Experiment in making a chainaxe myself is a success! Have some WiP pics! There are captions! YAY.

It still needs a bit of clean up, a spike added to the top, tube thing added to the back, and the wraps around the handle greenstuff’d on, but I’ll do that once I’ve got the actual model hand on it. This is for a mate of mine, and he’s the one with the hand (and model) this will go with. XD I’ll try to remember to get pics!

Editing to update with some actual tutorial details and a pic of the finished axe on my friend’s re-purposed and as-yet-unfinished model! So, here we go: 

1. Planning! Even if you can’t draw, having a rough plan of what goes where can really help in the long run. Also good for getting the size (at least mostly) right!

2. Here’s the head of the chain axe drawn out on three pieces of plasticard - two thin pieces (~0.4mm) and one thicker piece (~1.5mm). Only the thicker piece in the middle has the actual chainblade teeth, the other two pieces will only have the chain detailing.

3. The pieces are lined up with drilled holes and plasticard rod. It’s probably not entirely necessary to do the whole holes/rod part, but I think it helps, and it’s also a good/easy way to end up with rivets on the finished axe.

4. Here I’ve roughly cut out the edge trim from more thin plasticard and test-fitted them before trimming them down to shape.

5. Here’s the three main pieces put together, the connecting rods and the two edge trim pieces properly cut down to shape, and the sandpaper I use to help clean things up! XD

6. I missed out on photographing a few steps here, oops. Still! The layers of the axe head were glued together, along with the aligning rods, then once the glue was dry, the rods were cut down and the ends sandpapered to leave just stud rivets along the edge trim. The detailing on the axe head is just two thin pieces of plasticard cut into rectangles and glued into place on either side of the axe head. Then another two thin pieces were cut to shape and also glued into place, then the whole lot trimmed down a bit and sanded to tidy up. I also got a short section of plasticard tube that would fit the haft into it, and cut out a notch for the axe head to rest in.

7. I drilled a hole through the tube to make the circular hollows, then glued the tube piece to the axe head and glued the end of the haft into the tube. I then cut two thin slices off ~1mm thick rod for the round buttons on either side of the tube, cut out two very small plasticard triangles, then glued them all into place on either side of the tube beneath the axe head.

8. Finally, here’s the axe attached to my friend’s model! I drilled a hole through the provided hand, slid the axe haft through it, and glued it into place. I then used greenstuff/milliput to sculpt the cable on the head of the axe and the grip around the haft. I also added some more details to the base of the haft, using a bit more plasticard tube glued into place and decorated with more thin slices of plasticard rod, plus a trimmed down spike from a chaos bike. XD A couple more slices of plasticard rod were also used to add the rivets to the axe head. 

And there we go! I hope this proves useful! :D


The Betrayer pulled his axe from the Ultramarine as he heard his name called. The weapon came free with the always-satisfying crunch, but left behind some teeth. Khârn frowned at this; the line chainaxe was leagues behind Gorechild in every way, but with his main weapon confined in the armoury for maintenance, he had to make do with spares.

He walked over the blood-soaked mud and several more bodies - enemy and “friendly” alike - to where the call had come from. The Triarius was standing with his back to Khârn, and for a moment the killer of Skalathrax gave serious consideration to the idea of gunning his axe and burying its whirring teeth into the champion’s back. He felt pressure at the back of his head as the Nails stirred at the thought, but Khârn forced their rage down. For now, anyway.

The Triarius gave no hint of acknowledging Khârn’s arrival, but nodded at the Ultramarine at his feet. “This one is still moving.”

The loyalist was, judging from the armor markings, captain of the chapter’s 4th battle company. He had one good arm left, his plastron had been kicked in and a gaping wound cut deep into the left side of his torso, armor and flesh alike burned away by a power blade’s disruption field. To his credit, his face was in one piece save for some bleeding from the mouth and nose. The Triarius kicked the man in the gash, receiving a pained grunt in reply. Khârn came to stand at his Legion brother’s side.

“Name?”, he asked the crimson-clad champion.
“I tried to ask politely, but he isn’t much of a talker”, the Chaos lord replied. The Ultramarine grunted again and spat blood at Khârn.
“Let me”, Khârn ventured and took a step forward, raising his axe.
“No”, the Triarius growled, “he is mine.”
The side of Khârn’s mouth twitched. “Ruining my fun?”
“I saw him first”, the champion said, stepping closer to the loyalist captain. He adjusted his grip on the halberd. “And from the looks of that cut, wounded him too. It’s only right that I finish him.”
Khârn didn’t make a move despite the growing burning inside his skull. “You have an honour code now? Is that mockery of this whelp, or me?”, he asked. The fingers on his axe’s trigger twitched.
“Honour should never go further than the simple concept of two men meeting in battle for the sole purpose of one killing the other”, the Triarius said. “Anything more is a waste of time. This is a much simpler, older principle.”
The champion powered up his polearm. “I call it "finders keepers”.“

Khârn looked at the Triarius, then at the Ultramarine. A muscle pulled at the corner of his eye. "You know I will kill you for this one day, Delvarus.”
“It’s all the same to me”, Delvarus replied as he raised his halberd. “All the same to Him.”

People have accused my head-taking practices of being borderline Khornate. I can assure you, the clean neck-stump left behind by a 100-mph dao strike is downright holy compared to the chainaxe butchery done by Angron. As always, Chaos corrupts a perfectly good art form.

Imperial records would claim that the siege of Hive Primus on the shrine world of Messanica lasted three months, twelve days, and twenty seven hours.

In truth, it ended the moment the Iron Warriors fleet arrived in system and smashed aside the local defense fleet.

Messanica was, before the Great Rift bisected the Imperium, a relatively minor shrine world, not on any of the major pilgrimage routes or on any of the hallowed crusade paths of any era of the Imperium short of the Great Crusade. It was of importance to no one particular Imperial Saint or Eccleisarch, a minor hub world, almost forgotten except by those who collected tithes for the Imperium. It was defended by a handful of vessels, none larger than a cruiser, and a number of PDF regiments, the largest number stationed around Hive Primus.

The Iron Warriors fleet came from the outer system hard, twenty-five ships in all, surrounding a battle barge class vessel that screamed its name in fell blasts of scrapcode: Iron Infinite! Iron Infinite! They cut their way through the meager defense fleet in a matter of hours, ringing Messanica in the wreckage of overmatched ships, and assumed orbit over Hive Primus. Over the next twenty-four hours, the Iron Warriors deployed: seven hundred Legionaries, three divisions of armor, enough artillery to reduce mountain ranges to rubble, and tens of thousands of cultist troops, and thrice that in worker slaves. The PDF regiments deployed to defend Hive Primus were pinned down by orbital strikes and by flights of Heldrakes that ended air superiority over the hive for the Imperium in hours. The Imperial commanders knew that the Iron Warriors themselves could have invested the hive in hours, but for some reason, they were moving to besiege it.

It made no sense to them, they said over and over as the Iron Warriors systematically destroyed the defenses of the hive, with artillery bombardments that lasted days, with their Land Raiders and Predator tanks drawing out and destroying what armor the PDF could muster. They moved slowly towards the hive, encircling it in a ring of iron, reducing the defenses with clinical precision. It finally dawned upon the defenders that the Iron Warriors sought to Hive Primus reasonably intact, for reasons that never came to them. Reasonably intact, though, did not mean that destruction didn’t rain down on the hive and millions did not die. They died, horribly.

Three months, ten days, and seven hours into the siege, the outer walls of the hive were breached, and at long last, the Iron Warriors moved into the fray.

The rest was mopping up.

Talorax, Warsmith of the 150th Grand Battalion, the Ironsworn, stepped down from his command Predator and looked around a shockingly intact square in front of a cathedral known as the Cathedral of the Emperor’s Grace, a certain satisfaction radiating from him. It was one thing, he knew, to destroy an Imperial city and leave it a guttering ruin. It was easy, he knew, to level worlds. His Grand Battalion was a force that could conquer star systems, and here he had used it as a scalpel, slowly investing the city until he could stand here, in front of the Cathedral, watching as a company of his legionaries moved into the last sanctuary in the hive. He heard no bolter fire from within the church, merely the roar of chainswords and the hiss of power weapons as the sheep that cowered within were slaughtered. Livestock wasn’t worth wasting bolt rounds on, he mused, moving forward, his Terminator armor humming with mechanical precision as his stride turned rubble into dust. He strode up the stairs leading to the great doors of the cathedral, where the chaos sorcerer Mythxix waited. Normally, Talorax did not treat with sorcery, beyond the great work done to infuse daemonic spirits into the Defilers and Maulerfiends that he had used to reduce the walls of the hive, but times demanded change. “Is it here?” Talorax growled, looking past Mythxix into the bloody ruin of the cathedral.

“It is, Warsmith. As I told you it would be in the Eternal Vaults, when I brought to you word of this prize to the Goddess.” Mythxix nodded into the Cathedral, where Iron Warriors were already setting charges in the floor. “Beneath the floor, a forgotten vault, hidden here thousands of years ago, during some minor crusade. The fools had no idea what they had buried here when they prayed to their False Emperor.”

“You had best be correct, sorcerer. It took sizable effort to restrain my forces to insure this fane was taken intact.” Talorax reached over his shoulder, drawing the massive chainaxe that he had claimed centuries ago from a rival Warsmith that had fallen to the blood furies of Khorne and had turned against Perturabo, using it to gesture at the combat engineers working on the explosives. Mythxix got the point. “Begin,” he ordered.

As his engineers worked, at long last, restraint was gone, and the Iron Warriors unleashed their full fury upon Hive Primus, and the streets ran with blood.

Talorax returned to the halls of the Eternal Vaults at a time of celebration for the Goddess. Some hapless Ultramarine had been taken prisoner, and had been hung by chains in one corner of the room, being tormented by some of the Eternal Keepers. It was a time of mirth and celebration dedicated to the goddess Fuuko, the Chaos goddess of Avarice, where her champions and followers met to honor her, on her ever shifting throne.

Talorax decided to make an entrance.

Behind him, bearing on its back a casket of iron, marched one of his Maulerfiends, a massive daemonic engine of war, its tread shaking the ground. The thunder of the Maulerfiend brought the revelry around the throne to an end; Vico, the Champion of the Goddess, shot a glare at Talorax that the Warsmith impressively ignored. I saw your gene-father in battle, little Blood Angel, he thought. You have a ways to go, even with Fuuko’s favor.

Rivalry was always the way of things in the Eye.

The goddess regarded Talorax for a moment, mirth shining in her eyes, before she addressed him. “My Warsmith,” she said. “You’ve been gone a while, beyond the Eternal Vaults. I’m guessing you brought me something, then?”

Talorax nodded solemnly, gesturing at the Maulerfiend. Reaching above its back with tentacles tipped with plasma cutters, it lowered the casket to the floor beside of Talorax. With a single motion, he unshipped his chainaxe, which roared into life as he struck the casket, opening it. He reached within it and drew out an ancient weapon, a powersword of Imperial make that practically keened with offense for being within the Empyrean. “On the world of Messanica, buried forgotten beneath a cathedral, lost by the sheer ineptitude of the Imperium, the weapons of two dozen crusaders, men deemed living saints by the False Emperor. Two dozen weapons, waiting to be corrupted into the service of Chaos and the Goddess.” He regarded Vico, and then Vico’s chief rival Icarus, and gave them a thin lipped smile. “Weapons for your champions to use as they will.”

The Goddess laughed. “And are you not one of my champions, Talorax?”

He bowed briefly to her, aware of what he risked here, if Perturabo discovered that an Iron Warrior had placed any Chaos god on the level of his Primarch, of the fury and destruction that would fall upon him if that happened. “No, my lady. I am your Warsmith.”


(Why yes, I DID have him throw a bunch of Imperial swords in front of his rivals!)

All this discussion about Carcharodons and the minutiae of jetbikes in the 41st millennium is going to be totally worth it when I actually get to write about them blitzing in, guns blazing, chainaxes roaring, grav-rotors throbbing. Also, please look below and tell me this Rule of Cool doesn’t trump all, at least when used in moderation. 

The Crow and Serpent.

The distinct sound of metal grinding on metal echoed through out the halls.

Arno Yjensin dragged his power cutlass, a blade glowing red with heat, down the corridor, followed by his finest scouts, chainaxes and boarding shields at the ready.

“Corsair Queen Vel'ina, what a pleasure it is to meet you.” He made a sweeping bow, making himself look as regal and refined as possible, but behind his voice laid a sweet trickle of sarcasm.

“What, dare I ask, are you doing in our waters Vel'ina, do you not know the Blood Hound stalks this ocean?”