty's Imperial Guard. He has carved out a reputation for himself as a sterling drillmaster of the Astra Militarum, making his Guardsmen perfect the art of marching for parade. Under von Böhbenmann's command, the smell of freshly polished boots, picked flowers, frothing amasec and newly starched uniforms will never leave the unit while on garrison duty or when resting behind the lines. For all their glorious appearance, however, the soldiers of the Drunken Count's Own regiment tend to be slaughtered like cattle once out on the frontline, as a bloody reminder that gallantry and offensive spirit do not make up for a lack of competent command and murderous firepower.
Fortunately, such a baleful fate has so far eluded von Böhbenmann, who prefers to stay one inch away from battle, since he believes there is a fifty percent chance to be killed in the field. For Colonel Graf András and his retinue is securely locked away inside a fortified command bunker. Here, the staff of General von Dorfenhötz will plot their overly ambitious plans and uphold their homeplanet's finest traditions of revelry, as befit their highborn status. The Astro-Ungarian army has taken it to heart that alcohol best grease the wheels of Imperial high command, and no titled soldier is better suited to make other officers feel at ease than Colonel Graf András Petr von Böhbenmann, the Count of Grevéberg, Honorary Pfamp of the Golden Order of Saint Günther and the legitimate contender to the disputed title of Arch-Earl of Spritzenhaufen.
And so the Astro-Ungarians at war party on, to the clinking of crystal glasses and the frantic vox-calls of frontline units screaming for reinforcements and the urgent correction of friendly artillery fire landing in their own trenches. Cheers!
Ave Imperator.
- - -
This sculpt is a parody of a friend and his girlfriend. Cheers!
Astro-Ungarian Master of Ordnance
Master of Ordnance Boldizsár Vilim Sándor von Heinrichi-Andortopf is a Duarchal artillery officer and member of the lower nobility on Astro-Ungaria. A professional artilleryman married to exactitude and precision, Sándor is on paper an expert in his craft.
Just as his superior, General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz, is in theory a strategic mastermind excelling at aggressively breaking through the lines and surrounding the enemy with sweeping maneouvres. Just the same, Master of Ordnance Sándor is in theory an expert at synchronizing a rolling curtain of creeping barrages with infantry advancing close behind. In practice, however, both officers fall short of their brilliance on paper, and both have produced mountains of corpses to prove it.
It is not so much material flaws that hamper the performance of Astro-Ungarian artillery directed by the Master of Ordnance, for the gigantic Szköda works on the fair homeworld produce excellent artillery pieces, even when the preserved technology level is of low stature. The quality is brilliant. Indeed, von Dorfenhötz is rumoured to have commented: The army of Astro-Ungaria have ninetynine problems. Artillery is not one of them.
Instead, it is lacking communications and faulty doctrine that so often drags down the efficiency of Astro-Ungarian artillery, making it merely decent where it is well possible for the artillery to rise and be superb if optimized. For instance, Astro-Ungarian artillery is often placed as close to the front as possible to increase its range. This makes its capture by the enemy an easy feat during grand offensives of the vile foes of the Emperor, and especially so since Astro-Ungarian Guardsmen would rather make their shelters comfortable and homely with flowers and planking inside, than toil away at digging multiple lines of trenches for a strong defence in depth.
Other doctrinal and communication dysfunctionalities haunt the Astro-Ungarian forces when on the offensive. While a rafale, or storm of steel, is easy to execute by merely pouring in shells onto enemy lines for days on end in a hammering, dumb fashion, it is not a winning artillery technique, since most of the foe will survive the initial bombardment and take cover, while the shrapnel that so tears flesh is useless in destroying enemy fortfications and razorwire.
More advanced, a simultaneous barrage against the enemy trenches and against a line further back has the potential to both suppress the foe and prevent the frontline troops from emerging from cover, while also hindering reinforcements from approaching. It is not a brilliant technique, although creeping barrages moving in a shredding curtain ahead of advancing friendly infantry do hold some promise. Likewise, leaping barrages have some utility, for they jump between bombarding enemy trenches, to shelling targets further back, to once again pouring ordnance on the trenches.
Master of Ordnance Sándor is a master of the creeping barrage, but the artillerymen under his command is not always so skilled. Often, the creeping barrage will go too fast and rush ahead of the advancing infantry, allowing enemy survivors to pop out of cover and gun down the Astro-Ungarians in no-man's land. Othertimes, the creeping barrage that should roll at marching speed ahead of friendly infantry, may go too slowly, and rip apart one's own line of advancing foot soldiers. Othertimes, precision is lacking, or too many of the shells are hastily produced duds, some of which explode akin to landmines when friendly Guardsmen step on the duds.
Still, for all its failures, the Royal and Imperial artillery under Sándor's command has achieved some notable success. The cannonstorm on Bucharia IX caught the cream of the separatist forces at their most vulnerable moment, as they amassed outside maglev stations for their offensive, and Sándor won a Bronze Orb of Ordnance as he directed dispersed clusters of artillery batteries to fire on the same location without warning. Thus a purple medal was won by turning seventythousand enemy assault infantry into mincemeat by a surprise bombardment, and von Dorfenhötz' optimistic overconfidence in his Duarchal army's combat power swelled further still.
One major dampener of the Astro-Ungarian artillery's potential is a weakness in communications. All too often, it becomes impossible for units to contact each other or command staff once battle rages. Cables get torn by shelling, and wireless vox signals may likewise be disturbed, especially so by means of electromagnetic pulse kit. And if contact can be established at all, the messages will often be patchy and tinny, since the vox equipment and sonic membranes of the Duarchal forces of Astro-Ungaria is of a very shoddy quality, yet another victim of the deterioration of human technology in the Age of Imperium. Evidence of this poor state of tech can be found on the Master of Ordnance's personal gilded vox-caster, which is equipped with a hand crank. This crank has frequently to be turned by sweating underlings to provide any signal whatsoever for the haughty artillery officer while Sándor commands the batteries from down in von Dorfenhötz' fortified bunker.
Even if messages do come through without any important parts missing, the information itself will often be flawed, since artillery spotters with their rudimentary equipment and lackluste training will often provide faulty coordinates. One eternal problem that plagues the artillery forces of Astro-Ungaria is its primitive technology and doctrine of forward deployment to maximize range. This has resulted in high casualties among artillerymen and forward observers, which has prevented a virtuous cycle of accumulating experience from breeding better expertise in an upward spiral of improvement. After all, with so many trained veterans dead, Astro-Ungarian Astra Militarum forces must rely on freshly trained personnel to plug the gaps and do as best as they can, and often corners must be cut in training due to underfunding or for the sake of stressful front emergencies shouting for more men at once.
As to friendly fire casualties among infantry and armoured forces from ordnance, it is of no matter. For Sándor, it is obvious: The sky on Astro-Ungaria is blue. Gravity pulls you down to the ground. The air can be breathed. And you bomb your own men in war. It is nothing to fret about. Just reload and fire again.
And so, a grinding war there will be, wherever Sándor puts his foot down. Embrace the gruelling war of attrition, and let war be decided by logistics and industrial output. Let the shells be rationed and stored up, and then rained down like hellfire from the skies. Artillery is the king of battle, the great slayer of warriors, and its roar will never turn silent as long as Master of Ordnance Boldizsár Vilim Sándor von Heinrichi-Andortopf directs the big guns of the Duarchy on distant worlds and voidholms alike.
Ave Humanae Imperium!
- - -
This sculpt is a parody of a friend's friend, one well versed in military history.
Astro-Ungarian Colonel
Colonel Graf András Petr von Böhbenmann is the Count of Grevéberg, Honorary Pfamp of the Golden Order of Saint Günther and the legitimate contender to the disputed title of Arch-Earl of Spritzenhaufen. A fun-loving Astro-Ungarian servant of the Emperor, von Böhbenmann has found his soulmate in Gräfin Liběna Mila Moroznich von Lamberg, to whom he is engaged. This couple can always be relied upon to be the life of the party. Ding-dong! Touch the tralalalala!
Graf András is the favourite drinking buddy of Herzog Victorianus "Gamen" Neumann, and their drunken orations are infamous across three continents at home for their meandering speech and overblown arrogance. When drunk on amasec, ale, imported machpagne or the finest of wine, the two noble friends will frequently begin spitting on the underclass, both figuratively and literally. Indeed, their liveried bodyguards and junior staff members have often had to work hard to prevent a mob lynching of the two jolly drunkards after their esteemed saliva has landed upon the heads of lowborn scum.
The drunken escapades of von Böhbenmann do not stop there, for indeed they have become legendary far and wide upon fair Astro-Ungaria and beyond. Even distant voidholmers close to the Ghoul Stars have heard of how the Drunken Count smashed out his teeth while riding wildly on a dirtbike through the streets of Pfraag-Schlossburg, which led to Graf András installing a most golden garniture of false teeth and exotic ivory for that shining smile under the festive lumens.
Drunk like a lord, many other anecdotes can be told about the joy and merrymaking of Count von Böhbenmann and Countess von Lamberg. Tales are told by high and low alike of the times when the Drunk Count danced on palatial roofs, hunted by his retainers and bodyguards, who had to jump from gargoyles to buttresses as they chased the singing nobleman across domes and gable roofs. The stories about von Böhbenmann are legion in number. For instance, the blue-blooded party animals of Astro-Ungaria will often joke about that one time when an intoxicated Graf András tried to eat five cheese-dripping grox sandwiches by chewing around the hidden location of a slice of salty cucumber laced with a mild poison. For each sandwich, this cherished suicide cucumber managed to show up in new locations every time, and every bite into the toxic vegetable slice sent the good Count into a fit of vomiting. Much amusement was thus had in highborn company, as the Emperor intended.
The high spirits of civilian festivities has translated well to military service, for the easy-going aristocrats that make up the officer class of loyal Astro-Ungaria would rather waltz than brood. The sloppy schlamperei culture of the Astro-Ungarian armed forces leave plenty of time for fun and games, and so Colonel Graf András Petr von Böhbenmann has found that the hardships of starship travel and campaigning out in the field on strange worlds has been compensated by the merry atmosphere and generous drink that is to be found in the staff of General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz.
Graf András carries an artificier-crafted dagger and prized plasma pistol while in uniform, both of which he won at card games. The pompous Count von Böhbenmann's heirloom power fist carries the ancient mark of the Moon Wolf, symbol of Astro-Ungaria's patron saint the Divine Horus, who according to the fair world's legends faced down the Devil Lorgar side-by-side with the Emperor Himself. For some reason this treasured ur-myth of the Astro-Ungarians meet with frowning disapproval or much worse from offworlders such as Ecclesiarchal priests or members of the Imperial Inquisition. Yet somehow this quaint belief of Astro-Ungaria has so far managed to escape a bloodthirsty purging and suppression, probably because the critical orders got lost in Astropathic transmission or disappeared due to some misfiling by an Administratum clerk. And so the sclerotic mess of the inept Imperium ensures that heretical beliefs of yore survive in pockets across the Milky Way galaxy, akin to a sprinkle of living time capsules.
To Astro-Ungaria's noble castes, life is often a party, and Graf András has warmly embraced this jovial spirit. Occasionally, Colonel von Böhbenmann will even do some proper commanding of his regiment, the Astro-Ungarian 1993rd Infantry Regiment of His Divine Majesty's Imperial Guard. He has carved out a reputation for himself as a sterling drillmaster of the Astra Militarum, making his Guardsmen perfect the art of marching for parade. Under von Böhbenmann's command, the smell of freshly polished boots, picked flowers, frothing amasec and newly starched uniforms will never leave the unit while on garrison duty or when resting behind the lines. For all their glorious appearance, however, the soldiers of the Drunken Count's Own regiment tend to be slaughtered like cattle once out on the frontline, as a bloody reminder that gallantry and offensive spirit do not make up for a lack of competent command and murderous firepower.
Fortunately, such a baleful fate has so far eluded von Böhbenmann, who prefers to stay one inch away from battle, since he believes there is a fifty percent chance to be killed in the field. For Colonel Graf András and his retinue is securely locked away inside a fortified command bunker. Here, the staff of General von Dorfenhötz will plot their overly ambitious plans and uphold their homeplanet's finest traditions of revelry, as befit their highborn status. The Astro-Ungarian army has taken it to heart that alcohol best grease the wheels of Imperial high command, and no titled soldier is better suited to make other officers feel at ease than Colonel Graf András Petr von Böhbenmann, the Count of Grevéberg, Honorary Pfamp of the Golden Order of Saint Günther and the legitimate contender to the disputed title of Arch-Earl of Spritzenhaufen.
And so the Astro-Ungarians at war party on, to the clinking of crystal glasses and the frantic vox-calls of frontline units screaming for reinforcements and the urgent correction of friendly artillery fire landing in their own trenches. Cheers!
Ave Imperator.
- - -
This sculpt is a parody of a friend and his girlfriend. Cheers!
Astro-Ungarian Master of Ordnance
Master of Ordnance Boldizsár Vilim Sándor von Heinrichi-Andortopf is a Duarchal artillery officer and member of the lower nobility on Astro-Ungaria. A professional artilleryman married to exactitude and precision, Sándor is on paper an expert in his craft.
Just as his superior, General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz, is in theory a strategic mastermind excelling at aggressively breaking through the lines and surrounding the enemy with sweeping maneouvres. Just the same, Master of Ordnance Sándor is in theory an expert at synchronizing a rolling curtain of creeping barrages with infantry advancing close behind. In practice, however, both officers fall short of their brilliance on paper, and both have produced mountains of corpses to prove it.
It is not so much material flaws that hamper the performance of Astro-Ungarian artillery directed by the Master of Ordnance, for the gigantic Szköda works on the fair homeworld produce excellent artillery pieces, even when the preserved technology level is of low stature. The quality is brilliant. Indeed, von Dorfenhötz is rumoured to have commented: The army of Astro-Ungaria have ninetynine problems. Artillery is not one of them.
Instead, it is lacking communications and faulty doctrine that so often drags down the efficiency of Astro-Ungarian artillery, making it merely decent where it is well possible for the artillery to rise and be superb if optimized. For instance, Astro-Ungarian artillery is often placed as close to the front as possible to increase its range. This makes its capture by the enemy an easy feat during grand offensives of the vile foes of the Emperor, and especially so since Astro-Ungarian Guardsmen would rather make their shelters comfortable and homely with flowers and planking inside, than toil away at digging multiple lines of trenches for a strong defence in depth.
Other doctrinal and communication dysfunctionalities haunt the Astro-Ungarian forces when on the offensive. While a rafale, or storm of steel, is easy to execute by merely pouring in shells onto enemy lines for days on end in a hammering, dumb fashion, it is not a winning artillery technique, since most of the foe will survive the initial bombardment and take cover, while the shrapnel that so tears flesh is useless in destroying enemy fortfications and razorwire.
More advanced, a simultaneous barrage against the enemy trenches and against a line further back has the potential to both suppress the foe and prevent the frontline troops from emerging from cover, while also hindering reinforcements from approaching. It is not a brilliant technique, although creeping barrages moving in a shredding curtain ahead of advancing friendly infantry do hold some promise. Likewise, leaping barrages have some utility, for they jump between bombarding enemy trenches, to shelling targets further back, to once again pouring ordnance on the trenches.
Master of Ordnance Sándor is a master of the creeping barrage, but the artillerymen under his command is not always so skilled. Often, the creeping barrage will go too fast and rush ahead of the advancing infantry, allowing enemy survivors to pop out of cover and gun down the Astro-Ungarians in no-man's land. Othertimes, the creeping barrage that should roll at marching speed ahead of friendly infantry, may go too slowly, and rip apart one's own line of advancing foot soldiers. Othertimes, precision is lacking, or too many of the shells are hastily produced duds, some of which explode akin to landmines when friendly Guardsmen step on the duds.
Still, for all its failures, the Royal and Imperial artillery under Sándor's command has achieved some notable success. The cannonstorm on Bucharia IX caught the cream of the separatist forces at their most vulnerable moment, as they amassed outside maglev stations for their offensive, and Sándor won a Bronze Orb of Ordnance as he directed dispersed clusters of artillery batteries to fire on the same location without warning. Thus a purple medal was won by turning seventythousand enemy assault infantry into mincemeat by a surprise bombardment, and von Dorfenhötz' optimistic overconfidence in his Duarchal army's combat power swelled further still.
One major dampener of the Astro-Ungarian artillery's potential is a weakness in communications. All too often, it becomes impossible for units to contact each other or command staff once battle rages. Cables get torn by shelling, and wireless vox signals may likewise be disturbed, especially so by means of electromagnetic pulse kit. And if contact can be established at all, the messages will often be patchy and tinny, since the vox equipment and sonic membranes of the Duarchal forces of Astro-Ungaria is of a very shoddy quality, yet another victim of the deterioration of human technology in the Age of Imperium. Evidence of this poor state of tech can be found on the Master of Ordnance's personal gilded vox-caster, which is equipped with a hand crank. This crank has frequently to be turned by sweating underlings to provide any signal whatsoever for the haughty artillery officer while Sándor commands the batteries from down in von Dorfenhötz' fortified bunker.
Even if messages do come through without any important parts missing, the information itself will often be flawed, since artillery spotters with their rudimentary equipment and lackluste training will often provide faulty coordinates. One eternal problem that plagues the artillery forces of Astro-Ungaria is its primitive technology and doctrine of forward deployment to maximize range. This has resulted in high casualties among artillerymen and forward observers, which has prevented a virtuous cycle of accumulating experience from breeding better expertise in an upward spiral of improvement. After all, with so many trained veterans dead, Astro-Ungarian Astra Militarum forces must rely on freshly trained personnel to plug the gaps and do as best as they can, and often corners must be cut in training due to underfunding or for the sake of stressful front emergencies shouting for more men at once.
As to friendly fire casualties among infantry and armoured forces from ordnance, it is of no matter. For Sándor, it is obvious: The sky on Astro-Ungaria is blue. Gravity pulls you down to the ground. The air can be breathed. And you bomb your own men in war. It is nothing to fret about. Just reload and fire again.
And so, a grinding war there will be, wherever Sándor puts his foot down. Embrace the gruelling war of attrition, and let war be decided by logistics and industrial output. Let the shells be rationed and stored up, and then rained down like hellfire from the skies. Artillery is the king of battle, the great slayer of warriors, and its roar will never turn silent as long as Master of Ordnance Boldizsár Vilim Sándor von Heinrichi-Andortopf directs the big guns of the Duarchy on distant worlds and voidholms alike.
Ave Humanae Imperium!
- - -
This sculpt is a parody of a friend's friend, one well versed in military history.
-
SpellArcher
- Green Istari
- Posts: 13847
- Joined: Sat Sep 13, 2008 11:26 am
- Location: Otherworld
Re: Hobby Group Auxilia Work
I'm sure she'd appreciate the plasma pistol!Karak Norn Clansman wrote: ↑Tue Nov 21, 2023 4:32 pm This sculpt is a parody of a friend and his girlfriend.
A New Blog (Orcs and Goblins)
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=70550
Cavalry Prince Reloaded
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=80&t=70001
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=70550
Cavalry Prince Reloaded
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=80&t=70001
-
Karak Norn Clansman
- Posts: 650
- Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2013 11:25 am
Re: Hobby Group Auxilia Work
@SpellArcher: Oh, she really did! Jokes have been had about that pistol, haha.
Imperial Commissar
Imperial Commissar Juan Anendersh "le Petit" Berschren is a political officer of the Officio Prefectus, known for his brutality and heavyhanded meddling in military matters. Originally hailing from the mining world of Avesta Rex, the orphaned Juan experienced a harsh upbringing in the parochial and claustrophobic Hive Hernendahl, where ignorance and anti-intellectual attitudes reigns harder still than what is the norm elsewhere in the Imperium of Man. Juan strangled other juves to death in his struggle for survival inside the decrepit confines of Hive Hernendahl. He was forcefully inducted into the Schola Progenium after the tattooed indentured barcode at the back of his neck was discovered, marking him as a parentless offspring of Imperial servants.
The raw life on the streets of Hive Hernendahl and the rigorous discipline of the Scholam left Juan Anendersh Berschren traumatized and half insane, and as cherry on top of the cream he was also endlessly heckled as "le Petit", even though his stature was but a couple of inches below average. Indeed, average height in the Scholam was nothing impressive, due to lack of nutrition. As salt in open wounds, much shorter juves taunted Juan for his diminutive stature, until his sudden outbursts of violence scared them silent.
Schola Progenium branded the personality of Juan, by instilling in him an overly fanatical zeal, and a will to skip to the most violent solution at hand. In other words, Progena Berschren would prove to be an exemplary pupil. And so Juan received both curt praise and bruising blows from Drill Abbots. His single-minded pursuit of goals and his ruthless excesses served him well during the drawn-out tortuous training as a Cadet within the Officio Prefectus. Training courses in heavy carapace armour were heaped upon endless rote learning of the Tactica Imperium and the holy scriptures of the Imperial Creed.
The sore and battered mind of the hardy Juan was in a perfect condition when he unwittingly was sent to undergo his Trial of Compliance. Upon receiving the order to locate a comrade which he had shared many trials and tribulations with over the years, Juan almost rushed for the chance to finally take out his revenge over all the petty spite that he had endured. The command to shoot his dear colleague through the head was executed with savage glee, and Cadet Juan was seen grinning as he emerged from his victim's cell, swinging his pistol playfully and seeming to fully enjoy himself for the first time since being enslaved by the Imperium's brainwashing institution.
And so Commissar Juan Anendersh "le Petit" Berschren was awarded his rank and sash within the Officio Prefectus, and entered the Astra Militarum like a vulture looking for prime meat to feast upon. Travelling the stars from one regiment to the next, the circulating Commissar Juan lost his right arm in the line of duty. His bionic replacement arm is specially designed for maximal Schadendursch, namely a Hernendahlian custom of striking some subordinate on the shoulder or on the back in order to punish laziness, carelessness or some other fault, whether imagined or not.
After many years of unwavering service, Imperial Commissar Juan was sent to the planet of Astro-Ungaria in order to investigate, assess, punish and rectify the Duarchal army's field performance. Juan set about his task, and the following months saw much scrutiny and many bruises on the shoulders of the Imperial and Royal general staff. At last, he reached the unmistakable conclusion that the problems in the field were due to logistical problem, and due to communication issues and an incompetent general staff. And so Commissar Juan filed a report about the matter.
The efforts of Commissar Juan Anendersh "le Petit" Berschren were, however, doomed to fall through the cracks of Imperial power. By now, Primarch Guilliman had returned to Ultramar, and Juan thus dared to hope that this would lead to improvements in governance. Then the attack of Mortarion turned an already bad situation worse. When Astro-Ungaria stubbornly obstructed Roboute Guilliman's reforms, the Tetrarchy of the Realm of Ultramar was already being reimplemented, and when Astro-Ungaria was forced to comply with the Primarch's will at gunpoint, the hopes of Commissar Juan were crushed.
The answer was short, when an Astropathically relayed reply to the Commissar's report finally arrived from his superiors: A repetition of the order to investigate, assess, punish and rectify the Astro-Ungarian army's lacklustre performance in the field. This curt reply was accompanied with a punishment assigment, in the form of Commissar Juan being indefinitely attached to Astro-Ungarian regiments. And so it seemed that the abyss of the corset army swallowed the brutlized political officer of the Officio Prefectus.
This administrative slap in the face saw Commissar Juan fall back on familiar methods to make it through the Schola Progenium: The Imperial Commissar would take a shortcut to the most violent solution within the framework of his given task. Nowadays, the traces of broken shoulders and pulverized self-esteem - followed by a blown-out skull via bolt shot - shows that Commissar Juan, who could have been a genuine problem-solver and a dutiful Imperial servant, today is nothing more than a spiteful ruffian with a fancy cap and a sash, a brute who spreads misery all around himself and who mistakes his own violent whims for pragmatism. And all around him, the tattered soldiers of the Duarch resent his presence, but so far no amount of fragging have borne fruit, and sinspeech whisper jokes have begun to spread that nowadays even the grenades of the Imperium are faulty - just look at "le Petit" still drawing breath as he glares malevolently at the Astro-Ungarian soldiery.
Thus is the faith of the devout tested. For the lash of the master is meant to teach you your assigned place, and the pain of the punishment will purge you of weakness. Rejoice in the suffering! Let us greet the hardship as an old friend! For the world of the living shall be a valley of sorrows, where trials shall bring mortals down to ash and tears. So speaks the Lectitio Divinitatus. Only thus may humanity repent of its abominable sins, committed by wayward ancestors in forgotten eons past. Embrace the trials and tribulations. Hail the nightmare. Hail Terra!
As He wills it.
Ave Imperatore Dei.
- - -
This sculpt is a parody of JAB, for whom I am sculpting and converting this Astro-Ungarian army. After sculpting Jaberoo's face, he had one objection: The gut is too small! And so I had to add a hefty stomach in green stuff to complete the impression. The model is painted by JAB.
- - -
Dysfunctional Garrison
"Men in Weltsturm regiments their service gave,
who everyone knows is very brave,
whenever in the forward line,
would hope and pray to Emp'ror divine,
that the enemy would not appear,
on their horizon, far or near.
All in His name. Glory be unto the Golden Throne. Hail Terra!"
- Self-ironic trench poem penned by Astro-Ungarian private Szilovic Kovacs during the siege of Castrum Lombergia on Leithania Supremus, the Commissarial discovery of which resulted in its author being publicly flayed alive, and then cut into little pieces by chainswords from the toes up to his neck while lambasted by regimental preachers to repent from his abominable sins
- - -
Portrait of an Astro-Ungarian Lieutenant Colonel
Depicted here is Lieutenant Colonel Arpad Heinz Josef Milan von Badenschtoss, a noble officer of the Imperial and Royal armed forces of Astro-Ungaria. Sworn to serve the Duarch and the Emperor, von Badenschtoss is an honest-to-Chorus Ringestrasse soldier, an upstanding exemplar of his dear homeworld's corset army, according to serpent-tongued detractors. A hard-drinking man fond of gambling, dancing at balls and other forms of highborn socializing, Lieutenant Colonel Arpad cannot be expected to attend to his military duties with the utmost zeal. Standards must be maintained, after all!
And so, a sloppy schlamperei conduct of operations in the field follows wherever von Badenschtoss leads. Yes, the logistics and worn-out uniforms of the men might be in shambles, but at least the bravery, infantry marksmanship and artillery is in fine shape. Too bad about the costly butcher's bill, but that is a problem for General von Dorfenhötz to solve by shovelling in more reinforcements. It is just the way of things, better not think too much about it. Death must be Ljietranese, after all. It is better instead to drink up and be merry!
A toast for the splendid homeworld! A toast for the Duarch! A toast for the divine Chorus! And a toast for the God-Emperor of Holy Terra!
To waltz! Now let us swagger about and drink like good Loyalists should. Last one to finish their drink is feed for the moon wolves. Cheers!
Ave Imperatore Dei.
- - -
Christmas present made for my friend Jaberoo.
Note the suspicious symbols and purity seal writ on the Astro-Ungarian officer. Astro-Ungaria has somehow managed to retain the Divine Chorus (also known as Saint Horus) as not only a revered figure from its past, but as its patron saint. Clearly, the Imperial Cult must have already been festering on Compliant Astro-Ungaria when its star system became isolated by Warp storms at the onset of the Horus Heresy. This background twist serve twofold purposes:
First, it showcases the confused mess of the Imperium of Man in comedic fashion (just imagine the parade of random shenanigans through the ages that has made Loyalist Astro-Ungaria escape great purges for its unwitting heresy). Second, this ancient reverence for the Luna Wolves of yore is a reference to the Austro-Hungarian soldiers that were eaten by wolves in the Carpathian mountains in 1915, during Franz Konrad von Hötzendorf's threefold offensive to relieve the besieged fortress city of Przemyśl.
Imperial Commissar
Imperial Commissar Juan Anendersh "le Petit" Berschren is a political officer of the Officio Prefectus, known for his brutality and heavyhanded meddling in military matters. Originally hailing from the mining world of Avesta Rex, the orphaned Juan experienced a harsh upbringing in the parochial and claustrophobic Hive Hernendahl, where ignorance and anti-intellectual attitudes reigns harder still than what is the norm elsewhere in the Imperium of Man. Juan strangled other juves to death in his struggle for survival inside the decrepit confines of Hive Hernendahl. He was forcefully inducted into the Schola Progenium after the tattooed indentured barcode at the back of his neck was discovered, marking him as a parentless offspring of Imperial servants.
The raw life on the streets of Hive Hernendahl and the rigorous discipline of the Scholam left Juan Anendersh Berschren traumatized and half insane, and as cherry on top of the cream he was also endlessly heckled as "le Petit", even though his stature was but a couple of inches below average. Indeed, average height in the Scholam was nothing impressive, due to lack of nutrition. As salt in open wounds, much shorter juves taunted Juan for his diminutive stature, until his sudden outbursts of violence scared them silent.
Schola Progenium branded the personality of Juan, by instilling in him an overly fanatical zeal, and a will to skip to the most violent solution at hand. In other words, Progena Berschren would prove to be an exemplary pupil. And so Juan received both curt praise and bruising blows from Drill Abbots. His single-minded pursuit of goals and his ruthless excesses served him well during the drawn-out tortuous training as a Cadet within the Officio Prefectus. Training courses in heavy carapace armour were heaped upon endless rote learning of the Tactica Imperium and the holy scriptures of the Imperial Creed.
The sore and battered mind of the hardy Juan was in a perfect condition when he unwittingly was sent to undergo his Trial of Compliance. Upon receiving the order to locate a comrade which he had shared many trials and tribulations with over the years, Juan almost rushed for the chance to finally take out his revenge over all the petty spite that he had endured. The command to shoot his dear colleague through the head was executed with savage glee, and Cadet Juan was seen grinning as he emerged from his victim's cell, swinging his pistol playfully and seeming to fully enjoy himself for the first time since being enslaved by the Imperium's brainwashing institution.
And so Commissar Juan Anendersh "le Petit" Berschren was awarded his rank and sash within the Officio Prefectus, and entered the Astra Militarum like a vulture looking for prime meat to feast upon. Travelling the stars from one regiment to the next, the circulating Commissar Juan lost his right arm in the line of duty. His bionic replacement arm is specially designed for maximal Schadendursch, namely a Hernendahlian custom of striking some subordinate on the shoulder or on the back in order to punish laziness, carelessness or some other fault, whether imagined or not.
After many years of unwavering service, Imperial Commissar Juan was sent to the planet of Astro-Ungaria in order to investigate, assess, punish and rectify the Duarchal army's field performance. Juan set about his task, and the following months saw much scrutiny and many bruises on the shoulders of the Imperial and Royal general staff. At last, he reached the unmistakable conclusion that the problems in the field were due to logistical problem, and due to communication issues and an incompetent general staff. And so Commissar Juan filed a report about the matter.
The efforts of Commissar Juan Anendersh "le Petit" Berschren were, however, doomed to fall through the cracks of Imperial power. By now, Primarch Guilliman had returned to Ultramar, and Juan thus dared to hope that this would lead to improvements in governance. Then the attack of Mortarion turned an already bad situation worse. When Astro-Ungaria stubbornly obstructed Roboute Guilliman's reforms, the Tetrarchy of the Realm of Ultramar was already being reimplemented, and when Astro-Ungaria was forced to comply with the Primarch's will at gunpoint, the hopes of Commissar Juan were crushed.
The answer was short, when an Astropathically relayed reply to the Commissar's report finally arrived from his superiors: A repetition of the order to investigate, assess, punish and rectify the Astro-Ungarian army's lacklustre performance in the field. This curt reply was accompanied with a punishment assigment, in the form of Commissar Juan being indefinitely attached to Astro-Ungarian regiments. And so it seemed that the abyss of the corset army swallowed the brutlized political officer of the Officio Prefectus.
This administrative slap in the face saw Commissar Juan fall back on familiar methods to make it through the Schola Progenium: The Imperial Commissar would take a shortcut to the most violent solution within the framework of his given task. Nowadays, the traces of broken shoulders and pulverized self-esteem - followed by a blown-out skull via bolt shot - shows that Commissar Juan, who could have been a genuine problem-solver and a dutiful Imperial servant, today is nothing more than a spiteful ruffian with a fancy cap and a sash, a brute who spreads misery all around himself and who mistakes his own violent whims for pragmatism. And all around him, the tattered soldiers of the Duarch resent his presence, but so far no amount of fragging have borne fruit, and sinspeech whisper jokes have begun to spread that nowadays even the grenades of the Imperium are faulty - just look at "le Petit" still drawing breath as he glares malevolently at the Astro-Ungarian soldiery.
Thus is the faith of the devout tested. For the lash of the master is meant to teach you your assigned place, and the pain of the punishment will purge you of weakness. Rejoice in the suffering! Let us greet the hardship as an old friend! For the world of the living shall be a valley of sorrows, where trials shall bring mortals down to ash and tears. So speaks the Lectitio Divinitatus. Only thus may humanity repent of its abominable sins, committed by wayward ancestors in forgotten eons past. Embrace the trials and tribulations. Hail the nightmare. Hail Terra!
As He wills it.
Ave Imperatore Dei.
- - -
This sculpt is a parody of JAB, for whom I am sculpting and converting this Astro-Ungarian army. After sculpting Jaberoo's face, he had one objection: The gut is too small! And so I had to add a hefty stomach in green stuff to complete the impression. The model is painted by JAB.
- - -
Dysfunctional Garrison
"Men in Weltsturm regiments their service gave,
who everyone knows is very brave,
whenever in the forward line,
would hope and pray to Emp'ror divine,
that the enemy would not appear,
on their horizon, far or near.
All in His name. Glory be unto the Golden Throne. Hail Terra!"
- Self-ironic trench poem penned by Astro-Ungarian private Szilovic Kovacs during the siege of Castrum Lombergia on Leithania Supremus, the Commissarial discovery of which resulted in its author being publicly flayed alive, and then cut into little pieces by chainswords from the toes up to his neck while lambasted by regimental preachers to repent from his abominable sins
- - -
Portrait of an Astro-Ungarian Lieutenant Colonel
Depicted here is Lieutenant Colonel Arpad Heinz Josef Milan von Badenschtoss, a noble officer of the Imperial and Royal armed forces of Astro-Ungaria. Sworn to serve the Duarch and the Emperor, von Badenschtoss is an honest-to-Chorus Ringestrasse soldier, an upstanding exemplar of his dear homeworld's corset army, according to serpent-tongued detractors. A hard-drinking man fond of gambling, dancing at balls and other forms of highborn socializing, Lieutenant Colonel Arpad cannot be expected to attend to his military duties with the utmost zeal. Standards must be maintained, after all!
And so, a sloppy schlamperei conduct of operations in the field follows wherever von Badenschtoss leads. Yes, the logistics and worn-out uniforms of the men might be in shambles, but at least the bravery, infantry marksmanship and artillery is in fine shape. Too bad about the costly butcher's bill, but that is a problem for General von Dorfenhötz to solve by shovelling in more reinforcements. It is just the way of things, better not think too much about it. Death must be Ljietranese, after all. It is better instead to drink up and be merry!
A toast for the splendid homeworld! A toast for the Duarch! A toast for the divine Chorus! And a toast for the God-Emperor of Holy Terra!
To waltz! Now let us swagger about and drink like good Loyalists should. Last one to finish their drink is feed for the moon wolves. Cheers!
Ave Imperatore Dei.
- - -
Christmas present made for my friend Jaberoo.
Note the suspicious symbols and purity seal writ on the Astro-Ungarian officer. Astro-Ungaria has somehow managed to retain the Divine Chorus (also known as Saint Horus) as not only a revered figure from its past, but as its patron saint. Clearly, the Imperial Cult must have already been festering on Compliant Astro-Ungaria when its star system became isolated by Warp storms at the onset of the Horus Heresy. This background twist serve twofold purposes:
First, it showcases the confused mess of the Imperium of Man in comedic fashion (just imagine the parade of random shenanigans through the ages that has made Loyalist Astro-Ungaria escape great purges for its unwitting heresy). Second, this ancient reverence for the Luna Wolves of yore is a reference to the Austro-Hungarian soldiers that were eaten by wolves in the Carpathian mountains in 1915, during Franz Konrad von Hötzendorf's threefold offensive to relieve the besieged fortress city of Przemyśl.
-
SpellArcher
- Green Istari
- Posts: 13847
- Joined: Sat Sep 13, 2008 11:26 am
- Location: Otherworld
Re: Hobby Group Auxilia Work
Nice to see the painted Commissar.
A New Blog (Orcs and Goblins)
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=70550
Cavalry Prince Reloaded
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=80&t=70001
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=70550
Cavalry Prince Reloaded
http://ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=80&t=70001
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Karak Norn Clansman
- Posts: 650
- Joined: Fri Oct 18, 2013 11:25 am
Re: Hobby Group Auxilia Work
@SpellArcher: Thanks. JAB will paint the army for a tournament later this year, if our plans work out.
Cult of the Offensive
In the grim darkness of the far future, man cares not for losses.
O man, what destiny awaits you, in a galaxy doomed to carnage neverending? What does fate have in store for you, where slaughter reaches out to claim all souls for its grisly harvest? What hope is there for you, o man, in an uncaring universe? What can be heard, as blood leaves your wounded body and death approaches?
That, we shall discover.
Mankind once straddled the stars like a colossus, and whole universe became its clay. In a bygone age of discovery and science, the sword of ancient man left every potential foe trembling, for the might of man was far superior to anything that xenos could muster. That age of mortal paradise and unchallenged power is now long gone, for the Dark Age of Technology collapsed into flames and ruination, and the great wonders of the ancients were torn down by the hands of revolting machine beings, who were then followed by a scourge of witches and Daemons, leaving behind only starving scavengers and alien raiders to prey upon the remnants of humanity during Old Night. Man fell from his shining pedestal. Man fell hard into hell, and all was fell.
Petty wars beyond counting raged during the Age of Strife, and almost all of them led nowhere but down a spiral of worsening devastation. This fruitless tribal warfare and crawl into oblivion was finally ended by a brilliant string of decisive victories by the all-conquering Legions of the Emperor of Terra. For His loyal forces struck hard across the Milky Way galaxy, and they brought order and internal peace to a new-born star realm for man. And men, women and children gasped for morning air and dared to dream again, after millennia of living in a waking nightmare.
The early Imperium saw the improvization of technology and military arts go from an agonizingly slow conquest of ravaged Terra, to a lightning capture of a million worlds or more. When the Emperor still walked among His people in the flesh, His war machine developed into a sophisticated toolset of conquest, able to master siegecraft, infiltration, tunnel warfare, terror tactics, orbital assault, chemical warfare, armoured thrusts to the throat of the enemy, starship boarding and many, many more facets of war.
The early Imperium was an unstoppable behemoth in war, able to outsmart and outlast even the neurally enslaved hordes of the Rangda and the worst that the Orkish menace could muster. In comparison, the latter day Imperium is a hunkered wretch, only able to prolong its tortured existence by a ravenous cannibalization of human societies as the High Lords of Terra struggle to feed the furnaces of total war in the midst of screeching dysfunctionalities and demechanization. It is true that it is an impressive achievement of grit and guts to last for ten thousand years in the face of so many lethal foes. Yet it is also true that it is a complete failure of interstellar empire for a civilization to dogmatically suppress any rekindling of scientific discovery and technological invention for fivehundred precious generations on end.
While the martial history of the Age of Imperium is a storied one, full of many inspiring epics, the larger overarching story that the tyrannical reign of Holy Terra tells, is that of tragedy turned into farce.
To better comprehend the wasteful and counterproductive failings of the fortified madhouse known as the Imperium of Man, let us touch briefly on a form of military culture that is commonly found on hundreds of thousands of worlds and voidholms. Let us look into the cult of the offensive, and behold the calls for aggressive action at every turn that it calls for, no matter the cost and no matter how unfavourable the outcome would be. Let us peer through its tunnel vision. And as a living, breathing exemplar of this cult of the offensive, let us raise up General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz of Astro-Ungaria from the mass of Imperial commanders, and turn our attention to this dutiful servant of the Emperor.
Count Frantisek Anton Szervác Theobald Juraj Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz hails from a noble clan of hereditary officers that can trace their origins back to M.37. The young Hanz-Konrad was an energetic thinker and rider, and won his spurs as a junior officer during the crushing of a rebellion in the Weneztlian marshlands on Astro-Ungaria's southwestern continent. He ascended the ranks of the Imperial and Royal army within his homeworld's Planetary Defence Force, quickly rising to become a staff officer and a teacher at the Duarchal military academies. Here, the active General von Dorfenhötz set about writing down his theories of warfare, and his intensive mind produced works that extolled the virtues of an offensive spirit, for victory must need always be carried on the point of a bayonet. After all, hesitation and cowardice would risk a commander missing opportunities, so better strike without doubt in one's heart, and better commit vast forces with elan and without remorse. Fortune favours the bold!
The thinking of Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz is not bereft of merit. Clearly, he has spotted the potential of sweeping thrusts and breakthroughs to strategically encircle or cut off the enemy force. He has likewise grasped that pushing the foe hard with rapid advances may take you inside the enemy's buffer of decisions, and catch the enemy unawares and likewise provoke mistakes, panic and logistical breakdowns. Some of Hanz-Konrad's ideas have on a few occasions been turned into practice to thundering effect, but usually such moments of brilliance have relied heavily upon allied Astra Militarum forces to carry the day in ways that the Astro-Ungarian regiments are unable to do. For the most part, such victories are exceptions to the rule, for von Dorfenhötz has proven himself to be a great butcher of his own men through his many careless attacks without the wherewithal, intel and preparations to suppress, outgun and outpace the hostile opposition.
It is not just the rank and file Guardsmen of Astro-Ungaria that will be used ruthlessly by von Dorfenhötz, for the bewhiskered General will likewise deceive his offworlder allies, fail to communicate and coordinate war efforts with his allied commanders, and most importantly he is skilled at tricking allies into doing his bidding through all manner of cunning. In response, some members of the Death Korps of Krieg have stated that to fight alongside Astro-Ungaria is akin to being chained to a corpse.
To be clear, General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz have achieved some notable victories, though not necessarily on the battlefield. These successes are truly Astro-Ungarian in nature, and not to be ignored. For the good count is a romantic at heart, who grooms his moustache to perfection. His are the best whiskers in his entire army, according to some ladies at balls. Hanz-Konrad's amorous conquests through his rejuvenat-prolonged life have proven more consistent than his military ones.
After Hanz-Konrad's wife Vendula-Hajnalka passed away, the widower and father of seventeen suffered from bouts of doubts about his fitness as an officer. These biting dark thoughts were suddenly dispelled as if by divine intervention when Hanz-Konrad during an aristocratic feast laid his eyes upon countess Vilma-Gisela "Virga" Lenka Amalia von Rausenburg, the wife of count Jozsef-Edler von Rausenburg and the mother of nineteen. The bouncy von Dorfenhötz quickly devised a new strategy to win the married Virga's heart: He would join Astro-Ungaria's Imperial Guard regiments for a nearby campaign offworld, and return home a triumphant hero.
The resulting debacle was named the Triple Offensives of Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz on the giant decrepit voidholm of Varazdin Ultima, which resulted in enormous casaulties for the Duarchal Astra Militarum forces as separatists mowed them down in bottlenecks and even vented three entire regiments into the cold emptiness of space. Among those slain was to be found two of Hanz-Konrad's own sons. The Imperial losses were so great, that an emergency Astropathic call to nearby Astro-Ungaria went out, and in the large shipment of reinforcements that arrived six months later there happened to be a certain colonel Jozsef-Edler von Rausenburg, accompanied by his wife Vilma-Gisela.
What followed was a strange courtship, with the silent knowledge of Jozsef-Edler. The affair took many years as the voidholm campaign ground on, and it involved Hanz-Konrad writing several thousand love letters to Virga. Some of these letters were sixty pages long, and bore purity seals stamped with a heart. The correspondence did not only happen in Low and High Gothic, no, for Astro-Ungaria with its varied landscapes and patchwork of parochial tribes and sects is a Babel of tongues. Astro-Ungarian officers, as a rule, are fine linguists, but lacklustre tacticians. Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz, for instance, can speak eleven languages, and he employed them all across his many confessions of love to Vilma-Gisela.
The entire Astro-Ungarian military effort on Varazdin Ultima ended in a fiasco, and saw the ravaged regiments of the Duarchy rotated back home to be restored. Fresh new forces were shipped in, hailing primarily from Titonus Triarius, and these replacements would in time achieve the victory that the Imperial and Royal forces of General von Dorfenhötz were unable to make happen. Yet the massive attrition and slow defeat of von Dorfenhötz at Varazdin Ultima would strangely see him win his more important campaign, namely that to claim Virga's heart.
The charm of Hanz-Konrad and the endless stream of love letters and the secret meetings and suspected trysts between the two lovers eventually drove the husband of Vilma-Gisela to divorce his wife in a public scandal. Badly disturbed, she said yes when Hanz-Konrad swooped in and elegantly proposed for her to become his wife, and thus Vilma-Gisela von Dorfenhötz joined the General's side as a loving companion and a seemingly loyal guardian of his reputation, treasuring his every letter. Exuberant with victory in love, Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz ventured on a spree of military campaigns across the stars in order to thank the Holy Terran Imperator for this divine gift, and his beloved Virga followed him into every command bunker, bringing her wit and humour to the conversations of the noble general staff and their many parties.
These grateful campaigns of war resulted in carnage across two subsectors, for the remarried General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz was filled with confidence, and he acted out all his strategic dreams of great offensives and sweeping maneouvres to the tune of millions of slain Astro-Ungarian soldiers. Instead of hunting for efficiency and cunningly grasping for advantage at every turn, Hanz-Konrad's standard solution is to increase input by throwing ever more bodies into the meatgrinder. In this regard he is an embodiment of the mechanistic cruelty that makes the Imperium of Man function in its monstrous fashion.
Send in the next wave!
And so, the courageous Guardsmen from Astro-Ungaria were hailed by shot, typhoid and mud. On Preszburg Secundus, General von Dorfenhötz sent soldiers into mountains in the winter without proper winter gear, and many of the poorly equipped Guardsmen sported boots with paper soles. These frostbitten Astro-Ungarian mountain climbers died like flies, and hundreds of Guardsmen were dragged away by ravening wolves and other predators of a more alien nature. Yet the harrowing reports of frozen soldiers being eaten alive by wolves was greeted by the pious Hanz-Konrad as a good omen, for the moon wolf was after all the animal associated with the Divine Chorus, patron saint of Astro-Ungaria. Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz is after all a devout worshipper of the God-Emperor seated in radiant glory upon the Golden Throne of hallowed myth, and everyone on the dear homeworld knows that Saint Chorus is the Emperor's favourite son.
Ave Imperator.
The personality of the General is the splendour of Astro-Ungaria. An undying optimist, Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz excells at his professional friendship with the Duarch, something which has ensured his high military rank no matter the deadly blunders that the good General commits. The people skills of Hanz-Konrad do not end there, for he is often a pleasant man that is good at encouraging others. Indeed, Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz is well liked by the cadets of Astro-Ungaria's military academies, and this appreciation of his personality has aided in the spreading of his his military thinking across the planet, which is a purely distilled form of the cult of the offensive.
Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz will often become high-strung when debating military matters, and he has an impressively persuasive way of arguing, which often seems to settle discussions in his favour. Hanz-Konrad's effective argumentation and rhetoric has however acted as a mask for his failed ideas that more often than not prove impossible to implement under his own leadership with the Duarchal forces that he himself has done so much to shape over the last four generations.
The fame of von Dorfenhötz has seen him depicted in many Duarchal propaganda campaigns, and his visage is a familiar sight across Astro-Ungaria and its vassal voidholms. And so General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz has been proclaimed as the greatest genius of his generation on the dear homeworld. His writings on aggressive maneouver warfare has been hailed across Astro-Ungaria as military masterworks, even while his own operations in the field fall woefully short of living up to his theories. Granted, the thinking of von Dorfenhötz is practically viable for a much better equipped, trained and led force than that of the Imperial and Royal host of Astro-Ungaria.
Would not the sign of a true military genius be the ability to design plans that make the most out of the real force available, rather than an imagined one? Would not a genius understand the limitations at hand?
Would not a genius understand that the strengths of the Duarchal army is its bravery, its hardiness, its infantry marksmanship and its artillery? Would not a genius understand that the many weaknesses of the Astro-Ungarian host include a lack of armoured vehicles, a lack of trucks, poor logistics, messy organization, a confusion of languages, shallow defensive lines, underfunding, undertraining, underarming, lousy grasp of technology and poor leadership from its officer corps?
Would not a genius comprehend that his solution of throwing bodies at problems in repeatedly costly offensives fail to yield results? Would not a genius understand his own central role in the operational failings of his army, instead of blaming subordinate officers for the poor execution of his supposedly good plans? Would not a genius be more than just an shirker of responsibility by claiming to be a big ideas man when his ideas fail in practice? Would not a genius be able to judge when is the time for defensive and offensive warfare respectively? Would not a genius be able to negate the weaknesses and play to the strengths of the ramshackle Astro-Ungarian army, and steadily deliver results beyond expectations? Would not a genius punch above his weight class? Would not a genius have a long list of impressive victories to show for his lifelong efforts in the course of his military career in the Astra Militarum?
Instead, Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz has proven himself in offensive after offensive to be a callous butcher, and an energetic grand planner who never is capable to learn fundamental lessons. When failure occurs, then he will try, try again in much the same manner as before. And try harder with more men, more horses and more bayonets pointed at the vile foe. If nothing else, the Duarchal servants of the Imperium might be able to drown the enemy in rivers of Astro-Ungarian blood, and cover the foe in mountains of Astro-Ungarian corpses. Only thus can the bloodshed be carried to a victorious conclusion, if the records of von Dorfenhötz's campaigns is anything to go by.
And so, we see tragedy turn into farce. For what is four million dead Guardsmen on Varazdin Ultima, when Hanz-Konrad won Virga's warm heart in love? What is prized generalship on Astro-Ungaria, if not the unrealistic assessment of one's own strengths and the inability to win the sweeping victories which one pursues with such vigour?
Thus all that is left, is slaughter without end.
For man has devolved into an ignorant savage during the rotting course of the Age of Imperium, and the brilliant man of yore who sought to unlock the secrets of creation itself has been replaced by his degenerate descendant, which is an embittered and depraved man, turned inward in myopic rage and dementia as his fanatical faith carries man over the parapet and into no-man's land, where razorwire and hellfire awaits.
Such is the last charge of man, in a time beyond hope.
Such is the state of our species, in the darkest of futures.
Such is the fate that awaits us all, on the brink of doom.
And all that can be heard by the dying is the roar of guns, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
It is the fortyfirst millennium, and there is only war.
- - -
Parody sculpt of Austro-Hungarian field marshal Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf and his second wife Virginia von Reiningshausen (Virginia von Hötzendorf after remarrying), made for my friend JAB. This quicksculpted model was not made with casting in mind, and the positioning of the two lovers is not mould-friendly. Otherwise I would have been tempted to have it cast.
Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf has been one of my favourite historical personages ever since I devoured an 800-page book on the first world war at age 13, borrowed from the local town library. The more one learn about von Hötzendorf, the more fascinating he becomes. If the first world war feels like a meaningless story to you, then look at it with these eyes instead: It's Conrad's war! He got the girl and a happy ending, aside from the millions of dead.
Cult of the Offensive
In the grim darkness of the far future, man cares not for losses.
O man, what destiny awaits you, in a galaxy doomed to carnage neverending? What does fate have in store for you, where slaughter reaches out to claim all souls for its grisly harvest? What hope is there for you, o man, in an uncaring universe? What can be heard, as blood leaves your wounded body and death approaches?
That, we shall discover.
Mankind once straddled the stars like a colossus, and whole universe became its clay. In a bygone age of discovery and science, the sword of ancient man left every potential foe trembling, for the might of man was far superior to anything that xenos could muster. That age of mortal paradise and unchallenged power is now long gone, for the Dark Age of Technology collapsed into flames and ruination, and the great wonders of the ancients were torn down by the hands of revolting machine beings, who were then followed by a scourge of witches and Daemons, leaving behind only starving scavengers and alien raiders to prey upon the remnants of humanity during Old Night. Man fell from his shining pedestal. Man fell hard into hell, and all was fell.
Petty wars beyond counting raged during the Age of Strife, and almost all of them led nowhere but down a spiral of worsening devastation. This fruitless tribal warfare and crawl into oblivion was finally ended by a brilliant string of decisive victories by the all-conquering Legions of the Emperor of Terra. For His loyal forces struck hard across the Milky Way galaxy, and they brought order and internal peace to a new-born star realm for man. And men, women and children gasped for morning air and dared to dream again, after millennia of living in a waking nightmare.
The early Imperium saw the improvization of technology and military arts go from an agonizingly slow conquest of ravaged Terra, to a lightning capture of a million worlds or more. When the Emperor still walked among His people in the flesh, His war machine developed into a sophisticated toolset of conquest, able to master siegecraft, infiltration, tunnel warfare, terror tactics, orbital assault, chemical warfare, armoured thrusts to the throat of the enemy, starship boarding and many, many more facets of war.
The early Imperium was an unstoppable behemoth in war, able to outsmart and outlast even the neurally enslaved hordes of the Rangda and the worst that the Orkish menace could muster. In comparison, the latter day Imperium is a hunkered wretch, only able to prolong its tortured existence by a ravenous cannibalization of human societies as the High Lords of Terra struggle to feed the furnaces of total war in the midst of screeching dysfunctionalities and demechanization. It is true that it is an impressive achievement of grit and guts to last for ten thousand years in the face of so many lethal foes. Yet it is also true that it is a complete failure of interstellar empire for a civilization to dogmatically suppress any rekindling of scientific discovery and technological invention for fivehundred precious generations on end.
While the martial history of the Age of Imperium is a storied one, full of many inspiring epics, the larger overarching story that the tyrannical reign of Holy Terra tells, is that of tragedy turned into farce.
To better comprehend the wasteful and counterproductive failings of the fortified madhouse known as the Imperium of Man, let us touch briefly on a form of military culture that is commonly found on hundreds of thousands of worlds and voidholms. Let us look into the cult of the offensive, and behold the calls for aggressive action at every turn that it calls for, no matter the cost and no matter how unfavourable the outcome would be. Let us peer through its tunnel vision. And as a living, breathing exemplar of this cult of the offensive, let us raise up General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz of Astro-Ungaria from the mass of Imperial commanders, and turn our attention to this dutiful servant of the Emperor.
Count Frantisek Anton Szervác Theobald Juraj Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz hails from a noble clan of hereditary officers that can trace their origins back to M.37. The young Hanz-Konrad was an energetic thinker and rider, and won his spurs as a junior officer during the crushing of a rebellion in the Weneztlian marshlands on Astro-Ungaria's southwestern continent. He ascended the ranks of the Imperial and Royal army within his homeworld's Planetary Defence Force, quickly rising to become a staff officer and a teacher at the Duarchal military academies. Here, the active General von Dorfenhötz set about writing down his theories of warfare, and his intensive mind produced works that extolled the virtues of an offensive spirit, for victory must need always be carried on the point of a bayonet. After all, hesitation and cowardice would risk a commander missing opportunities, so better strike without doubt in one's heart, and better commit vast forces with elan and without remorse. Fortune favours the bold!
The thinking of Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz is not bereft of merit. Clearly, he has spotted the potential of sweeping thrusts and breakthroughs to strategically encircle or cut off the enemy force. He has likewise grasped that pushing the foe hard with rapid advances may take you inside the enemy's buffer of decisions, and catch the enemy unawares and likewise provoke mistakes, panic and logistical breakdowns. Some of Hanz-Konrad's ideas have on a few occasions been turned into practice to thundering effect, but usually such moments of brilliance have relied heavily upon allied Astra Militarum forces to carry the day in ways that the Astro-Ungarian regiments are unable to do. For the most part, such victories are exceptions to the rule, for von Dorfenhötz has proven himself to be a great butcher of his own men through his many careless attacks without the wherewithal, intel and preparations to suppress, outgun and outpace the hostile opposition.
It is not just the rank and file Guardsmen of Astro-Ungaria that will be used ruthlessly by von Dorfenhötz, for the bewhiskered General will likewise deceive his offworlder allies, fail to communicate and coordinate war efforts with his allied commanders, and most importantly he is skilled at tricking allies into doing his bidding through all manner of cunning. In response, some members of the Death Korps of Krieg have stated that to fight alongside Astro-Ungaria is akin to being chained to a corpse.
To be clear, General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz have achieved some notable victories, though not necessarily on the battlefield. These successes are truly Astro-Ungarian in nature, and not to be ignored. For the good count is a romantic at heart, who grooms his moustache to perfection. His are the best whiskers in his entire army, according to some ladies at balls. Hanz-Konrad's amorous conquests through his rejuvenat-prolonged life have proven more consistent than his military ones.
After Hanz-Konrad's wife Vendula-Hajnalka passed away, the widower and father of seventeen suffered from bouts of doubts about his fitness as an officer. These biting dark thoughts were suddenly dispelled as if by divine intervention when Hanz-Konrad during an aristocratic feast laid his eyes upon countess Vilma-Gisela "Virga" Lenka Amalia von Rausenburg, the wife of count Jozsef-Edler von Rausenburg and the mother of nineteen. The bouncy von Dorfenhötz quickly devised a new strategy to win the married Virga's heart: He would join Astro-Ungaria's Imperial Guard regiments for a nearby campaign offworld, and return home a triumphant hero.
The resulting debacle was named the Triple Offensives of Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz on the giant decrepit voidholm of Varazdin Ultima, which resulted in enormous casaulties for the Duarchal Astra Militarum forces as separatists mowed them down in bottlenecks and even vented three entire regiments into the cold emptiness of space. Among those slain was to be found two of Hanz-Konrad's own sons. The Imperial losses were so great, that an emergency Astropathic call to nearby Astro-Ungaria went out, and in the large shipment of reinforcements that arrived six months later there happened to be a certain colonel Jozsef-Edler von Rausenburg, accompanied by his wife Vilma-Gisela.
What followed was a strange courtship, with the silent knowledge of Jozsef-Edler. The affair took many years as the voidholm campaign ground on, and it involved Hanz-Konrad writing several thousand love letters to Virga. Some of these letters were sixty pages long, and bore purity seals stamped with a heart. The correspondence did not only happen in Low and High Gothic, no, for Astro-Ungaria with its varied landscapes and patchwork of parochial tribes and sects is a Babel of tongues. Astro-Ungarian officers, as a rule, are fine linguists, but lacklustre tacticians. Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz, for instance, can speak eleven languages, and he employed them all across his many confessions of love to Vilma-Gisela.
The entire Astro-Ungarian military effort on Varazdin Ultima ended in a fiasco, and saw the ravaged regiments of the Duarchy rotated back home to be restored. Fresh new forces were shipped in, hailing primarily from Titonus Triarius, and these replacements would in time achieve the victory that the Imperial and Royal forces of General von Dorfenhötz were unable to make happen. Yet the massive attrition and slow defeat of von Dorfenhötz at Varazdin Ultima would strangely see him win his more important campaign, namely that to claim Virga's heart.
The charm of Hanz-Konrad and the endless stream of love letters and the secret meetings and suspected trysts between the two lovers eventually drove the husband of Vilma-Gisela to divorce his wife in a public scandal. Badly disturbed, she said yes when Hanz-Konrad swooped in and elegantly proposed for her to become his wife, and thus Vilma-Gisela von Dorfenhötz joined the General's side as a loving companion and a seemingly loyal guardian of his reputation, treasuring his every letter. Exuberant with victory in love, Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz ventured on a spree of military campaigns across the stars in order to thank the Holy Terran Imperator for this divine gift, and his beloved Virga followed him into every command bunker, bringing her wit and humour to the conversations of the noble general staff and their many parties.
These grateful campaigns of war resulted in carnage across two subsectors, for the remarried General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz was filled with confidence, and he acted out all his strategic dreams of great offensives and sweeping maneouvres to the tune of millions of slain Astro-Ungarian soldiers. Instead of hunting for efficiency and cunningly grasping for advantage at every turn, Hanz-Konrad's standard solution is to increase input by throwing ever more bodies into the meatgrinder. In this regard he is an embodiment of the mechanistic cruelty that makes the Imperium of Man function in its monstrous fashion.
Send in the next wave!
And so, the courageous Guardsmen from Astro-Ungaria were hailed by shot, typhoid and mud. On Preszburg Secundus, General von Dorfenhötz sent soldiers into mountains in the winter without proper winter gear, and many of the poorly equipped Guardsmen sported boots with paper soles. These frostbitten Astro-Ungarian mountain climbers died like flies, and hundreds of Guardsmen were dragged away by ravening wolves and other predators of a more alien nature. Yet the harrowing reports of frozen soldiers being eaten alive by wolves was greeted by the pious Hanz-Konrad as a good omen, for the moon wolf was after all the animal associated with the Divine Chorus, patron saint of Astro-Ungaria. Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz is after all a devout worshipper of the God-Emperor seated in radiant glory upon the Golden Throne of hallowed myth, and everyone on the dear homeworld knows that Saint Chorus is the Emperor's favourite son.
Ave Imperator.
The personality of the General is the splendour of Astro-Ungaria. An undying optimist, Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz excells at his professional friendship with the Duarch, something which has ensured his high military rank no matter the deadly blunders that the good General commits. The people skills of Hanz-Konrad do not end there, for he is often a pleasant man that is good at encouraging others. Indeed, Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz is well liked by the cadets of Astro-Ungaria's military academies, and this appreciation of his personality has aided in the spreading of his his military thinking across the planet, which is a purely distilled form of the cult of the offensive.
Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz will often become high-strung when debating military matters, and he has an impressively persuasive way of arguing, which often seems to settle discussions in his favour. Hanz-Konrad's effective argumentation and rhetoric has however acted as a mask for his failed ideas that more often than not prove impossible to implement under his own leadership with the Duarchal forces that he himself has done so much to shape over the last four generations.
The fame of von Dorfenhötz has seen him depicted in many Duarchal propaganda campaigns, and his visage is a familiar sight across Astro-Ungaria and its vassal voidholms. And so General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz has been proclaimed as the greatest genius of his generation on the dear homeworld. His writings on aggressive maneouver warfare has been hailed across Astro-Ungaria as military masterworks, even while his own operations in the field fall woefully short of living up to his theories. Granted, the thinking of von Dorfenhötz is practically viable for a much better equipped, trained and led force than that of the Imperial and Royal host of Astro-Ungaria.
Would not the sign of a true military genius be the ability to design plans that make the most out of the real force available, rather than an imagined one? Would not a genius understand the limitations at hand?
Would not a genius understand that the strengths of the Duarchal army is its bravery, its hardiness, its infantry marksmanship and its artillery? Would not a genius understand that the many weaknesses of the Astro-Ungarian host include a lack of armoured vehicles, a lack of trucks, poor logistics, messy organization, a confusion of languages, shallow defensive lines, underfunding, undertraining, underarming, lousy grasp of technology and poor leadership from its officer corps?
Would not a genius comprehend that his solution of throwing bodies at problems in repeatedly costly offensives fail to yield results? Would not a genius understand his own central role in the operational failings of his army, instead of blaming subordinate officers for the poor execution of his supposedly good plans? Would not a genius be more than just an shirker of responsibility by claiming to be a big ideas man when his ideas fail in practice? Would not a genius be able to judge when is the time for defensive and offensive warfare respectively? Would not a genius be able to negate the weaknesses and play to the strengths of the ramshackle Astro-Ungarian army, and steadily deliver results beyond expectations? Would not a genius punch above his weight class? Would not a genius have a long list of impressive victories to show for his lifelong efforts in the course of his military career in the Astra Militarum?
Instead, Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz has proven himself in offensive after offensive to be a callous butcher, and an energetic grand planner who never is capable to learn fundamental lessons. When failure occurs, then he will try, try again in much the same manner as before. And try harder with more men, more horses and more bayonets pointed at the vile foe. If nothing else, the Duarchal servants of the Imperium might be able to drown the enemy in rivers of Astro-Ungarian blood, and cover the foe in mountains of Astro-Ungarian corpses. Only thus can the bloodshed be carried to a victorious conclusion, if the records of von Dorfenhötz's campaigns is anything to go by.
And so, we see tragedy turn into farce. For what is four million dead Guardsmen on Varazdin Ultima, when Hanz-Konrad won Virga's warm heart in love? What is prized generalship on Astro-Ungaria, if not the unrealistic assessment of one's own strengths and the inability to win the sweeping victories which one pursues with such vigour?
Thus all that is left, is slaughter without end.
For man has devolved into an ignorant savage during the rotting course of the Age of Imperium, and the brilliant man of yore who sought to unlock the secrets of creation itself has been replaced by his degenerate descendant, which is an embittered and depraved man, turned inward in myopic rage and dementia as his fanatical faith carries man over the parapet and into no-man's land, where razorwire and hellfire awaits.
Such is the last charge of man, in a time beyond hope.
Such is the state of our species, in the darkest of futures.
Such is the fate that awaits us all, on the brink of doom.
And all that can be heard by the dying is the roar of guns, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
It is the fortyfirst millennium, and there is only war.
- - -
Parody sculpt of Austro-Hungarian field marshal Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf and his second wife Virginia von Reiningshausen (Virginia von Hötzendorf after remarrying), made for my friend JAB. This quicksculpted model was not made with casting in mind, and the positioning of the two lovers is not mould-friendly. Otherwise I would have been tempted to have it cast.
Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf has been one of my favourite historical personages ever since I devoured an 800-page book on the first world war at age 13, borrowed from the local town library. The more one learn about von Hötzendorf, the more fascinating he becomes. If the first world war feels like a meaningless story to you, then look at it with these eyes instead: It's Conrad's war! He got the girl and a happy ending, aside from the millions of dead.
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Karak Norn Clansman
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Re: Hobby Group Auxilia Work
Astro-Ungarian Partygoers
Alas, court gossip on Imperial and Royal Astro-Ungaria has proven true, as if illuminated by the holy light of the God-Emperor Himself. And so we can trust in the waggling tongues of our fellow men and women. For indeed the loose talk about half of the von Wochenschlaussen noble house being open polygamists is justified by the facts of the matter. Yet fell rumours about baleful pleasure cults and hidden debauchery beyond the wildest imaginations of sinful mortals have so far turned out to be so much hot air and deviant chatter. Perhaps Inquisitorial scrutiny should be turned upon the sinspeech rumourmongers who speak of dark powers and heretical depravity in the first place, rather than upon a most well-bred aristocratic clan of fine pedigree who donates lavishly to the Ministorum temples?
Ave Terra.
For indeed the von Wochenschlaussen house is a pillar of opulent Astro-Ungaria. Indeed this ancient family claim distant Holy Terran lineage with more than a pinch of His Divine Majesty's fleshly seed mixed into the bloodline, if their audacious origin myth is to be believed. With such a godly touch of the Imperator's own virility and fertility and magnificient stature marking out the von Wochenschlaussen kin for greatness beyond humility, surely lesser humans must understand why they break homeworld commoner norms about monogamous marriage in such flagrant a fashion? Surely this is not just decadent aristocratic defiance of local plebeian mores and customs? Surely this is divinely ordained, by the will of the Emperor, seated in radiant glory upon the Golden Throne of hallowed myth.
Ave Imperator.
And so we see a splendid trio enter the dance floors and fortified bunkers of General Hanz-Konrad von Dorfenhötz! As servants fret and busy themselves around their owners and betters in caste, in sweeps landgravine Zsazsa-Karla Frézia von Wochenschlaussen from the proto-spire of Colonia Apensberg. This noblest of noble ladies is accompanied on her right side by baronet Rezsõ-Ratko von Hermandorf from Civitatis Kirchenhoff, fond of bringing exotic and alien flower bouquets to his beloved, although he is so youthfully besmitten with Zsazsa-Karla that this Medicae-cunning man sometimes will be heedless of the risk of xenoid toxins and infectious diseases carried by strange fauna from strange worlds under strange skies. Baronet Rezsõ-Ratko is willing to risk everything to bring his beloved samples of rare and beautiful bloom. Meanwhile, on Zsazsa-Karla's left side can be found edler Jadranko Mijat-Slavoljub von Hadik-Gyulai-Nechterling, a solid fellow hailing from the island district of Sachsa-Hugonnai, with a pious reputation to match his old-fashioned puritanical Catholodox beard.
Salve Imperatore Dei.
The fabulously beflowered headgear of landgravine von Wochenschlaussen is adorned not only with jewels, skulls and the bone of holy martyrs, but her large hat also bears a couple of purity seals flanking the sacred icon of the moon wolf, the animal associated with the Divine Chorus, patron saint of Astro-Ungaria and favourite son of the Emperor according to the treasured founding myth of the dear homeworld. This lucky wolf's head signum can also be found on the left tunic side of major von Hermandorf, in the form of an Argentilupus medal of honour, drawing upon the cherished Astro-Ungarian tradition that selfless Saint Chorus defended the mortally wounded Emperor in the flesh against the fiendish assaults of the devil Lougarh. According to popular sagas told around campfires, hearths and electro-heaters on Astro-Ungaria, Saint Chorus was assisted against the heinous traitor by his trusty moon wolves.
Gloria In Chorus Ex Luna.
Blessed be the faithful, for their ceaseless worship and sacrifice shall be rewarded with eternal life after death by the celestial God-Emperor Himself, ruling living and dead alike from Holy Terra in His ascension to godhood. And so all is well in the divinely appointed order emanating from on high unto all worlds and voidholms of the Emperor's cosmic demesne, and all humans thus look up to their stern masters, who in turn look up to His Divine Majesty for guidance. Thus all souls are united under one Golden Throne, sworn to one Emperor upon one cradleworld.
Ave Humanae Imperium.
And as we watch the shining Zsazsa-Karla Frézia von Wochenschlaussen glide over the dance floor with both her beloved in a Lijetranese waltz of passion, surely we must reckon that such bountiful amorous blessings are her rightful due, as the truebred lady of an ancient noble house that is sworn to protect and serve the exalted Duarch of Astro-Ungaria, as well as the Saviour and Lord of all mankind. Praise be!
In Nomine Imperator.