Clay Golem

When I felt the priest's withered hands draw me from the clinging earth, I knew that I had flesh.    When I heard his voice singing softly over me, then I knew that I had ears.  I watched the moon pass nine times across the black bed of the sky as he labored over me, and that was when I knew that I had eyes to see.    one day he bade me seize a young tree, and pull it up by the roots and break it in two, and I did, and then I knew I had the might and main to smite and to slay.  He cut a rune upon my brow, and the rune was as a door.  Through the door he blew a breath, and whispered long in a strange tounge, and his speaking drifted and curled like smoke inside the stuff of me, and there it changed to something bright and hard, that burns and is watchful in me still.  He said:  "You will guard the gate."

I guarded the gate.  Sometimes the priests would come to the temple, and I would let them pass, but no others.  Sometimes not-priests would try to trespass.  I would seize and break them, and leave them bleeding in the door for the priests to find.  And the priests would come and exclaim, and the old priest would look at me and say I had done well.

The moon passed many times through the sky.  So many times did she pass, that there came a day when I could no longer count her passings.  The old Priest stopped coming.  I wondered why.  One day I thought of the men I had broken in the doorway, how they stopped walking, talking, being, when I broke them. Men can break.  I cannot.

Still I guarded the gate.  One day an army came.  They smote the walls and gates of the great city with rams and guns, and spilled through the gaping breaches into the streets, women and dogs and dishonored soldiers of the city fleeing in panic before them.  Some came near the temple gate.  These I broke, and let them lie, but I did no more.  It was my task to guard the gate, that task and no other.  After a time, they let me alone.  The city burned, the towers tumbled.  The people were dragged away.  The soldiers left.  Dogs snuffled and wailed amoung the ruins.  In time, even they were gone.  I guarded the gate.

I watch the clouds roll and climb across the sky, and  the tree-roots that creep like searching fingers among the crumbling walls year by year. Where women in bright dresses once laughed among the market stalls, now monkeys swing and scream among emerald branches.  In the halls which once echoed with the footfalls and the chanting of the priests, there is now only the drip of water, and the mumblings of the wind.

I watch the sun and moon climb and descend, climb and descend.  The birds perch upon my head and shoulders and dishonor me with their droppings.  The rain washes me, the sun dries me again... 

...I guard the gate.

Swords Against Darkness: Old School Dungeon Party #1

Great were the realms of the Kings of Law in ancient days.  Far have they fallen.  Their empire has withered, their culture has decayed.  Their descendants have been pushed against the great western ocean and here, in a narrow and constricted realm, they cling to life and to the memory of their former glory.  The lands they still control are small, overpopulated, often swept by famine and disease, hemmed in on all sides by the forces of nascent Chaos.  The armies of the latter day Kings of Law are small and weak, pale shadows of the mighty legions which broke the power of Chaos a thousand years past.  These armies are largely provincial and immobile, barely enough to hold back the darkness of encroaching Chaos, quite unable to take the offensive.  Thus it seems that the Kings of Law must finally fall.  But there is a new cult growing in the dying realms of Law.  Each year a bold and seasoned few strike out in small bands into the territory of chaos, raiding and plundering it's strongholds, laying low it's beasts and champions, waging desperate war in dark places, and often with no-one to know. 

Some are crusaders, determined to rid the realms of the threats which press upon their borders.  Others are soldiers of fortune, desperate but ambitious men hoping to carve their own tiny kingdoms out of the wilderness.  Some are seekers, scouring the ruins of the ancients for traces of lost knowledge to bring home to their dying homelands. For such men and women, often raised in abysmal poverty and the absence of hope, the thought of an anonymous death in the dark is less a source of terror than the that of a life of fruitless toil, or of the final fall of the ragged remnants of their homelands.  Careless of hardship, contemptuous of death, It is men and women such as these who daily take the fight to the powers of chaos.  If there is any hope in the world for Law and light, it must surely lie with the emerging Adventurer class.  Indeed, some dare to hope that the Adventurers are the vanguard of a renaissance which will restore the Kingdoms of Law to their former glory.  A vain hope, perhaps....but men must find hope somewhere, if they are to have any chance at all...


  

Well, here are a few representatives of the Adventurer class. I have actually really been struggling with these old lead minis...It took a long time and a lot of strippings and re-starts to get a party together that looked passable.  I don't know if it's the quality of the metal, or the smaller scale, maybe some of the details have been distorted over the decades or the dark tint of the the old lead or what but it's been hard to get them to look as nice as I'd like...much more difficult than it tends to be with figures cast more recently...

  

Grenadier Fighter and Citadel Paladin....

Grenadier Halfling Female Thief...

Grenadier Dwarf Cleric...

Our Heroes clash with a brace of Shamblers...

Citadel Wizard...really disappointed with how the face came out but from a distance he looks okay, I guess...Anyway, lots more of these still in the lead mountain, so plenty of opportunities remain to get it right.  As my collection of painted monsters grows, I hope to start throwing these adventurer types into mini dungeon skirmish campaigns...

Huzzah!

Vincent Price's House of Horror #3

 Last year (or was it the year before?) Stefano Cardoselli of Azurek Studios honored me with an invitation to help write some issues of the Vincent Price series for Blue Water Comics, and it would seem that they are finally becoming available in print.  Stefano's artwork has appeared in dozens of independent comics over the last few years and also happens to grace  the cover of  the most recent issue of Heavy Metal. He has contributed stacks of gorgeous artwork to the Weird Fantasy comics Rat's Tooth, written by your humble host, and Iron Head, co-written by your humble host.  I hope to release these titles on my own label sometime before I die.  We also have a few other projects up our sleeves...

Press bit for VP's HH #3: 

If ever you should awaken from a troubled sleep, to find yourself in a barren place….If ever you should find yourself wondering who you are, where you came from, or how you came to be running for your very life through a labyrinth of shadows and murderous beasts…If ever you come to feel that your every footfall is guided by a power and a menace which drives you toward your destruction for the sake of its own hideous amusement…

Well…

It just could be that…you’re on Black Magic TV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 If anybody's interested, you can find issues of the Vincent Price titles for sale here at Comic Flea Market...  They are filled to burstin' with great art (much of it by Stefano), and creepy stories...

Unpleasant Dreams...

Cookie's Chuck Wagon: Thunder Mountain Dwarves' Baggage Train Pt. 1

 Not a super-exciting post, just finished painting one baggage train section for my 2,000 point Dwarf army.  I've got another 2 wagons planned as the army grows beyond 2k points, including the obligatory beer wagon...

 ...the wagon itself is by Battle Forge...their models aren't cheap, but they are beautiful, I think...

 4 of the required 5 camp followers are old Citadel pieces, 1 an old Grenadier Dwarf Master Merchant...

 "Mmm!  I love me a roasted goat, yes I do...Oh da boys'll be so happy with this yummy roasted goat, oh, my, yes..."

 "Come on, hurry up, ya cranky ol' SOB!!"  

"Ey, you talkin' to me?"  

"No, shut up, ya old goat, I'm talkin' to the horse!"

"Aw, Man!  I don't think we're where we are supposed to be at all...  Look...it shows a fork in the road here at a place called Alba Kirke...I think we were supposed to turn left...anybody remember a sign that said Alba Kirke? Fuck!  We're never gonna catch up with the column now!"

Rogue Trader Amerigo Erickson and his Henchmen

 Little is known of the life of Colonel Amerigo Erickson before he joined the Imperial Guard.  Legend tells that the young Amerigo was the last surviving member of a Necromundan gang wiped out in an ambush.  Hunted by his enemies and entirely without friends, Amerigo sought refuge in the 'safest' place he could find, the local Imperial Guard recruiting office. 

It is said that our Emperor's galaxy is a place made for hard and bitter men and Colonel Erickson proves the old saying.  Cold, calculating, inured to difficulty and defeat, Erickson soon impressed his superiors with his tough-as-nails character and the gift for small-unit leadership common to so many Necromundan ex-gangers.  Erickson somehow remained alive amidst the slaughter of the Hrud infestation of Bacchus VI, the Web-Worm invasion of Parg, and several campaigns against the forces of the Arch-Arsonist of Charadon.  Promoted again and again for remaining alive and continuing to organize and fight long after his superiors and most of his peers were dead, Amerigo soon attained the rank of senior sergeant, and finally battlefield commission to Lieutenant.  Bullying and terrorizing his way through the Imperial officer academy, Erickson returned to the guard and, before his fortieth birthday, found himself in command of the 99th Necromunda regiment.  Erickson led the regiment to destruction and victory several times over before he retired, always achieving his objectives, though his regiment exceeded 100% casualties several times during his command.  True to his ganger culture, however, Erickson always took care of those closest to him, inspiring a sort of dog-like loyalty in those who walked in his shadow. 

After retiring under a heap of honors and medals from the Imperial Guard, Amerigo applied for and received a Rogue Trader's license and a loan with which to buy a ship and hire a crew. His personal influence with the Imperial authorities must have been considerable, for he was allowed to cream off much of the best man-power of his old regiment to make up the best part of his team.  This of course, infuriated the officer who succeeded Erickson in command of the 99th Necromunda, but what could he do?  "He who carries the Imperial license stands at the right hand of God." so old bureaucrats say.

Colonel Erickson's first, (and possibly last) expedition is to an tail of stars hanging off the very bottom of the galaxy, an area known as the Wailing Reach.  The Wailing Reach is a relatively lawless frontier region currently torn by heresy and civil war, but none of this is of much concern to the mighty Amerigo.  Of very peculiar interest to him is the recent dispersal of a warp storm called the Vermillion Gate.  The gate has writhed and swirled at the edge of human space for 10,000 years, since the time of the Horus heresy, watched over by the hungry guns of the Dead Men Space Marines chapter, but recently it has faded away, it's warp-radiation readings dwindling to nothing.  Legend tells of inhabited star-systems beyond the gate, Imperial worlds cut off from the rest of the Empire when the storm appeared in the days of Horus...what is left of those derelict societies?  What weird worlds and fantastic technologies lie beyond the Vermillion Gate?

Amerigo Erickson intends to find out, and to seize and plunder his way toward his life-goal.  Amerigo has a good bit of plunder from his army days cached here and there. This, together with his Army pension, would allow him to retire reasonably comfortably, if he were inclined to retire merely comfortably.  But such a fate  is not to Amerigo's taste. 

Amerigo's dream is to spend his twilight years in a secluded fortified mansion, garrisoned by a company of comely mistresses, drinking and whoring his way to the grave with his old cronies.  Can't do that on a little savings and an army pension.  Who dares, wins, Amerigo figures.  And you can understand where he's coming from...I mean...now that I think about it, my own youth seems...ill-invested by comparison.  But there you go.  Now you know Amerigo. 

Now meet his "staff"...

Major Tomzen "Major Tom" Bovey, an old cronie of Amerigo's and until recently, the Executive Officer of the 99th Necromunda Regiment.  He remains Amerigo's 'right hand' man, as ruthless and capable as his Commander.  "Major Tom" lost his left arm in one of his last campaigns against the hordes of the Arch Arsonist of Charadon.  Never able to understand why people needed two arms anyway, Tomzen had the lost limb replaced with something way more cool...a combi-weapon system incorporating a shot-gun, a double-barreled laz-gun, and a mini-missle launcher system which functions essentially as a grenade launcher.  He can thus personally engage enemies at close, medium, long, and (with his chain-sword) hand to hand range...and...with direct or indirect fire.  Pretty cool, huh?  the Major thinks so.  Annoy him at your peril.

 Major Willem Bonn, "Billy Bonehead" to his friends, insofar as he has any.  A formidable sanctioned psyker and former Master Psyker of the 99th Necromunda.  A man only too glad to leave Imperial service and strike out anew with his old boss, Amerigo.  Fortune and glory, baby.

Lieutenant Genovia "Genni" Starker.  Nobody has been able to find any actual evidence of her ever having received an Imperial Army or Navy Commission, but Amerigo insists that she is a Lieutenant and that seems good enough for everybody else.  Her official title in the 'Trader crew is Liaison (liason to whom?) and Communications Officer.  It is true that she is a very skilled Comms manager and general problem solver, but everybody also knows that she is Amerigo's main squeeze, and questions about her role in the crew tend to trail off at about that point.

The Imperial Assassin known only by his...nome de...nome de mort?   ...which is The Nightengale.  When the Administratum commissioned Amerigo as a  Rogue Trader, they assigned The Nightengale to him,  as a...guardian...somebody to...watch over... Amerigo on his expedition.  Amerigo assured the Administratum that he did not need an assassin monitoring him, but they insisted and sent The Nightengale anyway.  Wasn't that thoughtful of them?

Captain Phineas Phibes, called "Doc Badvibes" behind his back.  Not surprisingly, Captain Phibes was the commander of the medical platoon of the 99th Necromunda, and is now Amerigo's personal doctor, a position Captain Phibes relishes, as it leaves him plenty of time for 'research' and 'experimentation', especially when there is a crop of new prisoners to work on...Captain Phibes has a particular interest in hands...perhaps a function of his own bizarrely oversized appendages...

 Upward and onward...to fortune and glory, baby!

"My Galaxy, My Rules!"

-saying widely attributed to Amerigo Erickson