Forged in Blood (and sweat, and tears): Bringing my Blood Angels to 1,000 points

We have a guest post for you today from Pete, one of our group's newest nerds. He first featured in our 2024 roundup, and has since been hard at work bringing his Blood Angels up to 1,000 fully armed and operational points. Since his army looks repugnantly good for his first foray into painting miniatures, I asked him if he'd be up for sharing his progress here on the Bunker, and to my delight, he agreed! Over to Pete.

There’s a moment in every hobbyist’s journey when the pile of plastic stops looking like a mountain to climb and starts looking like, well, an army. For me, that moment came as I finally hit 1,000 points of Blood Angels, led by Captain Matthias Virelan of the Blood Angels 2nd Company, and wondering how on Terra I’d actually managed to get there. 

It didn’t happen in a burst of hobby productivity or a caffeine-fueled painting weekend (friends know caffeine and I are not on speaking terms). It happened slowly, glacially even, over countless ‘just one more highlight’ sessions that stretched late into the night. I’m not what anyone would call a fast painter. Each marine probably takes me about four hours. But that's fine by me. I’ve realised I enjoy the doing just as much as the finishing. Every unit feels like its own little project, and that’s part of what keeps me coming back.

There were plenty of moments along the way where I questioned my sanity. There’s nothing quite like spending half an hour trying to re-paint the same eye lens because the green glaze decided to pool in precisely the wrong spot. Or discovering mid-highlight that your favourite brush has gone rogue and developed a split end like a shampoo advert.

Still, that steady, deliberate pace suits me. When I look at my army now, I see a collection of stories. Each model has got a memory: the first time I tried an oil wash and made the poor marine look like he’d crawled out of a swamp, or the first time I realised my airbrush wasn’t actually possessed of some chaos demon, just blocked.

Now though, I can look at my BAngels and proudly say, “Yes, these are mine.”

Note from Charlie: Pete painted up a spare sergeant for when he wants to use these Intercessors as two separate squads.

Learning to love oils

Let’s talk about oils for a second, because they completely changed how I paint. I stumbled onto them early on and instantly loved how they made everything feel more grounded. Less like toy soldiers, more like warriors who’ve actually seen a battlefield. But oils are sneaky little devils. My first few tries turned my lovely, bright red boys into something more like a ‘damp brick’.

Spy footage of first oil wash.

The trick, as I eventually learned (mostly through pain), is to push the highlights far brighter than feels comfortable. It looks wrong at first. Like a Blood Angel modelling a high-vis jacket. Once the oil wash goes on and settles into the recesses though, the magic happens. Everything deepens and unifies, and you get that moody, dramatic contrast the Sons of Sanguinius deserve.

The brightness of the red prior to the oil wash

If you want to give it a go, I owe a lot of what I learned to The Feral Painter on YouTube. He breaks things down so well you’ll start to believe you can pull off high-level results without a degree in colour theory (spoiler: you can). Trovarion Miniatures and Artis Opus are also big influences, especially for brush control and finish quality. None of this is revolutionary to seasoned painters, but when I was starting out, finding someone who demystified the process was gold dust.

Building the force

The first models I finished were a squad of Intercessors and some Jump Pack Intercessors: solid, reliable and very red.

From there, I wanted every addition to feel like a reflection of what makes the Blood Angels the Blood Angels. They needed to be fast, elegant and just a bit theatrical. 

Enter the Sanguinary Guard. Two three-man squads, all gold, all drama. I’d been looking forward to painting them since day one, and they didn’t disappoint. The gold was surprisingly quick (base in brown, overbrush gold #1, drybrush gold #2, oil wash, edge highlight with gold #2, finishing details). Easy (in theory).

They’re the perfect mix of noble and unhinged, a walking contradiction of angelic beauty and utter carnage.

Note from Charlie: I feel obliged to point out the banners are still WIP, but I think we can forgive Pete this epic transgression.

Yes, that’s gold edge highlighting, on top of gold drybrushing, on top of gold overbrushing. No, I don’t want to talk about it.

Painting them also taught me a lot about contrast. The temptation was to go full Liberace on the highlights, but the key here was restraint. When I finished the first one, I may or may not have spent a few minutes just turning it under the light like a proud magpie.

Next came the heavy hitters: a Gladiator Lancer and a Ballistus Dreadnought. These were my first vehicle projects, and they came with an airbrush learning curve steep enough to qualify as a cliff. There’s nothing quite like trying to troubleshoot spattering paint at close to midnight while whisper-swearing so you don’t wake your partner. (You will wake them anyway. You always do.)

Charlie, photographing Pete's Gladiator Lancer: Pete, where are the sponson guns?
Pete: Yeah.

The Dreadnought, though, is special, not just because it’s an awesome kit, but because I gave it a bit of story.

Inside that hulking shell is Tarsion Vell, once the Chapter’s Master of Ordnance and apparently blessed with a singing voice that could make angels (Blood) weep. During the Purging of Galithar Deep, Vell’s body was shattered by a Tyranid Carnifex while he held an extraction point for his wounded brothers. Refusing to die, he dragged himself to safety despite a broken spine and collapsed lung, directing fire missions even as his vision dimmed. 

Upon his interment within the revered Dreadnought, Vell despaired at the loss of his true voice. Capable now only of speech through a harsh, mechanical vox, he has not spoken a word aloud since, communicating solely through gesture and silent obedience to his captain’s commands. On the battlefield, his fire support is as precise and unyielding as ever, even if the cold hum of targeting systems has replaced his once-resonant song. 

It’s tragic and over-the-top but every army needs a bit of lore that makes it feel personal, and Tarsion’s tragedy gives mine a heart. A very large mechanical heart that shoots missiles, but still.

Tarsion Vell: no longer hitting the high notes, still loud.

At the centre of the army stands Captain Matthias Virelan, scenic base and all. He’s the glue that holds the force together. He’s the sort of character who charges headfirst into battle because he’s convinced Sanguinius is watching, and who inevitably ends up tanking every plasma shot on the board.

Sanguinius would be proud… probably.

Rounding things out is a full 10-man squad of Assault Intercessors. They’re the backbone of the army: dependable, straightforward and the perfect grounding element. Painting ten of anything can feel like a slog, but by the time I’d finished them, I realised how much my technique had improved. Each one came out cleaner, faster and more confident than the last.

Note from Charlie: Pete painted up a spare sergeant so he could also field the unit as two 5-man squads

Lessons from the Desk

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from painting this army, it’s patience (something friends insist I previously lacked). That, and the importance of shaking your paint pots before you realise the pigment has separated like salad dressing.

There were moments I almost threw the towel in. Like when an oil wash refused to dry and left my Dread and Assault Intercessors looking like they'd been dunked in treacle, or when I tried freehanding a Blood Drop and accidentally created what looked suspiciously like a strawberry.

But that’s the thing: those little setbacks are part of the fun (honest…). I learned. I adapted. I feverishly Googled “how to dry oil wash” at 1am...

And when it finally clicked, when the highlights caught just right or the wash settled perfectly, I felt like an artist, even if I was still sitting in pyjamas surrounded by empty paint pots.

When I look at the army now, I see more than just points on a list. I see a conversation between story, style and sheer stubbornness. The Sanguinary Guard shine brighter because they’re surrounded by humble Assault Intercessors. The Gladiator feels more imposing when it’s got infantry at its flanks. And Tarsion Vell’s silent tragedy hits harder because he’s fighting alongside living brothers.

The moment it finally looked like an army instead of a spreadsheet.

That’s what makes an army, I think; cohesion. Not just matching colours, but a shared tone. 

So if you ever get stuck, remember: we’ve all been there. Every army starts with a single brush stroke (and probably a spilt pot of Mephiston Red). And somewhere along the way, you’ll realise you're not just painting models. You’re painting a story.