Sunday, May 26, 2013

Dimtree's Loot Part 3: Vivyun Loses His Head

Round the back of the farmhouse, Neel was still looking for his squad.  "Guys?  Guys?  There's some really heavy things going on, now quit hiding!"  He lifted a largish stone out of the mud and peered underneath.  "Guys?"  Some small furred animals were revealed in the sodden earth where the stone had lain.  Squeaking angrily at him, they retreated from the rain and light, disappearing through a chink in the farmhouse wall.  Neel started and quickly replaced the stone, feeling guilty.  "Sorry."  he mumbled.  There was an awful lot of noise round the front of the farmhouse.  He heard shots and explosions and Orks yelling angrily.  This was a hell of a time for everyone to disappear on him...Suddenly something strange happened in his head.  Two ideas came together abruptly, and with startling implications!  Could it be that maybe his boys were up where the sounds of the fighting were?  

Wow! Neel leapt the back wall and ran round to the front just in time to see one of his boys go down under a flash of laser fire.  The others were cackling and blazing away at the pirates who were trying to make their way past the farmhouse. Piles of hot brass fell hissing and steaming into the mud, and Neel saw one of the Pirates go down as his missile launcher boy hefted his weapon onto his shoulder and took aim at a particularly large and heavily armored pirate.   Said pirate was standing triumphantly over Vivyun, who was rather disgustedly sitting on his own head, which had recently been separated from the other parts of him.  All of Viv's boys were down, but it looked like they had taken a toll on the Pirates before they'd given up the ghost.  Over by the barn a huge troll-like figure and another pirate had vaulted over (or rather through) the barn fence, and were wading into Rikk's boys...

Watch Vivyun lose his head here... 

(See Private Weird's Third turn here!)


Neel passes his stupidity test and runs 7" around to the front of the farmhouse. His two bolter boys blaze away, cutting down one of the pirates standing near To Captain Ulysses.  The Ork with the missile launcher waffles for a few precious seconds over which sort of missile he wants to load.  He finally decides to go for the gold and loads up a melta missile.  He aims carefully for the bridge of Captain Ulysses' nose and fires.  He rolls a two for distance and a hit on the artillery dice, which is about as good as it gets.  He rolls a 4 to wound, and a 4 to damage.  Captain Ulysses disappears in a flash and swirl of fire and smoke.  Is it possible that he can have survived?

On the other side of the farmhouse, Warboss Mykhul was flailing away at Bert the Zoat with his chainsword.  He landed several hits, but they all bounced off the tough creature's thick skull.  Bert also slammed Mykhul about the head and shoulders several times, but the Ork's skull was also impressively obdurate.  The two great shapes, slightly blurred by the rain, stood hitting each other on the head, with nothing really coming of it, like figures in a Goya painting. 

Over where Vivyun's squad was, nothing happened because everyone was dead. Viv sat disgusted in the midst of his annihilated squad, brooding on the failures of his leadership, and using his head as his new stool.

Over by the barn, Rikk saw Tiny's huge form crash through the barnyard fence and bear down on his squad. Storming into close combat without breaking stride, the Ogryn brought his enormous fist down on one of Rikk's boys, crumpling the hapless Ork up like a fungus beer can.  Yelling incoherently but enthusiastically, Rikk's boys plunged into the fight.  "I'll see you later, Lads!"  Rikk yelled, trying to exit: stage anywhere.  

"Hey, WTF... where you goin' boss?"  they shouted,  

Rikk paused in mid-flight, put his hands on his hips and wagged his pointy head at them, sneering and rolling his eyes to show them what he thought of their ignorance. "Oh, don't be so stupid, comrades!"  he chided them all, "Think, now, will you?  I'm the head of our Orky secretariat!  The intellectual engine behind our great revolutionary movement!  I can't possibly be expected to stay here and die with you miserable proles!  I'm simply too valuable!  I-"

It was the last thing he ever said. Abruptly, Tiny's gigantic form loomed up behind him, scooped him up, folded him into a small, compact bundle and discarded him in the mud.  That was the end of Rikk.  Until later...    

Thursday, May 23, 2013

More Hellhounds on Your Trail...

"Three days ago, there were sounds of horns and unholy wailing, a baying of unnatural voices across the river.  The watches kept a sharp eye all night, straining their eyes and ears eastward into the gloomTwo mornings ago, the remains of six woodcutters were found in their camp, four miles to the north and east of Plum Creek, and it was thought by the marks upon their poor, mangled flesh, that the Mad Hunt had returned.  The Rangers of the Nordmark followed their grisly spoor north and West, then North and east again.  The Hunt came nigh to The Tower of the Moon, but perhaps not liking the sight of it's high walls of stout logs, and the arrows and bolts which came forth in abundance, they made away still further north and east.  

 The Rangers and Sheriffs of the Nordmark were gathered and in swift pursuit now, and with them rode the Margrave of the Nordmark and a number of his knights, squires and retainers.   Some miles to the North, near the border of the Mark, the pursuers came upon the heads of Giovanni Brindicci, and his young son Nicoli, torn from their bodies and set neatly, side by side, upon a fallen tree trunk.  The bodies could not be found.   A hunter and trapper who had emigrated to our country from his native Tilea, Brindicci was a common sight in our own Mittelmark, and his songs and jests will be missed in the marketplace at the Refnsburg.  Brindicci was well known to the Rangers, and so hot was their hatred for the Mad Hunt now, that they did not stop, but packed the heads for later burial and rode on well ahead of the Sheriffs and the Margrave's men. 


At the extreme northern boundaries of the Mark, The Hunt, perhaps discouraged by the slim pickings to be had and the swelling host now in pursuit of them, turned back toward the river, and as they turned, the Rangers caught the rear-most of them, and killed two thugs and a Beastman pack master with arrows.  The slain mutant's horrid charges ran wild, some plunging with the rest of The Hunt into the river and making for the eastern shore, some going for the Rangers.  Those valiant men let go their horses and clambered up into the tree- branches, and from there rained shearing casks down on the vile beasts until, wounded, they made off, howling in ghastly voices, following the shore for a time.  The Rangers ultimately harried two of the wounded and maddened things into a deep ravine, where they killed them with fire, bows, and hurled stones.  

And, except for the sad interment of eight stout men of the Nordmark, there was an end of it.  Before they burned the bodies of the beasts, The Rangers sent for me, deeming that, as The Baron's sage, I might desire to examine their hideous specimens.  I was grateful for the opportunity, and hurried North to meet them at the bloody ravine, arriving this very morning.  As I have said, there were two of the things.  The smaller of the two was not dissimilar to an ordinary mastiff in shape, but much larger, and of such an evil countenance that it chills me to recall it.  It had no hair, and its veins and muscles were part exposed, here and there, not through wounds, but by some unclean mutation which caused the thing's skin to seem to have melted away over part of its body, leaving its inner workings for all the unhappy world to see.

The other was much larger, and so badly mutated, it was hardly recognizable as having ever been canine at all.  Its front quarters were more like to a lion than a dog, and all over its shoulders and upper back were great humps or bubbles of flesh and hide.  It was clear that two of these humps had been the authors of the dog-thing's extra heads, one of which was goat-like, but such a hound and horrid black devil-goat as a clean mind could never imagine.  The other, and I quail as I write this, was much like to that of a man, with a great, black bristling beard and shock of hair, and pale white eyes, blind, or so it seemed to me from where I stood.  I much wished to climb down into the ravine, and with my knife, see what those other humps might contain, but Captain Brand restrained me, and though I was displeased by his concern at the time, I think I should perhaps be grateful to him for it now.  The unclean things were covered with pitch and brushwood and set ablaze, and the east-blowing breeze carried their ashes out over the broad dark river.  I was pleased to see them burn, yet the flames cannot scourge the image of the things from my mind, and I fear that their awful footfalls shall shadow my dreams for some time to come..."

                                                                                              From Olorrin's Journal


Well, about a year after having started this little games journal, I am pleased to see several projects very near to being completed.  One is my Dwarf army...I had hoped to get to 2,000 points with it in a year's time, and I'm nearly there...just a few crossbows left to get painted.  Another goal was to complete The Mad Hunt of Chaos project.  Happily, I've four out of five units of the hunt completed...just one hound pack and the Master of the Hunt to go...Think I'll finish this summer?

Citadel Hounds are much rarer in this pack than in the others...only two...the others are a Grenadier Chimera, Hound of Tinadalos  (these paint up so beautifully...I love them!) and a Cerebus, also by Grenadier.  On the right is an old Ral Partha Therapsid which I dolled up with some gonzo green stuff conversions...

 The Reptilian Beastman handler is a Denizen of  the classic old Grenadier Demons box set...Can't remember what they called him...but I like him...

 All Eighteen hounds and their handlers assembled together...scary, no?  One more pack to go!

 Here's the green stuff on the Therapsid...I think it actually looks scarier this way than it does with the paint job...

And there's more Hell Hounds still to come...

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

4th Company of the Muster of the Great Hall 'Razorbacks'

"...we entered into the hall and found that a great feast had been laid out on a series of long wooden tables all filled with folk.  I had, of course, desired to be seated at the King's table, but was disappointed in this hope, being seated instead near the head of a board one table down from his Majesty.  Later, I would be glad that it had been so.  At the head of this table was seated a stout and venerable-looking dwarf, his broad chest and bulging, oaken-thewed arms wrapped in rich blue silks, his bull neck hung about with many thick golden chains of marvelous workmanship.  This, I soon learned, was Haakon Stahl, a very important personage 'on the mountain', as they say, the Master Smith of the Great Hall, close friend of the King, and Captain of the warrior brotherhood known as the 'Razorbacks', renowned for their stubborness in defensive fighting.

Haakon was polite but reserved at first, as is the way of all the Mountain folk, but as the evening wore on, food vanished from the table, and mug upon mug of rich brown beer disappeared into his smooth grey beard, he became friendly and talkative indeed, much to my own delight.  The evening deepened and folk drew away from the tables, gathering round the great fireplaces to sing and hear stories, but Haakon and I lingered together over many more mugs of beer, talking with much enjoyment of our respective crafts, and I am proud to say that by the night's end we had become friends, though I confess I had some trouble rising gracefully from that table of good cheer.

On subsequent trips to Thunder Mountain, I have been a guest in Haakon's hall, and have seen many of the wonders he has produced in his marvelous smithy...shields that shine bright as the sun, blades that can cut through stone, and snowy-white Mithril armor which can turn aside the cruelest blow.  Most recently I accompanied the 'Razorbacks' on a campaign against the Goblins of that region we call the North-Western Spurs,  and stood with them in the battle, laying low what I daresay was a respectable number of the Green-skins with fire spells, and, I hope, being more of a boon than a hindrance.  The Dwarves were too proud to be very effusive in the giving of thanks, but I hope I was of some assistance to my friend and his gallant battle-brothers..."

                                                                                                -Olorrin, The Black River Chronicles

My latest regiment of Dwarf warriors, which brings me up to the 40 required by the Warhammer armies book, and which also carries me to within striking distance of completing my 2,000 pt Dwarf army...just the required 20 crossbow Dwarfs, ten of which are already nearly finished, and I'm there!


Haakon Stahl leads his brothers into the fight...

Some of the individual warriors...

This is probably the most varied unit, in terms of manufacturers, I've assembled yet, and I really liked mixing it up...There are 3 Grenaider, 4 Citadel, 2 Ral Partha, 1 Black Tree, 4 Metal Magic, 2 Alternative Armies, 3 Old Glory and 1 Rafm figure in the bunch.

 The Razorbacks' normally steely discipline collapses along with their formation as Ol' Cookie calls the boys to chow!

Friday, May 10, 2013

Bungole Bushwackah!

 Scampering stealthily and stinkily through the hills, woods and meadows of the Black River Country, Bungole Bushwackah is a malodorous menace to man, dwarf and Chaos disciple alike.  Unusually solitary for one of his kind, he calls no Orc his Boss nor his boy.  Nevertheless, he is as bloodthirsty as any of his kin, and amuses himself by launching innumerable one-man raids against everybody within reach, relying on the speedy hams of his trusty boar to bear him swiftly into the fight, and as swiftly out again, ere his victims can bring superior numbers to bear against him.  When the Orcs and Gobbos of Big Blackie's horde raid across the Black River, Bungole accompanies them, albeit at a distance.  He is a talented scout, and prowls the edges of the battlefield, sniping at the enemy with his crossbow and occasionally plunging into an enemy flank...

Always loved this figure.  He's the last of a small group of 'testers' I've been doing, trying to get close to the 'old school' lurid sort of yellow-green which graced Citadel's Orcs back in the glory of the eighties.  Gotta get the skin tone right before I begin serious work on the mighty Big Blackie's Orc horde.  I can't get anywhere near the sublime quality of say, Spooktalker's work, but this will do well enough for me, I think...

For my own reference:  final color combo for Bungole was white undercoat followed by a slightly watered coat of old school 80's GW ghoul flesh.  Highlight the Ghoul Flesh with new school GW sunburst yellow, then wash with Reaper Moss Green...

I like this figure so much, that I plan to use him on his own, as a mid-level "nuisance" character, a little pest who can scurry around taking pot-shots at the other guy, and sometimes pitching into a flank or bum-rushing artillery batteries. Humble beginnings to Big Blackie's mighty host!
Bungole surprises a small group of Igor Prolkevitch's Nurglesqe Chaos thugs...three more heads to hang on his wall!